KRAIT MC STORIES
MOSCOW 1995
Chapter 8
A WARNING
Two days later, Maksim picked them up shortly after noon.
Feliks was already in the passenger seat.
Kait climbed into the back with Jora and pulled the door shut.
“Where are we going?”
“Barinov’s first.”
“I thought we had a collection.”
“We do. He wants to see me before we go.”
Maksim pulled away from the curb.
Twenty minutes later, they stopped outside the security company.
Jora got out.
Kait reached for the door.
“I’ll be right back.”
She settled into the seat again.
“All right.”
Jora went inside.
Barinov was alone in his office.
“You wanted me?”
“Yes.”
Barinov pushed a sheet of paper across the desk.
“Change of plans.”
Jora picked it up.
Different address.
Different job.
“What happened to the collection?”
“Feliks can handle it.”
Jora read the paper.
“What is this?”
“Shipment coming in tonight. Electronics. I want you and Maksim there when it arrives.”
“All right.”
Jora folded the paper.
“Anything else?”
“The girl stays out of this one.”
Jora stopped.
“Why? She’s been working with us for months.”
“I know.”
Jora watched him.
“What changed?”
Barinov leaned back in his chair.
“How well do you know her?”
Jora frowned.
“What does that have to do with tonight?”
“Answer me.”
“I know her just fine.”
“You’ve known her a little over three months.”
Jora said nothing.
“She comes here alone from Denmark. No friends. No family. Barely speaks the language. Says she came looking for a relative she can’t find. You buy that?”
“That’s what happened.”
“Is it?”
Jora’s face hardened.
Barinov took a drink.
“How can you be sure?”
“I’ve been with her the entire time.”
Barinov continued.
“She arrives with almost nothing. Within days, she’s living in your apartment. Then she starts going with you on collections.”
“She’s competent. She has military training.”
“That isn’t what I’m asking you.”
Jora waited.
“Three months ago, she knew nobody in Moscow. Now she knows my men. My businesses. My routes. My collections. She knows where you go and who you see.”
Jora’s eyes narrowed.
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m asking whether you’ve ever bothered checking her story.”
“I never needed to.”
Barinov studied him.
Jora pushed the folded paper into his coat.
“If you have something to accuse her of, do it.”
“I don’t.”
“Then what the fuck is this?”
“A warning.”
Jora stood.
Barinov remained seated.
“I’ve been doing this longer than you, Jora. Women like that don’t just walk through your door.”
“She didn’t walk through my door.”
“She walked into your club.”
Jora stared at him.
For the first time, something about that night felt different when somebody else said it.
A foreign girl.
Alone.
Looking for someone.
Drawing attention to herself.
Maybe too much attention.
Barinov picked up his glass again.
“Maybe everything she told you is true.”
“It is.”
“But I want her out of this one.”
Barinov took a drink.
Jora shrugged.
“Fine.”
He turned toward the door.
Outside, the Mercedes was still parked where they’d left it.
He stopped on the sidewalk.
Through the window, Kait sat in the back seat with one leg crossed over the other, looking down at something in her hands.
She had found a loose thread along the cuff of her coat and was trying to pull it free.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing suspicious.
Jora stood there watching her anyway.
Denmark.
The photograph.
The military.
Three months in his apartment.
Three months beside him on jobs.
Jora felt sick.
Kait looked up.
She saw him through the window and smiled.
The thought disappeared almost as quickly as it had come.
Jora crossed the sidewalk and opened the door.
Kait moved over for him.
“What happened?”
“We’re not doing the collection.”
Maksim looked at him in the mirror.
“What changed?”
“Feliks can handle it. Barinov needs me for something else tonight.”
Jora handed Maksim the paper.
Kait leaned forward enough to glance at it.
“For what?”
“A shipment.”
She nodded.
“What time?”
Jora took the paper back.
“Late. But you’re not coming.”
Kait looked at him.
“Why not?”
“Barinov said so.”
Her eyes shifted toward the second-floor windows.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then she sat back.
“All right.”
No argument.
No questions.
Just trust.
Jora looked away.
Barinov had managed to put the thought in his head.
Jora hated him for it.
He hated himself more for letting it stay there at all.
Kait was stretched across the couch with a book she could barely read, a Russian-English dictionary open beside her.
Jora came out of the room dressed in a black suit.
She looked him over.
“You look nice for stolen electronics.”
Jora picked up his watch from the table and fastened it around his wrist.
He glanced at her.
“Have a meeting later.”
“With who?”
“Possible business partner.”
“You’re being cryptic.”
“Speaking of… heard anything from your father?”
Kait looked up from the book.
“What?”
“Your father. Do you ever call Denmark? Let him know you’re still alive?”
She made a face.
“No.”
Jora sat on the edge of the chair across from her.
“You never talk about him.”
Kait shrugged.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You don’t wonder what he’s up to?”
“I know exactly what he’s up to. Partying and fucking his life away.”
“So, remind me… what exactly happened again?”
Jora watched her.
Kait closed the book over one finger.
“He lied to me.” She set the book aside. “He let me spend years thinking I could join the MC and prospect, and then he didn’t.”
“And you joined the Royal Guard. Went to Iraq, came home… got in an argument with him and got on a plane to Moscow.”
Jora already knew all of it.
This time he listened differently.
Kait nodded slowly.
“Yep…”
She looked at him for a second,
“Where is this coming from? Why are you asking about my dad all of a sudden?”
Jora stood.
“Curious, that’s all.”
Kait watched him cross the room.
He bent over the couch and kissed her.
She caught the front of his shirt before he could straighten.
“You’re being weird again.”
Jora kissed her once more, slower this time.
“I have to go.”
“What time will you be back?”
“Late. Don’t wait up.”
“Okay.”
She released his shirt.
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
Jora touched her cheek with the back of his fingers, then headed for the door.
“Hey.”
He looked back.
Kait had already reopened the book.
“I love you.”
A small smile crossed his face.
“I love you too, Kitty.”
He left.
The smile disappeared before he reached the bottom of the stairs.
The port was quieter than Jora expected.
Not empty.
Never empty.
But quiet enough that the sounds carried farther than they should have. Engines idled somewhere beyond the rows of containers. Metal struck metal in the distance. A crane moved against the dark sky, its lights sweeping slowly over stacked cargo.
Maksim drove through the gate and followed the directions Barinov had given them.
Jora sat in the passenger seat.
“Warehouse fourteen.”
Maksim glanced at the paper.
“That one?”
Jora looked through the windshield.
A long warehouse stood near the end of the row. Two cars were parked outside.
No truck.
No men unloading.
No electronics.
Jora looked at his watch.
“We’re early.”
“I guess.”
Maksim pulled alongside the building.
Jora got out.
“Wait here.”
Maksim killed the engine.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
Jora looked toward the warehouse.
“Barinov wanted me here. Let me see what he wants first.”
Maksim watched him for a second, then nodded.
Jora walked toward the side door.
It opened before he reached it.
A man he recognized from Barinov’s security company stood inside.
“Zmeyev.”
“Where’s Barinov?”
“Inside.”
Jora stepped through.
The door shut behind him.
The warehouse was mostly dark beyond the first row of overhead lights.
There were no pallets of electronics.
No workers.
No shipment.
Barinov stood near a folding table twenty feet away.
Oleg was beside him.
Three other men waited farther back.
Jora stopped.
Oleg smiled.
Jora looked at Barinov.
“There’s no shipment, is there?”
“No.”
Barinov motioned toward him.
One of the men came forward.
“Gun.”
Jora didn’t move.
Barinov waited.
Jora looked at Oleg again.
The smile hadn’t gone anywhere.
Slowly, Jora reached beneath his coat, removed his pistol and handed it over.
The man stepped behind him and searched him.
Wallet.
Knife.
Keys.
Everything went onto the table.
Jora kept his eyes on Barinov.
“What is this?”
Barinov picked up Jora’s wallet.
“You tell me.”
Jora said nothing.
Barinov opened it, looked through it, then dropped it back onto the table.
“How long have you known Viktor?”
Jora felt something tighten in his stomach.
He didn’t let it reach his face.
“Which Viktor.”
“Don’t play stupid with me. The bookie.”
“I’ve met him a few times, for business.”
“What business?”
“Mine.”
Barinov stared at him.
Jora held his gaze.
Barinov nodded once.
Oleg moved before Jora could turn.
The punch landed hard beneath his ribs.
Jora folded forward.
Oleg caught the back of his coat and drove another fist into his stomach.
Jora stumbled sideways.
A third punch caught his mouth.
He hit the concrete on one knee.
Oleg stepped back.
Still smiling.
Jora wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Blood streaked across it.
Barinov hadn’t moved.
“Let’s try again.”
Jora stood slowly.
“What business do you have with Viktor?”
“I needed information.”
“About what?”
Jora said nothing.
Oleg hit him again.
This time Jora saw it coming.
He couldn’t do anything about it.
Two men caught his arms before he could move.
Oleg drove his fist into Jora’s ribs.
Once.
Twice.
The third folded him between the men holding him.
Oleg grabbed his hair and pulled his head back.
“You should’ve minded your own fucking business before bringing that bitch into ours.”
Jora breathed through his mouth.
“So this is about her?”
Oleg punched him across the face.
Jora’s head snapped sideways.
“No,” Barinov said. “This is about Viktor.”
Oleg released him.
The men shoved Jora upright.
Barinov walked closer.
“You’ve been meeting him for months.”
Jora looked at Oleg.
There it was.
Oleg hadn’t guessed.
He knew.
“I was looking for someone.”
“Who?”
Jora didn’t answer.
Oleg stepped closer.
Barinov let him.
The next punch opened Jora’s lip.
Another landed against his ribs.
Jora tried to twist away.
The men held him.
Oleg struck him again.
And again.
When they finally released him, Jora dropped to his hands and knees.
Oleg walked around him.
“Come on, pretty boy.”
Jora looked up.
Oleg smiled down at him.
“You always have so much to say.”
Jora pushed himself onto one knee.
Barinov waited.
“Who were you looking for?”
Jora breathed carefully.
His ribs hurt when he pulled too much air.
He looked at the concrete.
Then at Barinov.
“Dragunov.”
Barinov’s expression didn’t change.
“Konstantine?”
“Yes.”
“So you know who she is and you’ve kept it to yourself this whole time.”
Oleg smirked.
Jora looked at Oleg.
Of course.
That’s what this was all about.
They already knew.
“Yes.”
Oleg laughed under his breath.
Barinov stared at Jora.
“You’ve known for three fucking months that the girl sleeping in your apartment is Konstantine Dragunov’s granddaughter.”
“She came here looking for him.”
“And you decided not to tell me.”
“It had nothing to do with you.”
Barinov hit him.
Jora went down hard.
His shoulder struck the concrete.
Before he could push himself up, Barinov kicked him in the ribs.
Jora curled around the pain.
“You brought Konstantine Dragunov’s granddaughter into my business.”
Another kick.
“You brought her to collections.”
Jora grunted and rolled onto his back.
“You brought her around my men.”
“She isn’t a spy. She doesn’t give a fuck about any of that.”
Barinov grabbed the front of Jora’s coat and pulled him halfway upright.
“How are you so sure?”
“Because I know her. She isn’t part of this.”
Barinov stared into his face.
“The fuck she isn’t.”
Barinov released him.
Jora dropped back against the concrete.
His ribs burned every time he breathed.
Oleg folded his arms.
“She comes all the way from Denmark looking for Dragunov and happens to end up in bed with one of Barinov’s men.”
Jora turned his head toward him.
Oleg smiled again.
“Lucky girl.”
“Fuck you.”
Oleg kicked him in the stomach.
Jora rolled onto his side.
Barinov didn’t stop him this time.
Oleg crouched beside Jora.
“You know what else is funny?”
Jora spat blood onto the concrete.
Oleg leaned closer.
“You start doing better right after she shows up.”
Jora looked at him.
“Collections get cleaner. Money comes in faster. You start getting more responsibility. And all the while, you’re meeting a man connected to Dragunov and fucking his granddaughter.”
“I don’t work for him either.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Jora pushed himself upright against one of the warehouse posts.
“That’s the truth.”
Barinov walked toward him.
“Maybe.”
Jora looked up.
“Or maybe Konstantine put his granddaughter in your bed to spy on my district.”
Jora’s face hardened.
“No.”
“Maybe you were supposed to bring her into my business. Maybe she’s been feeding Dragunov everything she sees.”
“No. I fucking swear to you.”
Barinov stared at him.
“You know what will happen to us if Minkov finds out we haven’t exactly disclosed all of our earnings.”
Jora forced himself to stand.
His legs felt unsteady beneath him.
“That’s not… going to happen.”
He was beginning to understand that it didn’t matter what he said.
Barinov wasn’t asking questions anymore.
He was deciding whether Jora was a threat.
And Jora needed to walk out of the warehouse alive.
Everything else could be dealt with afterward.
“I’m not a fucking rat,” he said. “I don’t work for Dragunov… She doesn’t work for Dragunov… our district is safe. Dragunov doesn’t know shit, and neither does Minkov.”
Barinov studied him for several seconds.
Then he walked back toward the table.
“We’ll see.”
Jora wiped his bleeding lip.
“What does that mean?”
Barinov poured himself a drink.
“Now get the fuck out of here and don’t let me find out you met with Dragunov’s people again.”
