Page 53 of The Players

A little girl, dressed in a long white gown, wearing a veil, shuffled out of the container. She couldn’t have been more than ten years old.

“Please, sir, don’t shoot,” the girl whispered.

Five more little girls dressed up as brides came into view. There was a terrified look on each of their faces, as they squinted their eyes against the light.

His stomach rolled. He’d seen a lot in his life, but this must be one of the most vile things he’d encountered. Apparently, Keegan was in the business of selling child brides. A very lucrative business in some parts of the world, even in the States.

As if on cue, the girls dropped onto the floor, and huddled together like cattle. Faces down, none of them dared to speak, or even glance in their way. Not that Sy could blame them. Who knew how long they’d been held captive. They’d probably been trained this way. Also, the way his crew looked, they weren’t exactly screaming “safe haven.”

Kristoff’s face seemed chiseled from marble, as he took in the girls. He returned to the men whimpering before him. They sat on their knees next to each other, like dominoes, waiting to fall.

Without a preamble, Kristoff shot the first one in the crotch.

“You shot my dick! Fuck. Shit!”

Sy noticed the girls had embraced each other. The smallest one, with a cute button nose, started crying. One of the other girls immediately slapped a hand over her mouth.

Shit. He was no good with kids, but he couldn’t let the bigger girl suffocate the crying one either.

He crouched near them, hoping to appear less intimidating that way. “We’re not gonna hurt you,” he said softly.

None of the girls looked up. He repeated it, hoping the little one wouldn’t be smothered any further. It didn’t work. “Fuck. Stop strangling the crying one,” he growled. “Everyone’s hand into their laps. Now.”

The girls turned as white as their dresses, but they immediately obeyed him. So much for not appearing scary. Well, at least the choking had stopped.

With a sigh, he got up and joined Kristoff.

The gangster-turned-eunuch was screeching like a pig, holding his bleeding dick.

“What’s your name?” Kristoff sounded cool and collected, a sure sign that people were gonna die.

“You have any idea who you’re dealing with?” the eunuch yelled. Judging by his southern drawl, he wasn’t from around here.

Kristoff didn’t hesitate; he put a bullet straight between his eyes. “Not the answer to my question.” Without a word, he shot the next one in the crotch as well. What followed was more crying and yelling. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“He gets crabby when you do,” Angel helpfully explained. When Kristoff sent him a look, he said, “What? It’s true.”

Kristoff’s next bullet went into the second guy’s throat. Specks of blood flew over their feet.

Angel looked aggravated when he noticed red spots on his handmade Italian boots. “You did that on purpose,” he growled.

Damon threw the third, and final, man before Kristoff’s feet. Then he shot him straight in the balls. A hauling cry pierced the evening, resonating through the whole building.

When Kristoff cocked a brow, Damon said, “To save you time before you ran out of bullets and patience again.”

“Always the practical party pooper,” Sy complained.

The squirming man whimpered, “Danny. Name’s Danny.” His eyes were fixated on Kristoff, nearly popping out of their sockets.

“Do you know who I am?”

The man nodded. “Romanov. Kristoff fucking Romanov.”

Kristoff’s lip curled as he leaned closer to Danny. “What else do they call me?”

The man swallowed. “The Soulless One.”

“Exactly. I’m gonna ask you a question. You don’t tell me what I wanna hear, I will torture you, old-school style. And when I sayold school, I mean fucking Middle Ages old. So, tell me, Dickless Danny, who’s your contact at the harbor? Which soon-to-be dead captain was going to ship these kids off behind my back?”

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