Fast Cars (Working Title)

Chapter 22

Don staggered into the building, clutching the bottle. He pressed the bottle to his lips and drank deeply, wishing the liquid would burn his insides. He settled onto the couch before he glared at Dmitry. "Having me followed?"

Dmitry shrugged. "Can't be too careful."

Don smirked. "I'm useless, remember? Drunk equals useless."

"I'm going to need you to run point. We're going in tomorrow."

Don shook his head. "Nah. I think you'll want the new information I got."

Dmitry and Christian turned to face him. "News?"

"Yeah." Don stretched his arms across the back of the couch and crossed his ankles. "I went out on a boat yesterday."

"What? My man said nothing of that."

Don grinned. "Yeah. He thought I was home, drinking all day." He shrugged. "Probably should have been." He took a deep breath. "At any rate. I ran a fishing line out and sat and watched. Had a good fish dinner last night."

Dmitry seethed. "And?"

"Oh, it was good. Really good. Beer battered, deep fried delicious." He nodded his head.

"Not the fish, you idiot. What did you see?"

Don laughed. "A little anxious, are ya?"

"Don, so help me..."

Don snapped to attention, leaning forward. "So help you what? What else can you take from me? I've lost my girl. I've lost my dog. Are ya gonna take my car? My life? Great! Maybe I'll meet up with them in the afterlife."

"Dmitry! Don! That's enough. You two are worse than children." Christian moved to sit in his overstuffed chair. "Don, what did you see?"

Don smiled. "Boats. Lotsa boats. Lotsa men." He looked at Dmitry. "Men with guns."

Dmitry scoffed. "Guns we can handle."

"Pistols, yeah. Assault rifles? Not so much. The moved a lot of crates on and off the island. Those things in the water that looked like mines or booby traps? They're not. It's like a railway system. Hydraulics brings it to the surface and they run things on and off the island from there. Dmitry, you're outclassed on this one."

"Why should we believe you?"

Don took another long drink from the bottle in his hand. "Because. I've got pictures."

"Well?"

Don shook his head. "I think we need to renegotiate."

"You don't have what it takes to renegotiate," Dmitry scoffed.

Don chuckled and laid his pistol in his lap. "No?"

Dmitry's evil smile split his face. "No. It'll take more than that."

"Hm. That's tragic. I'd hoped you'd give up before I had to kill you."

"You don't have the stomach for death. You've proven that time and again."

"Maybe. Maybe I just don't have the stomach for innocent's deaths."

Guns cocked all around the room.

"Don came to me and told me what was happening around here," Christian started. "I didn't want to believe him at first because, honestly, why would my own son plot to destroy me? Why, when he would inherit everything I've built. He brought some pretty convincing evidence."

Dmitry paled. "What? He wouldn't."

Don grinned and cocked his own pistol, caressing the barrel. "No?"

Dmitry lunged forward and attempted to wrestle the pistol from his grasp. Shots rang out through the room as chaos broke out. Men from all sides fought each other. Women screamed and scrambled away from the melee.

"I'll kill you, you double crosser."

Don gritted his teeth and plowed a fist into Dmitry's face. Blood spurted everywhere. Another volley of shots ripped through the building. Don gasped and arched backward as his back seemed to explode. Darts of pain radiated outward to each finger. His toes cramped. He fell to the floor, unable to make anything respond. His eyes widened as Dmitry grabbed his chest, crimson seeping through his fingers.

Don groaned. Men ran around them. Canisters flew through broken windows as glass tinkled to the floor. Gas filled the air followed by an explosion. White light blinded him as his ears rang from the concussions. His body twitched as he tried to will himself to move, to drag himself across the room to a safer location.

"Hold on, Donovan. We'll get you out."

His lungs burned, aching for fresh air. He tried to cough but blood threatened to drown him.

A hand settled on his chest, holding him down as an oxygen mask was pressed against his face. His eyes refused to focus, instead, the room blurred and spun.

"Don. Donovan. Nick! Nicolas Donovan!"

A smile crossed his face as he heard his name.