Our fight went off the rails. I was sopissedat her snooping, at the accusation in her tone, in those beautiful green eyes.
With a clearer head, I realize she never intended to spy and wasn’t doing anything other than protecting herself.
She wasn’t wrong to be upset. Ididplan to betray her, even if the more time I spent with her, the more I questioned what I truly wanted out of life.
As soon as we’re safe, I’ll make amends. First, though, I need to kill some more Russians.
I spent the morning and afternoon prepping. Gathering weapons. Mapping out my advantage.
One of the worst men I know has Trinity in his clutches, so I’m anticipating a mess.
More like a bloodbath, probably.
I chose a defunct old warehouse for our meetup. The building hovers on the edge of the city, far from the crowds and festivities. The perfect spot for a fight.
No witnesses or interruptions.
I knew Grigori would agree, and I required a head start to prepare.
By the time I called the Russian asshole, I’d already arrived to transform this place into my playground.
Another ten-on-one brawl means I need to exploit every possible advantage. I don’t doubt my ability to handle his men, even with my busted leg, but with Trinity in the mix…
Her safety is my priority.
I walk the dusty floor for the dozenth time, once again checking my weapon placement. A gun here, a knife there, a grenade up a jester’s ass.
The warehouse serves as a graveyard for Mardi Gras floats, greens and purples and yellows all merging into fifty shades of dirt. Chicken wire covered inpapier-mâché and foam bends into strange, monstrous shapes in the gloom.
The old, dry paper reminds me of a library. My mother read a book to me every night before bed, and the scent threatens to swamp me with memories.
But I can’t linger in those thoughts. No time.
The scrape of metal along the concrete draws my attention. That’s the door due west.
My guests have arrived.
Two sets of footsteps echo first—I’d guess Grigori and Andrei, if he managed to get his ass into fighting shape—followed by too many to count as they enter the warehouse.
The noise covers my movements as I climb up into the open mouth of a giant alligator. The reptile is halfway out of a truck bed, waiting for its next meal. The perch in its mouth provides a perfect blind spot where I can watch my prey waltz into my trap.
Grigori reaches the center of the warehouse, his pistol at his side, his eyes sharp as they peer through the haze.
Predictably, Andrei trails at his heels, loyal as a yappy lapdog.
A handful of Grigori’s men follow behind them, with Trinity in tow.
She’s a lone unarmed woman among a half dozen armed and dangerous killers, and they’re flanking her like she’s a war criminal. The skin of her upper arm hollows beneath a goon’s bruising grip.
I stifle a growl and memorize the fucker’s face.
She’s breathing and in one piece. Despite the moist, gray air hanging heavy between us, those coppery waves shimmer and bounce with every step. I remember the way those tresses brushed against my cheek, the softness of them tangled in my fingers.
Adrenaline floods my system at the sight of her.
Grigori studies his surroundings, squinting into the dim lighting. The sun is sinking on the far side of the warehouse where the windows are thin and high. The hanging lamps sit thirty feet up, with fifteen feet of stale dust suspended between them and the floats below.
His visibility sucks, and he doesn’t like that. From the way his eyes move, I can tell he’s not even considering the potential of me hidinginsidea float.
