Page 14 of Terror at the Gates

Zahariev paused before asking, “Did Abram say anything about the blade?”

“No,” I said, but that was his tactic. The more information he offered, the more it was likely worth. “How is he supposed to lowball me if he tells me how valuable it is?”

“What did he offer?”

“Two hundred,” I said.

Fucker, I thought, because it felt wrong to speak ill of the dead, at least aloud, but he’d definitely tried to cheat me.

“Hmm,” he said but added no other commentary. Instead, he just left, walking past me into the back of the store.

“Where are you going?” I called after him.

He said nothing. I let out a frustrated sigh as I followed him through the back room, which was crowded with junk.

“So what do you think happened to him?” I called after him.

Zahariev pushed the back door open, propping a crumbling brick against it. As he bent over, his necklace dropped, a gleaming silver cross swinging on the end. The pendant had nothing to do with his religion. Similar to mine, it had been a gift from his father.

“Maybe a heart attack,” he suggested as he straightened.

“His eyes were fucking bleeding, Zahariev,” I said.

“You asked what I thought,” he said. “I’m telling you what I think.”

“You’re lying,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re such a terrible liar.”

“You’re the only one who would say so, little love,” he replied.

I was used to Zahariev’s nickname for me, but it still made me blush.

He dropped his hand from the door and moved out of sight. I followed, finding a line of black vehicles waiting in the alleyway. Two were SUVs and two were vans, the kind that looked like they were made for kidnapping and murdering people, no matter how nice and shiny they were. Men dressed in dark clothing stood beside them like soldiers, though I supposed that was what they were—men who did Zahariev’s bidding.

Once we were outside, they entered the building carrying a variety of cleaning supplies.

A man dressed in a long coat slammed the doors of a van closed. He turned, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Gabriel!”

He grinned as I raced to him, hugging him around the middle.

“Hey, baby girl,” he said, squeezing me tight. He was warm, and his embrace was comforting. It was nice compared to the cold distance Zahariev always put between us.

“Where have you been?” I asked.

“Oh, you know me. Just doing the Lord’s work,” he said.

I rolled my eyes as I pulled away from him, tipping my head to meet his gaze.

“Well, while you were doing the Lord’s work, I was almost strip-searched.”

His blond brows rose high, and he glanced at Zahariev.

“Who?”

“Isiah,” said Zahariev. “Don’t let her fool you. She broke his nose within seconds.”

Gabriel let out a breathy laugh.

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