The warehouse was cold, the air thick with the smell of oil and metal. It was an abandoned place on the outskirts of Moscow, a relic of a forgotten era where deals were made in the shadows. Now, it was the perfect location for a confrontation—a trap, if everything went according to plan.
Oliver's heart raced as he crouched behind a stack of crates, his eyes fixed on Alexei, who stood a few feet away, calm and focused, like a predator stalking its prey. The duffel bag of weapons they had taken from the apartment was gone, left in the car outside. Alexei had insisted they go in light, relying on stealth and precision.
"This is it," Alexei whispered, his voice low and steady. "Once Petrov's men show up, we take them out quickly. No hesitation."
Oliver nodded, gripping the knife Alexei had handed him earlier, though his fingers trembled around the hilt. This wasn't his world. He had never held a weapon with the intention of using it, let alone against trained killers. But the resolve that had carried him this far wouldn't let him turn back now.
Alexei glanced at him, his sharp eyes scanning Oliver's face, as if searching for any sign of doubt. "You don't have to do this."
Oliver swallowed hard, shaking his head. "I'm not leaving you."
Alexei's lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn't argue. Instead, he nodded once and turned his attention back to the warehouse's entrance. "They'll be here any minute. Stay close."
Time seemed to stretch out, every second crawling by as they waited. The silence was oppressive, the only sound the distant creak of rusted metal and the thrum of Oliver's pulse in his ears.
And then, the faint sound of engines in the distance.
"They're coming," Alexei said, his voice tense. His hand went to the gun holstered at his side, his fingers flexing around the grip. He didn't take his eyes off the entrance, his body coiled like a spring, ready to explode into action at a moment's notice.
Oliver's breath hitched, his grip tightening on the knife. This was it. The moment they had been preparing for, the moment when everything would come crashing down. He could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, the fear clawing at his insides. But beneath it all, there was something else—something stronger. A determination that had nothing to do with the violence around him and everything to do with the man standing beside him.
Alexei Ivanov was dangerous. He was unpredictable, violent, and more broken than he would ever admit. But Oliver couldn't walk away. Not now. Not after everything they had been through. He was in too deep, and no matter what happened tonight, he wasn't turning back.
The sound of car doors slamming shut echoed through the warehouse, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of footsteps on gravel. Alexei tensed, his gaze narrowing as the figures of Petrov's men appeared at the entrance.
There were four of them—tall, broad-shouldered brutes with grim faces and guns strapped to their sides. They moved with the confidence of men who had killed before, their eyes scanning the warehouse for any sign of their target.
Oliver's pulse quickened. He ducked lower behind the crates, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he watched them spread out, covering the exits.
Alexei didn't move. He waited, silent and still, his body hidden in the shadows, his eyes cold and calculating as he observed their movements. He had been through this before—fights, ambushes, death. He knew exactly how to strike, exactly when to move. And Oliver trusted him.
The leader of the group, a man with a scar running down the side of his face, stepped forward, his hand resting casually on the grip of his gun. His voice rang out, sharp and mocking. "Ivanov! You hiding, you coward? Come out and face us."
Oliver's stomach twisted, his fingers trembling around the knife's handle. He glanced at Alexei, waiting for him to react, but the Russian remained motionless, his eyes locked on the intruders.
The man with the scar took another step forward, his voice growing louder, angrier. "You think you can run from Petrov? You're dead already, Ivanov! You hear me? DEAD!"
Alexei moved.
It was so fast, so precise, that Oliver barely registered it happening. One second, Alexei was crouched in the shadows, and the next, he was on the man with the scar, his gun raised and a single shot ringing out, echoing through the warehouse.
The leader crumpled to the ground, his gun clattering to the floor beside him.
The other men shouted, scrambling for their weapons, but Alexei didn't give them a chance. He moved like lightning, firing off two more shots in quick succession, each one finding its mark. Two more men fell, their bodies hitting the ground with dull thuds.
Oliver's heart raced as he watched, his entire body buzzing with adrenaline. He had never seen anyone move like that—so fast, so lethal. It was terrifying and mesmerizing all at once.
But there was still one man left.
The last of Petrov's men, a younger guy with wide, panicked eyes, backed toward the exit, his gun shaking in his hands as he pointed it at Alexei. "Stay back!" he shouted, his voice trembling. "I'll shoot!"
Alexei took a step forward, his expression cold, unfeeling. "Go ahead," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Try."
The man's hand shook even more, his finger twitching on the trigger. But before he could make a move, Oliver sprang forward, his heart pounding in his chest. Without thinking, he lunged at the man from behind, slamming the hilt of the knife into the back of his head.
The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Oliver stood there, breathing hard, the knife still clutched in his hand. He looked down at the man he had just taken out, his mind spinning. He hadn't killed him, but he had come close. The realization hit him hard, sending a wave of nausea through his stomach.
Alexei walked over, his eyes scanning Oliver for any sign of injury. "You okay?"
Oliver nodded, though his hands still shook. "Yeah. I… I'm fine."
Alexei's expression softened for a moment, the hard, dangerous edge fading as he placed a hand on Oliver's shoulder. "You did good."
Oliver let out a shaky breath, his heart still racing. "I didn't kill him."
"No," Alexei agreed, his voice calm. "But you could have. You're tougher than you think."
Oliver swallowed, his throat dry. He wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a warning.
The warehouse was silent now, the only sound the faint drip of water from a leaky pipe and the distant hum of the city outside. The bodies of Petrov's men lay scattered around them, the grim reality of what they had just done settling over Oliver like a heavy weight.
"We should go," Alexei said quietly, his eyes scanning the exit. "Petrov will know what happened soon. We don't want to be here when he does."
Oliver nodded, still feeling the adrenaline thrumming through his veins. "What now?"
Alexei's gaze flickered with something unreadable. "Now we get ready for the real fight."
As they made their way out of the warehouse, slipping into the shadows of the city once more, Oliver couldn't shake the feeling that they were only just beginning to scratch the surface of the storm that was coming.
And in the middle of it all was Alexei—dangerous, unpredictable, and yet, somehow, the only person Oliver could trust in this world.
No matter how deadly it became.