into the words. “I know you don’t trust me, don’t even like me, but we have one thing in common. Nathan. We’ll both do anything for him, even if it means working together. I’m willing to do that. Are you?”
He sits down in the chair in front of the desk, hands steepled beneath his chin as he stares at me for several long minutes. I can see his mind clicking away, can almost hear it as he plays out scenarios to their resolution and evaluates each one for success or failure.
“Your gear . . . is it good?” he asks quietly.
“Good enough,” I reply. “Why?”
Caleb grumbles, getting to his feet. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”
Going over to the door, he jabs a button, talking into an intercom panel. “Grant, we need gear, stat!”
I’m not sure how Grant’s supposed to know what exactly that means, but there’s the answer I was looking for. Caleb is just as willing to do anything for Nathan, has likely done so many times over the years.
But this time? It’s a big request, and Nathan’s not even the one asking. I am.
“Don’t play me, Caleb,” I warn, turning back to the file. “I’m done being someone else’s pawn. This is my play, my game, my move.”
Caleb grins, and at first glance, most would think it’s a charming one, but I can see the darkness in his eyes now that I know to look for it.
The Stone family has what appears to be a glittery life on the outside, but from the inside, neither of the Stone boys got out unscarred.
“I’m seeing what Nathan likes in you. To be honest, I’m not all that pleased that he left me behind either. I don’t give a rat’s ass about running the company. That’s all him. But I do care that he’s in dangerous territory without me. Let’s go provide a little backup and get the son of a bitch. Then you two lovebirds can figure your shit out.”
Chapter 29
Nathan
“Mr. Stone? If I can have your glass, sir, we’ll be landing in about ten minutes.”
I hand the glass to the flight attendant, which contained a multi-vitamin and mineral fruit blend along with some other nutrients to make sure I’m ready for the trek, and she disappears.
Buckling in, I feel my stomach lurch into my throat as we make a final sudden drop before touching down smoothly on the runway.
Ten minutes, my ass.
The airport’s tiny, just a single runway in grasslands that border the jungle, with a warehouse-slash-hangar at one end. There isn’t much, but then again, Romanov doesn’t need much.
I was actually surprised when he said that I could bring a jet in here, but as we get closer to the warehouse, I see why. A C-130 cargo plane sits next to the warehouse, the back ramp dropped as men load pallets of ‘exports’ into the belly of the beast.
No wonder Nikolai has five thousand feet of runway in the middle of the Amazon.
My jet comes to a stop, and I give the flight crew a nod. “Where to next?”
“Sir, we were told under no uncertain orders to refuel, fly to Belem, and stay there until called,” the pilot says, his eyes darting around outside the cockpit. As a charter pilot for a company that deals with men like me, he knows that he’s not always flying to the nicest spots on the planet . . . but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.
“Perfectly fine,” I assure him, climbing out. The tropical heat and humidity smack me in the face, and I remind myself that I’m going to need to be extra-careful about hydration. I’m in shape, but my body’s used to New York, where most people are wearing jackets by now.
Here, the only reason to wear clothing is to prevent sunburn.
A man in a boonie hat comes out of the warehouse, his unbuttoned tropical-weight shirt revealing a heavily tattooed torso. I know enough of prison tats to read a little bit, and this man isn’t one to mess with.
I’m surprised, however, when he speaks to me in perfect English. “Mr. Stone, my name is Flavio. I’m the manager of this air strip. Welcome to Brazil.”
He offers his hand, and I shake, measuring the man. He’s got that sense of true danger that I know so well from my time as a mercenary. I think ‘manager’ is a polite way of describing his role as boss because I can guarantee that in his office is an AK locked,