Merciless Saints (St. Monarch's Academy 1)

“Friends of my brother,” he answers briskly.

We only stay on the road for another ten minutes, and then Damien stops the car in front of a building.

“This is it?” I ask. “It looks abandoned.”

Damien grabs the two guns and checks their clips before turning off the engine and opening his door. My eyes dart to Cillian as Damien gets out of the car, and then my door is pulled open. Damien grabs hold of my arm and yanks me out.

“Hey,” I snap at him, but he ignores me, and keeping a hold of my arm, he drags me along as he walks toward an old wooden door.

Cillian falls in on the other side of me, grumbling, “You don’t have to handle her so roughly.”

“Until the twelve months are up, her life is in my hands,” Damien snaps as he bangs on the door. “I’ll keep her alive my way.”

An elderly man opens the door, and it has Damien saying, “Vetrov.”

The man stands to the side, and when we walk inside, my eyes widen at all the luxury. Three men are sitting at a table, playing cards. They look like they’re all in their thirties. The one gets up and walks toward us. “Damien. Demitri said you would visit. Welcome.”

I watch as they shake hands, and the man only spares Cillian and me a glance, then he murmurs, “This way.”

As we climb a set of stairs, Damien asks, “Passports?”

“Tomorrow,” the man answers.

He opens a door, and we step into a suite. There are two briefcases set on the coffee table, and Damien drags me toward them.

The man helping us shuts the door, and the second we’re alone, Cillian says, “Fill me in with whatever you have planned.”

Finally, Damien lets go of my arm, and he opens the first briefcase. It’s loaded with stacks of euro bills. Seemingly pleased, he opens the second one, and then the corner of his mouth lifts as he glances over the Heckler and Koch P30L, Glock 26 compact pistol, Browning Hi-Power Mark 3, a suppressed gun, and four KA-BARs.

He turns his attention to Cillian. “We’ll get passports tomorrow and then get our asses out of Switzerland. Which airport would you use in Germany?”

“Bad Kissingen near Bavaria,” Cillian answers.

“We avoid that one.” Damien walks to the door, and glancing from Cillian to me, he mutters, “Stay.”

When he leaves, I turn my gaze to Cillian. For a moment, we stare at each other, and then he closes the distance between us and pulls me against his chest. It’s all it takes for me to break.

Cillian comforts me as I mourn my family, and when I finally find my voice, I whisper, “You’re all I have now.”

Cillian presses a kiss to the top of my head and rubs his hand in rhythmic movements over my back. “Love you, poppet.”

I cling to the man who first took on the role of my mother and now has to take on the role of my entire family. “I can’t lose you.”

Cillian pulls back, and lifting his hands to my face, he brushes the remainder of the tears away with his thumbs. “If the worst happens and I don’t make it –”

I instantly shake my head. “I won’t survive without you.”

“You will.” Cillian grabs hold of my shoulders and locks eyes with me. “You’re so brave, poppet. I know you’ll survive. I’ve taught you everything I know. You have the Vetrovs. You’re the Blood Princess. You will survive. You’ll crush your enemies. You’ll become the powerful woman I know you can be.”

“Not without you,” I squeeze the words out through clenched teeth.

Cillian pulls me back against his chest. “I’ll be next to you every step of the way.”

“Promise,” I whisper as I find comfort in his firm hold.

“Promise, poppet.”

DAMIEN

After I get the burner phone from Armindo, I sit down at one of the tables and dial Demitri’s number. Armindo places a bottle of Stoli and a tumbler down in front of me then walks away.

“Vetrov,” my brother barks.

“It’s me. We’re in the safe house.”

Demitri lets out a relieved sigh. “Carson will meet you there, but he can’t stay. He has a job.”

“I understand,” I mutter as I pour vodka into the glass. “Thanks for the money and weapons.” I take a sip and let the drink burn down my throat. “Thanks for everything.”

“You’re my brother,” Demitri grumbles. “Our flight leaves in twenty minutes.”

“We’re heading to Germany first thing in the morning,” I inform him. “Let’s meet at Augsburg Airport in Bavaria. It’s only a five to six-hour drive from here.”

“Okay.” He pauses for a moment, then says, “The contract for Adrian Vincent has been issued. Fifteen million euros to whoever kills him.”

“Good,” I grind the word out. “The fucker took a shot at me.”

“He did?” Demitri growls. “He’s as good as dead.”

I take a long sip of the vodka then say, “Winter wants the Blanco family wiped out.”