Page 54 of The Brigadier

“What the hell does that mean?”

Given the weapon was still in my hand, I made the decision to unlock the door, ultimately warning or threatening my men to pay more attention. “I’ll call you back in a few. I need to check something.”

“Nikolay. Wait.”

But I didn’t, my instinct kicking into overdrive. A moment of slow motion settled in, enough to rattle my entire system.

The moment I noticed a second SUV going even more slowly, I shoved my phone into the pocket of my sweatpants, racing toward my men. I had a short, curved driveway. Yes, there were cameras. And yes, there was some level of security but not nearly enough.

Including distance from the street.

“Get down. Get down now!” I yelled but was too late for the men closest to the street.

Shots rang out, the other men immediately responding. I couldn’t remember the last time there’d been a goddamn shootout on the street. But in my bare feet, I raced toward the fast-moving SUVs, firing off several shots. While I could clearly see several of my bullets had made contact, including smashing the back window of one vehicle, there was no way of telling if I’d created a casualty or two inside.

“Fuck!” I was literally on the street, realizing there’d almost been two wrecks by ordinary citizens just trying to make their way down the roads. As one would expect in such a tightly knit community, several men rushed from their cars, acting as if they were going to provide protection.

They screamed and yelled, two men racing after them, guns brandished.

“Don’t!” I called, but soon they lost steam given the fact both drivers pressed down on the accelerator. “Shit.”

Sighing, I bent over, planting my hands on my knees. How had either attack been allowed to occur?

“You okay, Nik?” one of the older guys asked as he walked toward me. I could always recognize him not just by the rough twang of his Russian accent but also by the combat boots he wore even at seventy.

“Yeah, just pissed.” I stood, shaking my head.

“You want us to go after them?” One of the bar owners had a shotgun in his hand, his broken English something I knew he insisted on keeping given he’d lived in Brighton Beach since he was twenty.

Rubbing my jaw, I couldn’t help but be amused. “No, Omar. No way to find them.” I didn’t want to mention the ages of the men who’d come to my ‘rescue’; they’d be eaten for lunch. Maybe I shouldn’t dare think that. They’d all been brutal savages in their day.

“We won’t allow that shit here,” another gruff voice huffed.

I nodded to one of the men, a former police officer I’d had a drink or two with. He was one of us, a man who’d accepted a prominent role in society.

The nod was a simple gesture. Until I got a handle on things, he and his group of drinking buddies would have my back.

Sadly, the assailants, who I had no doubt were the same as those who’d attacked Vadim’s place, had made their point.

“I doubt it will happen again.” I was fairly certain of that in truth. This was nothing but another attempt at keeping the Chernoff regime rattled.

Fuck them.

“We’ll keep watch.”

“I appreciate that.”

As I turned back toward the house, Maxim, who’d been on duty all night, was crouched down by the two men who’d been shot. He lifted and shook his head.

Two of my men had been killed, blood now staining the driveway.

I threw back my head, staring at the rising sun. How the fuck had things gotten so far off course?

Within seconds, he was suddenly by my side, literally jerking me toward the house, two old soldiers immediately shielding me with their bodies.

“You need to get into the house. We’ll take it from here,” Maxim hissed as if I was breaking a rule.

Perhaps I was.