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Niko
Miami, Florida
It’spast two a.m. when X meets me at Miami-Opa Locka Executive Airport with a psychotic serial killer’s wet dream. A half dozen tactical knives, a Glock 19, a SIG MPX machine gun, a Kalashnikov rifle, three M67 hand grenades, zip ties, rope, enough ammo to blow away a small village, and one relatively small stun gun all rattle around in the open black shoulder bag. I glance up to see him grinning like an idiot as he stands in front of me, holding it open like he’s some fucking game show model.
Picking up the stun gun, I give it a shake and raise an eyebrow.
X shrugs, his smile faltering as he shifts an adoring gaze inside his bag of toys. “You never know when it might come in handy.”
Sure. Because an armed Bratva guard will invite me in for tea so I can get close enough to light him up like a fifty-thousand-volt Christmas tree. Rolling my eyes, I throw it at him and he lunges for it like I just tossed his kid in the middle of rush hour traffic.
Mudak. Asshole.
I wouldn’t peg him for an arms dealer. Judging by his slicked back brown hair and blue preppy Wall Street suit, he looks more like a banker. However, the way a man presents himself means nothing. Hell, if I slapped on an eyepatch and set a fucking parrot on my shoulder, I’d look like a pirate. Doesn’t make me one, though.
X motions for me to follow him. “Mr. Calthorpe has secured a car best suited for your specific needs.”
My hands fist by my side as I follow him across the empty lot and around an abandoned shed. Darkness and seclusion are all that accompany us, and my instinct roars like a siren. Instinct is what’s kept me alive most of my life, so when the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, I reach for my gun.
If I’m going out, it’s not going to be in South Florida by some squinty guy with way too many teeth shoved in his little round head.
He jerks on a dark colored tarp and motions in front of him. “Audi R10 okay?”
“Holy shit.” Tucking my gun away, I move past him, itching to get my hands on the machine in front of me. V-10, 610 horsepower, zero to sixty in 3.2 seconds, 205 miles per hour on the open road.
Black. Sleek. Dangerous. Built like hell. A sexy, wanton slut of a ride.
“Arthur sprang for this?”
“He said to spare no expense.”
Questions fly through my mind, none of which have answers. Of course, not much of what Calthorpe does makes sense, so I shouldn’t be shocked at his latest show of extravagance. He’s a rich man possessing several bank accounts with enough zeros to do whatever he pleases.
“So, I assume everything has been secured.” My hand twitches against the hood, and I can feel a vein pulsing in my forehead. It’s a familiar feeling—the same cathartic rush I always get right before an assignment. I’m ready for this. I need this.
“Completely.” X stirs behind me, rustling papers with gusto. He rambles on about the safety features and design of the weapons…blah, blah, fucking blah.
Tilting my head back, I stare up at the night sky and tune him out. While sinking one of these new blades right in his throat would improve my mood, I’m too tired to deal with the clean-up. “I was talking about recon on Ava Chernova.”
X’s eyes light up, and I hate him only slightly less. “Oh, yes. Sergei has arranged for the security system inside her apartment to disarm tomorrow from midnight until roughly three a.m. As far as workplace security, I’m assured all guards will be occupied after her shift.”
He clears his throat, the corner of his mouth twitching. He’s nervous, and with good reason. He thinks he’s playing with fire when it comes to Chernov, and he’s not wrong. However, if he thinks I’ll blindly walk into a trap, he can go ahead and fuck right off.
“You’re telling me men who’ve sworn their lives to protect Ava Chernova are willingly leaving her like a sitting duck?”
He nods like a bobble-head. “Sergei informed them they’re needed for a private poker game he’s hosting.”
“He’s stacking the deck against her.” I lick my lips, the anticipation building.
He raises an eyebrow. “You know your poker terminology. How often do you play?”
“Never. A Vegas politician owed a casino owner a lot of money. I make it a priority to know everything about everyone around me, Xavier.”
All the color drains from Xavier Talton’s face, and I’m pretty sure if I breathed really hard, he’d fall over. I’m half tempted to try it when he shoves the folder clenched in his hand against my chest.
“Yes, well, here are the layouts of Ava’s apartment and her father’s business establishment.”
I knock his hand away. I’m too tired for this PC bullshit. “I don’t need a map of his whorehouse. I know the place like the back of my hand.”
