Ronin sniffed and shook his head. “I usually like things a little more efficient.”
“You don’t say,” Soren teased, then ticked his chin toward the door. “Don’t worry, Grasshopper, you’ll get to use that shiny automatic in two shakes. You ready?” he asked, pulling a matched pair of Glocks from their holsters at his side.
Ronin scowled as he drew his weapon. “I hate thatgrasshoppershit, you know.”
“Oh, I know.” Soren delighted at how easy the guy was to rile. He smiled sweetly before speaking into the comm. “Sector one is clear. Breach the main floor in three, two,go.”
He was still smiling as he kicked the door wide and the remaining horde of men overseeing what had once been a primary export site for a worldwide human trafficking ring turned toward them, weapons drawn.
* * *
A cold breezeblew through the open windows of a packed pub where Soren’s team caroused later that night, celebrating the successful—and final—demolition mission. Five export sites in three weeks. It’d been no small feat.
Soren vented the front of his sweat-damp tee and thunked the base of a sweating beer bottle against Ronin’s shoulder. “I’mma chunk that thing into the water over there. Don’t you ever put it down?”
Ronin grinned and reached for the bottle without looking up from his phone screen. He tried to jerk away when Soren made a grab for it, but Soren was too fast.
“Work project, not porn,” Ronin grumbled, making abe-my-guestgesture as Soren examined the photo Ronin had been staring at.
The man in it was objectively handsome if one liked clean-cut, which wasn’t really Soren’s thing, but the guy’s eyes immediately captured his attention. They were far sharper than the rest of him, as if some jagged shard of his personality had poked through a bland disguise.
“This a target?” Soren asked.
“Not really. Not one of ours, anyway. He might be on someone else’s hit list, though.Probablyis.”
“Why’s that?”
Ronin took a swig of his beer. “Zoom out.”
Soren moved his fingers over the screen, diminishing the man’s photograph until a name and title appeared underneath: Tobias Eastman, PhD. Soren whistled low. “Psychopath bait?”
“Could be. Although, apparently he’s quite the marital counselor, too. Ask Madigan next time you talk to him.”
“Like hell Madigan would ever see any kind of counselor.”Soren squinted at Ronin’s grin. “You saidmarital. You telling me he saw this guy with Azrael and now, what, he’s gonna take him out?” Soren considered his former mentee a moment, then nodded. “I could see it, I guess. Sounds like Madigan.” Madigan would kill a fly if he thought it looked at him wrong, and he was insanely protective of his lover, a fellow assassin who specialized in poisons.
Ronin barked out a laugh. “Not quite. Eastman was instrumental in helping us break into Bennington’s compound. Earned himself a nice little hole in his back, too.”
Soren zoomed back in on the photograph, scrutinizing Eastman’s unassuming countenance and those piercing eyes once more. Warmth pooled in his groin as he shoved the phone back at Ronin. “So, why’s he so interesting to you?”
Ronin shrugged. “He’s connected to a couple of targets on the Red Queen’s hit list.”
Soren sucked down another draught of beer. He knew about the deadpool. Madigan had offered him access to the list, but he’d shrugged it off. Technically, he considered himself retired, and, technically, he tried to keep his curiosity on a short leash. Barring a few projects for close friends, Soren was into island hopping and easy living these days. He’d done fifteen solid years in the trenches of merc work. But his gaze kept sliding back to Ronin’s screen.
He finished his beer and grabbed another from the bucket, then twisted the cap off. “So, who’s got it out for this doctor?”
“No one that I know of yet. It’s probably a matter of time, though, so my plan was to try to get some info out of him about some of these other targets before he gets taken out.” Ronin rubbed the back of his neck. “Not sure I’m gonna be able to get to all of them, though. I’ve got some trouble brewing back home with family stuff.”
Curiosity won out. Soren set down his beer bottle. “Who are these targets?”
“Oh, you know, just your average garbage humans that need to be taken out.”
“In point of fact, we’re also garbage humans.”
Ronin lifted a brow. “Not sure about you, but I have my own code of honor.”
“There’s no honor among thieves, Grasshopper.” Soren shook his head with a chuckle.“Or killers.” That hadn’t bothered him in a very long time. Ronin’s code amused him, though.
“Sure there is, but I won’t argue with you about it. You’ll win somehow. I already know this. You’ve got that relaxed zen thing going on.” He passed his phone to Soren again and tapped the screen.
