Page 65 of Black and Brown

“Fuck you,” Mirage snarled.

The man continued with his orders as if Mirage’s fury had no effect on him.

“Lee Woyashi will stand before the tribunal of my Order to be judged and punished for his crimes. Regarding Zelmir Benton…we will not allow you to take the life of an innocent man.”

“Woyashi and Zelmir Benton are terrorists and will be dead before the sun rises,” Mirage countered, just as sure.

“Death is too merciful for Woyashi. We are here to take him into the custody of the Order before day’s end.”

“You have no dominion here,” Mirage rebutted.

He stood behind Grace, doing what he always did by relaying the words his partner had to say.

“My dominion is wherever I stand, assassin.”

The ninja narrowed his piercing eyes.

“I do not wish to harm either of you, as you’re merely the ones pulling the trigger. You tell your superiors who wield the gun that my demand is nonnegotiable.”

If the motherfucker hadn’t just sneak-attacked them, Mirage would’ve considered his whole getup and accent kinda sexy.

The silent one waiting in the corner eased from his position and moved around them, positioning him and Grace in the middle.

Once the low light hit his face, Mirage stared back at cunning gray eyes that shone with deception and trickery.

“Then I am afraid we’ve reached an impasse,” Mirage said at the same time Grace pulled his Berettas from the holsters under his arms.

Mirage yanked two knives from under the cuffs of his sleeves and flung them backward toward the man advancing from the rear.

The gray-eyed mischief twisted his body at an impossible angle, dodging both blades, and advanced on Mirage so fast that he didn’t have a chance to pull his others.

These men were not the clumsy, undisciplined men they usually fought. These were trained fighters and masters of stealth.

Mirage had to turn and push his back against Grace’s to defend himself.

His opponent didn’t produce any weapons. His body and fighting style were its own force.

The man pinched the tips of his four fingers and thumb together, forming his hand into the shape of a snake head, and struck out with the swiftness of a black mamba.

The hit to Mirage’s shoulder felt as if he’d been bitten by one.

Mirage regulated his breathing. He had to remain calm in order to track the blur of movements, lest he get hit again.

He blocked the rapid-fire strikes with his forearms, but each blow to his bones created a shock wave of intense pain that shot up to his neck.

With unfathomable speed, his attacker moved his hands and feet in a way that targeted the most vulnerable points of Mirage’s lower body, forcing him to stay on the defensive and unable to find an opening to launch an effective offense.

Mirage pushed harder into Grace’s back in an effort to communicate, surprised he hadn’t heard him fire a single gunshot.

They were hunters who’d become the hunted.

Grace

Grace was always the fastest in any situation when it came to drawing his weapons.

By the time he had them raised, the brute of a warrior had charged with a loud roar, pirouetting under Grace’s line of fire in one fluid movement. He gripped Grace’s wrists in a clutch that almost shattered his bones and dismantled his firearms into a pile of useless parts that clattered to the floor.

Stunned by that display of skill, Grace hesitated a second but recovered fast enough to rear back from the onslaught of blows aimed at his throat.