Page 102 of Blood & Snow
I am no longer the woman who answered an advertisement for a cleaning position.
That woman died tonight in a shower stall, washed away by hot water and desperate hands.
What remains is someone new.
Someone who can watch a man die and still feel desire burning in her veins.
Someone who can love a killer and sleep peacefully afterward.
Someone who belongs to Xander Morin, body and soul.
17
XANDER
The factory squats in the industrial district's belly, a concrete carcass that stopped breathing years ago.
Broken windows stare down at us through the December night, and the wind carries the scent of rust and decay.
I check my watch—0347 hours.
The Sokolovs chose their hiding spot well, tucked between a cemetery of defunct machinery and a rail yard where freight trains haven't run since the Soviet collapse.
Igor crouches beside me, his breath forming clouds in the bitter air.
"Twelve guards on rotation. Two at the main entrance, four more walking the perimeter. The rest are inside with the merchandise."
I study the building through night-vision binoculars.
The weapons cache sits three stories up, according to our intelligence.
Crates of Kalashnikovs, RPGs, and enough ammunition to supply a small war.
The Sokolovs have been stockpiling for months, preparing for a confrontation they know is coming.
"Ivan, take your team around the east side. Wait for my signal."
I lower the binoculars and turn to the eight menspread behind me in the shadows.
"No survivors. We torch everything and disappear before the fire department arrives."
After a few grunts of acknowledgement, Ivan's team moves through the darkness, their footsteps muffled by years of training.
I lead the main assault, stepping over broken glass and twisted metal as we approach the factory's entrance.
The first guard dies before he knows we're there.
Igor's blade finds his throat, and the man crumples against the concrete wall.
His partner turns at the sound, mouth opening to shout a warning that never comes.
My suppressed Makarov puts two rounds center mass, and he drops beside his comrade.
We flow through the entrance, as fluidly as water through a funnel.
We work as a team and it's what makes us good at what we do.
The factory's interior is a maze of rusted machinery and collapsed walkways.
