Nikolai
I cruise down the street a block behind the warehouse, not wanting to pull right in and announce myself. Of course, there’s nowhere in this neighborhood where parking a brand new Tesla would be inconspicuous. I end up angling it behind a dumpster.
I pull a spare pistol and clip out of the glove box and check both weapons for ammo. Then I get out, a pistol in each hand, and march toward the building.
When I see a figure emerge, I hold my g*n straight out and point it at his head, still walking swiftly toward him.
The guy is half-running, half-limping, looking behind him like he’s being chased.
Fuck.
“Zane.”
“Nikolai. Oh thank God, you’re here.” He run-limps toward me, desperation and relief pouring from him. He looks horrible—much worse than when we worked him over. “How did
