Page 7 of Warlord’s Empire

This was it. She was going to die.

Despair rolled through her and she almost cried out at the pain of knowing she would never have the career she worked so hard for, never see her family again… never find out why Radik sent her all those gifts.

She wished she could fight like Ayaan and Leeza, but she wasn’t them. Didn’t have the drive for combat. And now, because she refused to learn proper mafia fighting skills, she would die in a basement in Pretoria, South Africa.

Still, she was mafia enough to greet death with dignity so she slowly and painfully sat up, leaning against the wall for support. She defiantly stared at Couch guy. She hoped her eyes would haunt him every time he tried to sleep.

Then something caught her attention. A shadow moved past profusely bleeding Fridge guy, disappearing behind a shelf. She frowned, trying to focus on the spot, wondering if she’d imagined it.

Couch guy caught her distraction and whipped around to look. Saskia didn’t hesitate. If he was going to give her opportunity on a silver platter she was going to take it.

She grabbed the knife off the floor and stabbed it into his thigh, hoping to hit his femoral artery. He screamed as blood spurted, then smashed her temple with his gun. Like a rag doll, she slipped sideways.

She lay on her back, the strap of her bag pinning her arm down, trying to catch her breath as pain shot through her. She felt paralyzed, her body refusing to cooperate with her brain, which was screaming at her to get up. Move! But the edges of her vision were dimming. Her brain was shutting down. She was helpless, she was going to die in a dank storage room in a foreign country. She blinked back tears as she stared helplessly up at the gun aimed toward her.

Then the lights went out, plunging them into darkness.

There was a moment of frozen silence, then Fridge guy said, “What’s happening?”

“I don’t fucking know.” A light flashed above her and she saw Couch guy holding up a phone. “Go check,” he ordered, his hand covering his blood-soaked thigh.

Fridge guy squeezed his bleeding arm, turned and took a step into the shadows, but stopped like he’d hit a brick wall. He was lifted off his feet and shaken like a rag doll until his neck snapped. He jerked and his head lolled, his lifeless eyes staring at the floor, which his body hit with a thud.

“Holy,” Saskia whispered as she crowded closer to the wall as if that would save her from the animal who just shook Fridge guy to death. She blinked into the shadows trying to see the attacker, but it was too dark.

“Fuck,” Couch guy said, stumbling over her in an attempt to flee whatever was coming toward them. There was nowhere to go. He turned, training his phone light and gun on the shadows. “Who’s there?”

Saskia laughed shakily. “Told you not to fuck with me.” Her voice sounded dim to her ears, as though it was outside her body and coming from a distance.

“Shut up, bitch,” he snarled, kicking her in the ribs.

She groaned and curled in on herself as she hugged her stomach.

A roar from the shadows sent another wave of fear through Saskia. The sound was animalistic, almost demonic.

Apparently her attacker agreed, holding his shaking hands up and firing wildly into the darkness. Saskia shrieked and covered her ears as shattering glass rained down on her.

Something out of a horror film barreled towards them with, what seemed to Saskia, inhuman speed.

Couch guy was lifted off his feet and slammed into the concrete wall with such force, Saskia heard bones crunch. His screams were abruptly cut off as the sound of joints wrenching apart echoed through the room.

Then an eerie silence filled the space.

Saskia saw a pair of massive feet wearing shiny black shoes next to her head. Her heart pounded, her vision blurred and her body refused to move. There was nothing she could do to save herself.

Couch guy was flung on top of his friend, his phone clattering to the ground, the flashlight down. She could see enough from the glow to know the one who’d killed the thugs was human.

Trying to peer up, she could make out a pair of legs, encased in black.

It crouched over her.

“Don’t touch me,” she croaked, trying to blink away the darkness threatening to close over her. “I’m… I’m a Koba.” Then she slipped into unconsciousness.

Chapter Four

Radik lifted Saskia off the floor, his heart pounding with fear. Was she alive? He pressed his ear to her chest. The steady beat of her heart, the gentle rush of her breath against his neck, calmed him.

He didn’t need light to find his way back up the stairs where two of his people were guarding the door. A waitress stood nearby, her wide, fearful eyes on Saskia.