Page 1 of The Truths that Deceive

Chapter 1

Smith

The bullet whizzes by, the whine of its flight and burn of heat scorching my head, a blast of reality that pushes my adrenaline up high as I weave across the stone floor in the old Scottish castle. Shouts and footsteps behind me get louder, heavier.

Closer.

I dive behind an overturned heavy wooden table, slide out the empty clip of my Sig, and grab a new one, slamming it into place.

One thing’s for sure. I’m not about to fucking die in Scotland while on a much-needed vacation.

“Got one,” a thick-accented voice yells out. “Another one of those fuckers went through here.”

Shit. There’s only me and Reaper inside the castle.

If I have to go back and save his sorry ass…

My pocket buzzes exactly twice.

Reaper’s down, but not for long. I don’t bother texting him back. There are girls in here, down in the dungeon slash sex video room. And I’d prefer to find them andpick off the Bolivian dickheads holding them captive—apart from their leader, who’ll no doubt be down with the girls—without having to arrange the rescue of someone Reaper’s size.

I count.

Every step.

My heart pounds, ears ringing from the cracking of bullets.

I ignore the searing pain and the blood on my arm—super glue will take care of that. Instead, I slow my breathing.

It won’t take them long to work out where I am, these fucking mafia wannabes who’ve been making major waves in the sex slave markets.

The wrong sorts of waves.

They’re upsetting UR Fantasies, one of my clients back in the States, so I’m here to take them out. And if I’m being honest, I fucking hate relaxing on vacation. I’d much prefer to let off steam by destroying the evil bastards who buy, sell, and torture innocent young women.

Reminds me of my old CIA days.

They’re not shooting. Yet. There are four of them in here by the sounds of it. The room’s huge, and since we caused a hell of a lot of carnage in here earlier, there are plenty of places to hide.

So either they’re conserving bullets or they think I’m easy enough to find.

I wait. Unmoving, gun in my outstretched hand, ready to fire.

Glass crunches nearby and a single shot goes off. Someone hisses something in a Balto-Slavic dialect, something about being the son of a pig in shit.

Reaper will pick off the ones in the back of the castle, the ones who might still be in hiding and waiting for a chance to escape. Then he’ll make his way back to me. I don’t know howmany are outside this room, and since this is my last clip, I wait until they get closer to take my shot.

I’m betting Reaper took a dive to play dead. An actual dive. In the moat. Because this place has a motherfucking moat.

Ragged breathing gets closer. My finger tightens around the gun handle.

I spring up from my spot and shoot the heavy breather behind me. Then I shift my arm and fire off another shot at the one directly behind him before slamming the gun’s butt into a third guy’s face. He groans and grapples with his gun and I turn him into a shield to take the bullet from the fourth dickhead who manages to squeeze off a couple of shots.

Dropping the bullet-torn body, I hold out my gun, my finger ready to press the trigger when a bullet rips through his skull from the back, splattering the area in front of him with bits of face and brain matter. He crashes like a block of cement, smashing against the ground.

Reaper grins at me.

Dripping wet.

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