The car's engine growled beneath us, the vibration humming through the seat as Natalya gripped her phone like it was the throat of the man who'd crossed her. Her jaw was clenched, her knuckles white, the air around her crackling with barely contained rage.
I glanced at her, the anger radiating off her like scorching heat, her body coiled like a spring ready to unleash.
"Boss," I said, my voice low, controlled, "what's happened?"
She shot me a look, her eyes burning with something feral, dangerous. "Our weapon consignment was hijacked," she snarled, her voice a razor's edge of fury.
"While it was en route to the port from the warehouse." Her lips twisted into a sneer, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
"Someone dares to target it—even knowing it was mine." Her fingers tightened around the phone, her gaze locking onto the darkness outside the window. "They must be tired of living."
