Page 77 of Shattered Empire (Shattered World)

Her heart. Her soul. Her cunt.

Those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.

Sighing, I took a sip of the lukewarm coffee the new flight attendant had set in front of me twenty minutes before. His name was Roger. He was about fifty years old and completely temporary. I’d officially hired him as a butler for the penthouse. Mia had been doing the job of two people for several years now without complaint, but there was even further strain on her with Ava.

Dima was pouting at the back of the plane, his headphones lodged in his ears as he tapped out a beat to god knows what. Roger, apparently, wasn’t his type.

The plane was blissfully quiet as we took off from the private airstrip in London a few days after Kirill’s demise.

Ivan was staying behind to clean up the London faction. His father had awarded him the title ofPakhan.

Our father.

I had to keep reminding myself of that. We hadn’t had much time to talk since Kirill’s death. We had all been too busy planning for what was ahead. The known and the unknown.

Known: Kirill had indeed been the one to start the Chameleon Agency.

Unknown: How Kirill became involved with a secret society.

Had he been approached prior to his start in human trafficking, or was that what caught their interest? There were still too many unknowns when it came to the egotisticalPotestas Omnis.

What a fucking ridiculous name.

“Have you ever heard her voice before?” Andrei played the conversation Kirill had with the mysterious Caesar. Kenzi listened intently, but there was no flicker of recognition on her face.

“No.” She shook her head. “But Legionnaires usually don’t have contact with anyone other than their handlers, if they have one.”

“Did you?” I asked curiously.

Kenzi shrugged. “For a little while.” She sighed. “Her name was Venus.”

“I thought you didn’t have names,” I asked.

“Only the most trusted operatives get names,” she divulged bitterly. “Usually Greek or Roman deity names. It’s their reward for doing their job without asking questions.”

“You don’t sound thrilled about that.”

Kenzi snorted derisively. “When you first arrive, they try to pit you against each other.” Her eyes took on the faraway look she got when she was dissociating from her past. “The better you are, the better your ranking, and the only way your ranking goes up is by defeating your competition.”

“The other operatives.”

Kenzi nodded.

“The first day,” she took a stuttering breath, “they separated us into groups of four or five and stuck us in a room with a handful of melee weapons. Then told us only one of us could come out alive.”

Andrei cursed under his breath.

“They said it would desensitize us to violence.” She chuckled bitterly. “I didn’t realize dying was the better option.”

She didn’t say any more after that, and neither of us pushed her. I had a feeling I knew where her story was going, and I respected her too much to force her to relive that.

“Venus was my handler for about six months before I proved I was capable on my own,” Kenzi continued, answering Andrei’s original question. “Now, it’s a text message with a name and photo. Sometimes, like with Kirill, they want it to be done at a specific spot and time, but mostly someone just wants the job done.”

I nodded.

“You can’t go back,” I pointed out the obvious to her. “You know that, right?”

Rolling her eyes, Kenzi shook her head. “No shit, Sherlock,” she deadpanned. “But it was completely worth it.”

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