"You're crazy!" Kiko spat, his voice trembling with fury as he ducked low in the driver's seat. The first gunshot had shattered the fragile calm of the night, ripping apart the cool silence like glass under a hammer. His knuckles whitened against the steering wheel, sweat beading on his forehead. "You're bloody mad!"
Jason didn't flinch. His eyes were locked on the warehouse's rear door, his tone sharp but hushed, every word carrying urgency. "Just hold on for a little while! He'll come out very soon."
Kiko whipped his head toward him, disbelief etched across his face. "Who?!" he barked, his voice cracking with panic. "Who will come out soon? Who the hell are we risking our lives for?"
Jason didn't answer. His jaw was set, his gaze unyielding. He knew that door was the only way out, and if Pedro was still alive, that was where he'd appear.
The timing was perfect—Jason had chosen this moment deliberately, arriving when the chaos inside was at its peak. But what he hadn't accounted for was the Raptors storming the Hammerheads. He hadn't even realized this was Raptor territory, and now the air was thick with gunfire, screams, and the acrid stench of smoke.
Suddenly, the warehouse door burst open. A man stumbled out, his body a mess of blood and bruises, his curses loud and ragged as he ran.
Jason's eyes flicked to Kiko, who wasted no time—his foot slammed the accelerator, the car lurching forward toward the fleeing figure.
Jason leaned out of the window, his face unnervingly calm, as though the gunfight raging behind them was nothing more than background noise. "Get in!" he commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos.
Pedro, running at full speed, didn't hesitate. He dove into the back seat with the desperation of a man leaping for survival, slamming the door shut behind him.
Kiko jerked the wheel, tires screeching as the car shot forward, the night swallowing them whole. They were just in time. Belikov stormed out of the same door, revolver in hand, his coat flaring behind him like the wings of a predator. His eyes locked instantly on the car speeding away. He didn't need to guess—Pedro was inside.
Raising the revolver, he fired shot after shot, the bullets sparking against the pavement and metal, chasing the car until it turned sharply at the junction and disappeared into the darkness.
Belikov lowered the weapon, his frown deepening as he slid the revolver back into his coat pocket. He stood there, unmoving, his silhouette sharp against the dim glow of the streetlights.
Behind him, his gang members began to spill out of the warehouse, their boots crunching on broken glass, their faces grim but obedient, the smell of gunpowder clinging to them like a second skin
One of them stepped forward, wiping blood from his knuckles, his voice steady but cautious. "Boss," he said, lowering his head slightly, "the Raptors inside… they've been dealt with. No one left alive."
Belikov's jaw tightened. He let the silence stretch, his gaze sweeping across the group like a blade. The men shifted uneasily under his stare, each one praying the weight of his eyes would pass them by.
Finally, Belikov spoke, his voice low and deliberate, every word dripping with menace. Which one of you," he asked slowly, colder than the night air, "chose this warehouse?"
The question hung in the air like a noose. The gang exchanged nervous glances, their loyalty colliding with fear. At last, one stepped forward, trying to mask his trembling with bravado. "It was me, boss. I thought it was clear—"
The crack of the revolver cut him short. The man dropped instantly, his body hitting the ground with a dull thud that echoed louder than the gunshot itself.
The others froze, their breaths caught in their throats, the silence now absolute. Belikov holstered the weapon with deliberate calm, his movements precise, almost ritualistic. "Clean him up," he ordered, his tone flat, devoid of emotion. "Clean the warehouse. No traces. Burn what you must."
His gaze shifted back toward the street where the car had vanished, his eyes sharp, calculating, and merciless. "And find Pedro. Whoever picked him up… whoever thought they could steal from me… bring them to me alive."
The gang moved quickly, dragging the body back inside, their loyalty fueled by fear rather than respect. Some began gathering weapons, others barked orders to secure vehicles. The air was thick with urgency, the scent of blood and smoke clinging to their clothes.
Inside the warehouse, flames began to lick at the walls as barrels of fuel were overturned, igniting the remnants of the Raptor ambush. The crackle of fire joined the night chorus, erasing evidence of the massacre.
Outside, engines roared to life as Belikov's lieutenants prepared to scour the city. Belikov stood unmoving, his presence alone enough to keep them in line. He was a man who ruled not with promises, but with the certainty of violence.
His men knew that hesitation meant death, and obedience was the only path to survival. The night was far from over. The Raptors were gone, their blood staining the warehouse floor, but now a new hunt had begun—one that would stretch beyond the warehouse walls, into the city's veins.
Belikov's wrath was not a storm that passed; it was a tide that rose steadily, drowning everything in its path. And somewhere in the city, Jason, Kiko, and Pedro were racing through the streets, unaware that the shadow of Belikov's vengeance was already stretching toward them. The hunt had begun, and Belikov would not rest until Pedro—and the men who dared to save him—were dragged back into his grasp.