Page 10 of Brazen King

Because a fighter of this caliber could only be the Sokolovs’ phantom assassin I’ve heard so much about.

None of his countless other victims have survived to catch or identify him.

Only a handful of family members lived to spread the rumors of his unparalleled skill.

Which is why Boris has managed to stay one step ahead of destruction all this time.

Slowly, a grin creeps across my face.

It would seem I’ve finally pushed Boris past his breaking point.

“What are you smiling about?” the assassin growls, lunging forward with such menace I know that my good humor has provoked him.

And I’m surprised at how young he sounds—almost boyish. It would match the slight frame. But I honestly hadn’t pictured a youth being this lethal. From the height of his pitch, I’d say his balls haven’t even dropped yet.

“Oh, youcantalk,” I taunt. And I snap the buckle end of my belt with such force, I manage to dislodge one of the knives from his hands. “I was starting to wonder if you were a mute.”

With a feral scream, the assassin launches himself at me. He switches his blade from his right to left hand with such speed, I can hardly track it. But I manage to bring the belt up just in time.

The blade pierces the leather lengthwise, and the tip quivers less than an inch from my eye as I hold the belt taut between my palms.

Taking advantage of the near-death experience, I give the ruined leather a sharp twist, wrenching the second blade from my attacker’s grasp. I toss it aside, leaving my would-be assassin weaponless.

And still, he keeps on attacking.

Switching to hand-to-hand combat, he lands five blows in quick succession—two knees to the ribs, an elbow to the solar plexus, a fist to the jaw, finished off with a roundhouse kick to the stomach. I don’t even see it coming.

The wind rushes from my lungs, and I wheeze as my back hits the wall behind me.

Christ, this kid could actually kill me if I don’t get it together.

I’m done messing around.

Staying bent in half, I pretend to be incapacitated as he closes the distance between us, his quick steps so light, he could almost be dancing.

But as he brings one foot up to take me out with a kick to the temple, I’m ready for him.

I grab his ankle, jerking his slight frame forward to knock him off balance, and the moment I have the upper hand…

I go for his throat.

Wrapping my fingers around his neck, I lift him effortlessly off his feet.

And turning, I slam him forcefully against the wall I was leaning against moments before. The drywall gives slightly beneath his black-shrouded head, and his gloved fingers scramble to loosen my grip around his throat as I pin him down.

It was a dirty move, considering I must weigh at least twice as much as him. But all’s fair in love and war, and the bastard did come at me first—with two knives no less.

“You thought you could kill me?” I taunt, and I loosen my grip ever so slightly to avoid choking the guy to death before I can get the answers that I want.

A string of Russian curses issues from the assassin’s mouth, calling me every filthy name under the sun. And it confirms my suspicion about who sent him. I tighten my grip once more until a strangled sound cuts the tirade short.

“So, you do exist—Boris Sokolov’s secret weapon.” I smirk. “I must admit, I never imagined you’d be so…little,” I tease.

“Fuckyou,” he hisses, lashing out futilely with his feet.

His knee comes dangerously close to my groin, so I shift my grip. Leaning against his throat with my forearm, I pin him against the wall with my body, bringing my face just inches from his. And the subtle smells of amber and cinnamon reach my nose. A bit girly if you ask me. Then again, this guy’s badass enough to pull it off.

His eyes widen, showing off their unusual silver-gray with a thin black ring around the irises. And his struggles turn frantic as he grows desperate for oxygen.

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