Hostile Ground (The Arsenal #7) - Cara Carnes Page 0,7

He’d likely gotten the entire team’s thoughts on the matter before addressing her. Hell, he’d likely gotten the rest of The Arsenal’s teams input as well. He was stubbornly thorough man who held his ground.

Truth told, she was tired of the fights. Breaking bones and drawing blood made her feel as though she bathed in carnage she’d never scrape off. “Lavrov’s got meetings set this week. He didn’t want me there, but I reminded him of our arrangement.”

“You’d probably be better off not witnessing that shit.”

“Until this is over, I’m Iriana. She remains at his side and does everything necessary.”

Beast’s wide, muscular body tensed as he cracked his knuckles once more. “I hate that you’re doing this. We could’ve found another way without using this identity.”

“She’s the safest in. Too much is at stake.”

“Promise me you’ll come to us if it’s too much. Don’t keep shit bottled up inside.” Beast halted his progression and grasped her arm. “We hate that you’re in that bastard’s world. Alone.”

“I’m never alone.” She tapped the com. “I’ve got the best team ever at my back and the best organization in existence at the ready. We’ve got this.”

3

Present Day

Moscow

“Addy. Lavrov’s outside.”

Zoey’s voice filled Addison Rugers’ ear as she bolted up from the rickety cot and cursed as pain swept up her side and along her back. The com she’d worn nonstop for the past two weeks remained silent while she focused on her surroundings.

Early morning offered rare quiet within the apartment building. Even though the location provided unrestricted surveillance of Yesim’s crew, it also came with paper-thin walls, shoddy plumbing, and mouse-sized rooms that made the “apartment” more of a cell.

The apartment offered a perfect view into the only known location for Yesim’s operation. Until The Arsenal secured the biochemical weapons the bastards had smuggled out of Cuba, this shitty apartment with surround-sound fucking and fighting was her team’s home away from home.

Fun times.

How long had she slept? Minutes? She glanced at her watch. Three hours. “I’m awake. Do you know what he wants?”

“No. His car parked at the drone’s perimeter and he got out,” Zoey replied on the com. “Want me to dart him?”

More than anything. Addy stood and dragged on the short black skirt she’d taken off a few hours ago. She bypassed the deep blue corset and retrieved her gun from the bedside table. Combat boots didn’t exactly go with Iriana Duprinsky’s look, but the mercenary persona wasn’t exactly known for giving a damn what people thought.

Light poured in from the hallway when the door opened. Beast loomed in the doorway. He cracked his knuckles as she squeezed by him and tromped down the narrow corridor leading to the living room where Shep and Johnny both watched from the sofa. Cracker and Thunder were asleep in the second bedroom. Sleeping in shifts kept their team ready at any moment, but Addy’s rest breaks only came when Lavrov didn’t need Iriana.

Loud moans sounded as the wall behind the sofa thumped in a steady rhythm. Addy glanced down at the stopwatch that’d become her team’s pastime the past couple of weeks. “You aren’t timing him.”

“Sixty-second man can wait. What’s Lavrov doing here?” Shep asked. He leaned his lean, muscular frame back on the sofa and rested his long legs on the small coffee table. Curiosity glinted within the man’s pale green gaze as he pulled his unruly, dark blond hair from his face.

Good question. Kristof Lavrov was a pain in her ass in more ways than one, but for the sake of her team and everyone else at The Arsenal, Addy tolerated his existence. It wasn’t the first time he’d proven useful over the years.

“I’ll cover the roof,” Johnny said as he popped up from the sofa, bouncing from one foot to another like a prized fighter about to enter a bout.

She glanced at the discarded Red Bull cans on the floor and wondered if he’d bothered sleeping. Dark circles darkened the light mocha skin beneath his coal black eyes. Black jeans and a black T-shirt completed the goth vibe the lanky sniper wore like a second skin.

“No. His BMW drew enough attention pulling up. We can’t risk anyone from Yesim’s crew actually paying attention and spotting you.” Addy met her sniper’s gaze. His eyebrows lifted. “Not that you’d be that sloppy.”

The man didn’t reply. He twirled the skull ring on his index finger and looked away.

“You need to rest,” she said.

“I’ll rest when this is done.” He ran a hand through his spiked