Page 11 of Warlord’s Empire

“I… I didn’t know what they were going to do,” Grossman defended, struggling in Radik’s hold. “I swear if I’d known I would never have let them in.”

“So you admit to your negligence.”

Grossman’s skin took on a greenish hue. He knew who Radik was, which meant he knew what was coming.

“I… I… please… I didn’t mean….” That was as far as he got. Radik allowed the rage that always simmered within him to surface. He picked Paul Grossman up by the neck, lifting him over a foot off the ground until he was eye height with Radik.

There were no dramatics, no shouting, no begging, just eerie silence as Radik choked the life out of the hotel manager. He could have snapped Grossman’s neck as he’d done with the two Russians, but he wanted this man to realize the gravity of his error before expiring.

Radik’s grip didn’t waver and he didn’t stop until Paul Grossman was dead, then he released the body, letting it fall to the floor with a thud.

“Radik?” Saskia’s voice sounded behind him, fear and disbelief in her tone.

Chapter Five

Saskia moaned, touching her pounding head as her eyes fluttered open. Sitting up, a wave of dizziness hit her. She glanced around, her eyes widening as she took everything in. Where was she?

She was on a bed in a room filled with shadows cast by a standing lamp in the corner. This was definitely not her hotel room. The furnishings were rich without being opulent, the colours walnut. The walls and carpet were white, stark against the dark furnishings. There were no personal touches, giving it a hotel feel. But definitely not the Silver Swan. So where was she?

Climbing unsteadily to her feet, she stumbled to look out the window, breathing a sigh of relief upon spotting the familiar cityscape of Pretoria at night.

A scuffling sound caught her attention and she realized there were people on the other side of the bedroom door. She crept toward it, her heart speeding up. She had no idea where she was or who brought her here. The last thing she remembered was being attacked by two Russians in the hotel kitchen’s storeroom.

She pressed her ear to the door but couldn’t catch enough to determine who was speaking. She turned the knob and cracked the door. The first person she saw was Radik and she nearly gasped out loud, her hand going to her mouth to stop the sound from escaping. He was half obscured by a wall, but she’d recognize him anywhere. His massive proportions were unmistakable. He was bigger even than Havel, Jozef’s second-in-command, and Havel was three hundred pounds of solid muscle.

Despite everything that’d happened to her, she was excited to finally, after years of waiting, be in the same room as her favourite stalker. Heart pounding, she walked steadily toward him. There were other people in the room, but she only had eyes for Radik. He was speaking to someone, his tone low and deadly, his face set in rigid lines.

Then the talking stopped and he lashed out. As she slipped past the wall, she realized what was happening. Radik was strangling someone, dangling their body in midair as he took their life. When he was finished, he let them go, the body sliding sickeningly to the floor.

Maybe it was the blow she’d taken to the head, but it was like watching a movie. Distant, surreal, intangible.

“Radik?” she said, but it came out as a whisper. Strengthening her voice, she said louder, “Radik.”

He turned, his face a mask of concern as his gaze whipped up and down her body. He rushed toward her, but she leapt away. “Don’t!” she yelled, panicked, the scene she’d just witnessed finally registering. “Don’t touch me.” She backed into the wall behind her.

He slowed, but didn’t stop. A woman shadowed him, moving behind him, her hand held loosely at her side, ready to reach for her weapon. Saskia had seen enough, experienced enough, to know the stance. The woman was Radik’s personal bodyguard.

How very forward thinking of him.

She shook her head. She didn’t need to be impressed with the man who’d just murdered someone.

“Saskia.” The way he said her name, his deep rumbling voice caressing each syllable, sent a shiver down her spine. “You should be in bed. How are you feeling?” His concern coupled with the tender tone in his voice calmed some of her fear. If he cared how she felt, then he probably didn’t intend to strangle her to death.

“Like someone beat the sh-shit out of me,” she said unsteadily, glancing at the body on the floor. “Who is he?” Was, Saskia, was. Past tense.

Radik’s lip lifted in a snarl. “The man who sent hotel security home for the day and gave key cards to the men who attacked you.”

She nodded, any sympathy she might have felt for the man draining away. “You should have handed him over to the police.”

“That’s not how I do things.” Radik’s voice was hard, his eyes glittering with ice as he stared at her. “No one touches my woman and lives.”

Oh boy. So much to unpack there.

She closed her eyes against the throbbing pain in her head, jumping when a voice next to her said, “I’m a doctor. May I check the bump on your head?”

She looked at him, taking in his sleight size, fine clothes, glasses, and concerned expression. She nodded.

“Come, sit down.” He led her toward a chair.