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Archer!
Each breath of pain from him drives something sharp into my heart and I growl, aiming at the man holding him as I realize the rest of my guards haven’t fared much better. Two are captive and one lies dead near the top of the stairs.
Fuck!
Archer’s eyes blaze at me and I can already hear what he can’t say.
Just do it. None of us are worth you getting caught here.
I can’t. Not this time.
I lower my gun and the chill of defeat runs down my spine.
The assailant holding Archer jerks his head in the direction of the room all these assholes spilled from and, after a beat and last glance at Archer, I slowly approach.
Inside, a man stands by the window with his inked hands clasped behind his back. His long copper-blond hair spills down his back and the grey suit he wears strains over tightly packed muscle.
The barrel of a gun presses between my shoulder blades and a heavy hand forces me to my knees. Those verytouchesflare liquid hot rage within me, a fire that’s stoked regularly by the pained noises ripped from Archer as he’s hauled into the room with the rest of my men.
Fucking fuck. Dante’s men are just outside, if I can just alert them!
The Russians haveneverbeen this efficient before. My heart pounds and the few seconds of silence feel like razors along my skin. I’m seconds away from tackling that bastard right out the window when he turns to me.
Piercing blue eyes land on me from a square face, his left cheek marred with a twisted scar that runs from his eye down the length of his jaw.
He steps forward.
“Do you know who I am?” He speaks in a voice that is barely laced with a Russian accent and a pulse of confusion rises beneath the fury in my heart.
“Feliks,” I spit, trying to ignore another muted whimper from Archer as the brute holding him captive gives him a rough shake. “Feliks Lenkov.”
Feliks nods then lifts one of his hands and the barrel of the gun is removed from my back. I shoot a glare at the culprit and, after a beat, climb to my feet.
“And you are Killian Scarano, yes?” he asks.
As if you don’t know who the fuck I am!
“Yes,” I grind out and my body tenses, every muscle wired and ready to spring into action at the drop of a hat.
Feliks smiles.
“We need to talk.”
10
KILLIAN
Feliks Lenkov wants totalk.
I don’t want to allow him a singlebreathbut the situation demands it. If there’s a chance at survival, I’m not walking out of here without Archer, without my men. We’ve been taken by surprise, perhaps grown overly confident in the ease at which we’ve taken down other Russian cells but this serves as a pretty fucking good wake-up call.
Rage simmers beneath the surface, threatening to tear right out of my limbs and attack the person closest to me, but if I want to get out herealive, I have to be careful. I have to play this smart.
I force a deep, slightly pained breath as my ribs protest from being flung into the wall, and reign in the fury.
“Odd way to start a conversation,” I spit.
“You’re a hard man to get ahold of,” Feliks replies smoothly. The Russian in his accent is so soft. He must spend more time in America than back in the Motherland.
