Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 127461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
“I understand how you feel, Tanja,” Gorya said. “She’s my brightest light. I sometimes feel as if I can’t breathe without her.”
We can’t stay any longer, baby. I’m sorry. I know you want to stay and just look at her.
Maya leaned into him. “When this is over, Tanja, please say we can spend time getting to know each other again.”
“I would love that,” Tanja said. “I guess you have a plan.”
“Our specialty is going into their homes and cutting their throats,” Gorya said. “We don’t intend to leave any of them alive. Your jobs will be to get the prisoners to safety, burn down warehouses, destroy Krylov’s drug supplies, steal his weapons and take his money. Every man and woman dealing in trafficking needs to die tonight. We’ve got the manpower to accomplish this.”
Tanja gave him a small smile. “Don’t leave out the power of the women.”
Gorya returned her smile. “I don’t think that’s going to happen. We’re counting on it.”
* * *
• • •
Artur Krylov had never been more furious in his life. He’d been awakened from a sound sleep by his guards and given the report that several of his key people had been found dead in their homes. Dead. Murdered. Fires had broken out at every warehouse where the shipments of drugs and arms were held before being crated for the freighters. Millions of dollars going up in smoke. And the women and children they’d had ready for market? Gone. Vanished into thin air.
He’d been steadily losing prisoners over the last few years. The number had started small, just one or two gone with each shipment, but then a steady drain. He knew he had a few rats, and this time he was going to get answers.
“Bring me the Boston brothers. I know they’re behind this,” he snapped. “And find out how many of my men we lost tonight.” He’d texted just about everyone he trusted in his crew and no one, not a single man, had texted him back.
A chill slid down his spine. First his brother went silent on him and now this. He paced outside, back and forth, his leopard every bit as restless and as edgy as he was. He knew something was very wrong. His five personal guards stayed close, as if they felt that same unease as he did.
It seemed as if it took forever before his enforcer returned, dragging Melor Boston with him, hands tied behind his back. The prisoner was thrust onto the ground a distance from Artur. Melor struggled to his knees and regarded Artur calmly, which only infuriated him more. That was one of the reasons he despised the Boston brothers. They gave him no respect. He was the lair leader, for fuck’s sake, and they looked at him with contempt.
“Where’s his brother?” he demanded.
“He wasn’t home. Just this one,” his enforcer told him.
Artur drew his knife—the one he loved, the one with the long, gleaming blade that scared the hell out of everyone—and took two steps toward Melor. “I know you’re part of this. Where’s your brother?”
A leopard’s roar filled the night, stilling all other sounds. It was one of rage. Of challenge. The menacing sound stopped Krylov in his tracks. He looked carefully around and then at the five guards and his enforcer, the ones always shadowing him. They gripped their weapons as they peered out into the night, trying to pierce the veil of eerie fog that had crept in off the sea.
“I challenge you for leadership.” The voice was very clear. Unfamiliar. Unafraid. Extremely confident.
“Shoot the bastard dead,” Artur ordered his men. “I don’t have time for this crap. I need to know what’s happening to my crew and every one of my warehouses.” He had taken two steps toward Melor when another voice came out of the darkness.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to ignore a legitimate challenge for leadership of a lair. No true leader can afford to do such a thing and keep the respect of his men. If you try to avoid a valid challenge or cheat by having one of your men use a weapon to prevent your leopard from having to fight, that brands you a coward in the eyes of all shifters.”
A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. Gorya Amurov. Artur gripped the hilt of the knife so tight his knuckles turned white. More shadows emerged. Too many. A virtual army. Amurov hadn’t come alone. Artur recognized Fyodor, Mitya, Sevastyan and Timur. There were others he knew from his childhood. And so many more. He was surrounded. His pitiful five security guards and lonely enforcer weren’t going to cut it. It would be suicide for them to go up against that army of grim-faced shifters. His only recourse was to meet the challenge.
He shrugged his shoulders. His leopard was in shape. Fast. A killer. The cat enjoyed killing. He’d never been defeated. He wasn’t being challenged by one of the Amurov leopards. He tossed the knife on the ground and signaled to his crew to put down their weapons. The idiots had already done so. That made him look weak, but he refused to acknowledge it to the audience. He was too aware of the rest of his people moving forward, looking on. They’d heard that roaring challenge.