Early morning. Stretching lazily, Hunter looked at the rumpled bed sheets before heading to the bathroom to wash the sweat from his body.
"This hotel... is definitely more than it seems."
Last night, after realizing his room at the Moscow Nights hotel was bugged and monitored by cameras, he had quickly covered the lens facing the bed with his discarded clothes.
But only minutes later, the front desk had called, asking if he needed "service."
Hunter wasn't an ordinary guy anymore.
Over the past two months, he had dealt with street racers, the FBI, the LAPD, shady lawyers, international thieves, and armed robbers.
After interacting with so many dangerous people, his instincts had sharpened.
Last night, the hotel had sent up a pair of stunning, enthusiastic girls.
But shortly after they arrived, one of them had "accidentally" kicked away the clothes Hunter had draped over the camera.
While Hunter hadn't experienced this specific tactic before, combining it with everything else led to a clear guess.
"Is the Russian Mafia behind this place?"
The Russian mob wasn't just active in the US; they were notorious globally.
Originating from the Gulags of the Soviet era, they spread across the world after the USSR collapsed. They quickly established footholds in wealthy Western nations.
While some immigrants were elites and technicians, many were from the lower class.
And among those desperate enough to fight for a living abroad, a significant number were hardened criminals who had survived the Gulags. They were ruthless and fearless.
Facing discrimination in their new homes, they banded together. Within a decade, the "Russian Mafia" became a synonym for brutality.
This was true in Europe, and even more so in the US, where Russian immigrants concentrated.
Fortunately, Hunter wasn't here to start trouble.
The fact that they sent girls up was likely just a probe because he covered the camera.
He had a mission in Boston. As long as he didn't provoke them, there was no conflict.
After a quick shower, Hunter considered changing hotels.
But figuring his mission would only take another day or two, he decided it wasn't worth the hassle.
He extended his stay for two more days, ate a buffet breakfast, and left the hotel under the watchful eyes of the burly male staff and the receptionists.
On the way, he bought a cheap burner phone and an unregistered SIM card.
The address Dom gave him wasn't in the main port area but at an inland river dock about thirty kilometers away.
Hunter had memorized the address. It took him a while to drive there.
Following the directions, he found a warehouse near the dock.
"This is it?"
Looking at the tightly shut warehouse doors, Hunter frowned.
He scanned the area to ensure it was safe.
Then, he leaped up, kicked off the wall for leverage, and grabbed the sill of a window more than four meters above the ground.
Pulling himself up, he peered through the glass.
It was an empty warehouse. Completely bare.
Hunter dropped back down.
He figured this was the drop point rented by Dom's buyers.
He pulled a metal pick from his Inventory.
With [Lockpicking Lv 5], the lock yielded in seconds.
He pushed the door open, checked inside for cameras (finding none), and then waved his hand.
The air shimmered.
The massive shipping container he had stored in his Inventory back in LA suddenly materialized in the middle of the empty warehouse.
Job done.
Hunter walked out, relocked the door, and found a hiding spot nearby with a clear view of the entrance.
First, he sent an email to Dom.
"I have arrived. The package has been delivered."
"I will contact the client immediately for pick up. All is well."
After sending the email, Hunter used the burner phone to dial the number Dom had provided.
Ring... Ring...
The call connected.
Hunter pinched his throat slightly, deliberately lowering his voice to a raspy growl.
"The shipment from LA has arrived."
"Come pick it up. It's in the agreed warehouse."
As he spoke, a mechanical chime sounded in his head.
[New Skill Acquired: Voice Modulation]
Hunter chuckled internally. Trying to hide his voice had triggered a new skill. Nice bonus.
On the other end of the line, there was a long silence. Then, the call disconnected without a word.
Hunter wasn't offended. People buying stolen goods—especially goods hijacked by Dom Toretto—were prime targets for the police, FBI, and IRS.
If they weren't cautious, they'd be in prison already.
Hunter stowed the phone in his Inventory and waited patiently in his hiding spot.
About fifteen minutes later, a sedan and two vans pulled up to the warehouse.
More than a dozen men got out. They were heavily tattooed and looked tough.
Most carried baseball bats, but Hunter noticed the bulges at their waists indicating concealed firearms. Two massive men, nearly two meters tall, openly carried shotguns as they stepped out of the vans.
"Judging by skin tone... Hispanic?"
Hunter had been in this world long enough to distinguish between the various immigrant groups based on appearance and mannerisms.
After observing them for a moment, he was sure.
Their skin tone was reddish-brown-white—typical Latino features. He couldn't tell if they were South American, Caribbean, or Central American, but they were definitely Latino.
The group talked in front of the warehouse for a bit.
One man inspected the lock. Others patrolled the perimeter.
Finally, someone fiddled with the lock and opened the door.
A commotion erupted from the group as they saw the container inside.
Almost everyone rushed in, leaving only a few lookouts outside.
Hunter didn't know exactly what happened inside, but he assumed they were verifying the goods.
Half an hour later, two small trucks arrived and drove into the warehouse.
They worked until almost noon before leaving.
Hunter took photos with his digital camera for proof.
Although he assumed Dom trusted these people, Hunter decided to be safe. He tailed the convoy until they reached their stronghold.
Only after confirming their base of operations did he feel comfortable leaving.
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