He did not fear being alone the way some men did, but this solitude was stifling. He needed to express himself again, the only way he knew how.
Another nine months should be sufficient. That would be a cycle and a half. The Guild would likely never stop hunting him, but their resolve would surely weaken with time. Another nine months. Yes. Then he would begin rebuilding his empire.
He lifted the glass to his face, taking a moment to savor the complex aroma. Then he sipped slowly, allowing the rich, red fluid to coat his tongue.
Exquisi—
All at once, the lights in the villa went out. Slayn’s heart leapt into his throat. Without meaning to, he spit out the mouthful of wine, and it spattered down the front of his robe.
In a flash, he was behind the bar. There, in a drawer that would only open for his fingers, nestled in a bed of soft velvet, lay a small, sleek-looking submachine gun. The compact carbine was designed to fire pistol-caliber ammunition at a high rate. It was his preferred choice for close combat.
Slayn lifted the gun from the drawer. He ejected the magazine, checked it, then slammed it home again. His heart was racing.
He told himself to calm down. It was just the storm. The backup generators would kick on any second now.
They didn’t.
Slayn stood behind the bar, listening. All he could hear was the sound of the rain peppering the roof and the steady thumping ofhis own heart, loud as a parade drum in his ears. He was more afraid than he’d ever been in his life.
No, that wasn’t quite true. He’d been this afraid once before, almost nine months ago.
Slayn hesitated for a moment. The bar offered a defensive position, but he was loath to stand still. Escape seemed like the better option. There was an armored flyer in the garage at the rear of the villa. If he ran, he could reach it in thirty seconds. Maybe less.
No. It was better not to panic. He would take his time.
Cautiously, Slayn rounded the end of the bar. The gun was trembling in his hand. His heart was in his throat. Outside, the rain was coming down in sheets.
He scanned his eyes over the open living area one last time, then he turned and headed for the door at the back of the room. The one that led toward the garage. He was halfway there when a voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
A woman’s voice.
“Slayn.”
A flash of lightning painted her silhouette onto the wall ahead of him, and his blood went cold. It was her. It was Fairchild. She had come for him.
He spun, gun raised, just as a second flash of lightning filled the room with light. For a heartbeat he saw her standing ten paces away with a katana in her hand. She was dressed in a form-fitting black bodyglove that hugged all of her curves. But those curves were different from the last time they’d met. Her breastswere larger than before, her thighs a little thicker. And most noticeably of all, her once flat belly was now huge and round with pregnancy.
She had kept it. She had kept the child.
Slayn hesitated. Here was the thing he had so desperately wanted. The thing he had lost everything attempting to create. A weapon beyond all comprehension. A Merc child.
He hesitated, but only for a moment.
With a scream of rage, Slayn pulled the trigger of the SMG and unloaded into Fairchild’s stomach. Outside, another burst of lightning split the night.
EPILOGUE 2
Sonia Fairchild stood before the holoscreen, watching. Indeed, she was dressed in a black one-piece bodyglove, just as Slayn had seen her. And indeed, she was very, very pregnant. Ready to pop at any moment, as her guys were so fond of putting it. She was not, however, in Victor Slayn’s home.
She may have been reckless, but she wasn’tthatreckless.
Not with her unborn baby inside her.
She watched with a sense of cold satisfaction as Slayn sprayed bullets into the image of the woman standing before him. She watched as the mirage came apart in a swirl of colored sand, then stitched itself back together again. She would have loved to have seen the expression on Slayn’s face when he realized what was happening, but the view on the holoscreen was from behind him.
Behind him… and slowly creeping closer.
The decoy was Slayn’s own creation, the same tech he’d used to dupe Fairchild back on Calyxia. Nine months ago, she and her teammates had found more of that same technology aboard Slayn’s ship. They had turned most of it over to the Guild, but they’d kept one for themselves. Now they were using it to distract Slayn from the real threat.
