“We use the term trinity,” Eric said slowly, the “we” in his sentence the Masters’ Admiralty, though Gus didn’t know that. Not yet.
“I…I have things I have to…” Gus shook his head, still looking shocked and lost. “I should tell you?—”
Both doors burst open at once.
The sound of it was shocking as the connecting door to the other suite and the door into the hotel hallway cracked back against the walls.
Nikolett jumped in shock at the sound, then nearly fell as she was pulled in two directions. Both Eric and Gus were yanking her toward them.
She made a small sound of pain, and Eric released her with a worried look.
That allowed Gus to spin her into his arms as the room flooded with masked, armed men.
Her brain had clicked into crisis mode and calmly catalogued what she was seeing.
Nearly twenty people had spilled into the room. The front line were riot troops, their identities completely obscured by helmets with visors. Half had large shields; the other half had rifles tucked against their shoulders.
Behind the riot troops were…her people. This wasn’t an attack. At least not on her.
A cold, slimy dread slid through Nikolett.
Iacob and Zoran were among the second layer of people, wearing casual clothes but armed, expressions hard. Now that she was looking for it, she was able to pick out Maxim among the riot troops based on the distinctive way he cocked his head.
She identified the other non-riot gear people as French knights and security officers. Raphael was toward the back, speaking quietly into the microphone on his headset. She didn’t see Grigoris.
They’d burst in as a coordinated surprise attack, and everyone was looking at, aiming at,her.
Except it wasn’t her, and she knew it. Had known who they were here for the moment the doors burst open, before she was even certain it was allies, not enemies flooding into the room.
Gus’ arm tightened around her waist as he pulled her back flush against his front.
They weren’t aiming at her. They were aiming at Gus.
Nikolett cupped her right fist with her left hand, then slammed her right elbow back into his stomach.
Gus grunted, hold loosening, but before she could get away, he brought his left hand in toward himself in a sharp jerking motion, slamming the side of his fist into her midsection, simultaneously forcing her back against him and knocking the breath out of her.
Nikolett bent forward, gasping as her diaphragm spasmed from the force of the blow.
Her gaze sought, and found, Eric. Regina and Keanu were trying to hold him, but Eric shrugged them both off. Yet he didn’t rush her and Gus. His gaze was locked on something in Gus’ right hand.
Eric’s hard stare was enough warning that she wasn’t surprised when Gus forced her upright, then nudged her chin up with the flat of a knife.
He pressed the cold, sharp edge against her throat.
Everyone tensed. It was the last thing she saw before he forced her chin even higher and she was looking at the ceiling.
Gus bent his head, lips brushing her hair, her ear.
Eric’s snarl of rage made her heart lurch, and she realized she could just barely see him in her peripheral vision. Eric didn’t move, gaze still fastened to the knife, which was now running up and down her throat.
“I’m sorry, Nikolett,” Gus murmured, all traces of Scottish accent gone. Instead, his English was colored by a lovely Spanish accent.
The fact that she’d been right was cold comfort.
“Why?” she asked so low only he could hear. She needed to know why he hated her enough to torture and torment her formonths. The information could not remain private, she knew that. Nikolett only hoped to get an answer either before she died, or in time to process the answer on her own before it became the topic of meetings and post-action briefings.
He whispered something in what she thought was Catalan rather than Spanish, but his words were cut off by the sound of glass shattering behind them, then a pop.
