Meridian began firing and didn’t stop until his clip was empty, then reloaded in a blur of steel.
The men who were still alive dove for cover.
His brothers didn’t stop until no one was left breathing.
Zorion walked out of the tree line, dragging two limp bodies who thought the forest would shield them.
Meridian scanned the battlefield, counting the bodies with the casualness of counting loose change.
Scar stared into the unseeing eyes of dead men and felt nothing, he wouldn’t mourn monsters who targeted the weak.
Meridian went toward the hostages, who all cowered away from him.
“It’s okay,” Gage said in a low tone. “I know he looks scary, but he’s here to defend you.”
Meridian was surveying the huddled group. No sympathy or softness in gaze, just assessment.
He stopped, his dark glare locking on a man cowering behind Gage. He wore dingy green cargo pants, a tattered black T-shirt, and combat boots. He had a sweaty, blood-splattered scarf over his face that left only his red-rimmed eyes visible.
Meridian fisted his collar and flung him backward as if he weighed nothing.
He skidded across the dirt before he scrambled to his knees, sobbing and shaking like a leaf. The guy raised his hand and steepled them together as if he were facing the devil himself and praying that God might save him.
Whisper was yanked from its cover, deadly steel flashing in the dim light, the movement so fast it barely disturbed the air.
The hostages all cried out, “No! Please. Mercy! Spare him!”
Meridian not only didn’t show emotion, but he also couldn’t hear it.
He raised his arm and snapped it forward.
Gage slid in from behind Meridian, threading the narrowest space with surgical exactness, snapped his cane out, and blocked Whisper’s path a second before it drew blood.
Carbon steel clashed with titanium in a hard, resounding crack that rang in Scar’s ear.
He rushed to his partner’s side, ready to defend whatever the fuck he was doing.
Meridian scowled down at Gage from beneath the shadow of his hood.
Meridian’s tone was stoic and frigid. “Move.”
Gage ignored him.
“Spare him.”
“No,” Meridian growled.
Still not lowering his cane, with his other hand, Gage yanked the guy’s covering off in, exposing a boy’s terrified face.
Meridian didn’t soften, but he did pause.
“Look,” he snarled back at Meridian, “he’s just a kid. Leave him be.”
A young, battered, dirt-encrusted face stared up at them. His sunken eyes were wide, not with hatred, with haunted dread.
Meridian’s jaw flexed once before he slowly lowered Whisper and tucked her back in her hiding place. He turned away as if the boy or his decision not to kill him meant nothing.
Gage crouched at the kid’s side. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”
