Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 125248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
The wait for the elevator felt longer than the last hour. When the knock came, God opened the door himself.
Seven hooded men stood outside. God moved so they could come in. The room changed. It wasn’t dramatic. They walked in quietly, one after another, and every trained man in the room understood within three heartbeats that they were looking at predators. The ones at the very top of the food chain. These weren’t cops, soldiers, or bodyguards.
To the average eye, they could pass for wealthy businessmen, sleek and untouchable in expensive suits. The hoods added just enough mystery to snag attention, but not long enough to understand why.
The first two wore dark green like the color of damp pine needles. Not uniforms, nothing that obvious, but coordinated. Slim tactical jackets over fitted shirts. Dark pants tucked into boots that made no sound on hotel carpet. One had bronze skin that he could see, and a close-cut beard. The other was a bit lighter, sharp-featured, he had burn scars on the lower right side of his chin and neck that seemed to make him even more intriguing.
Behind them was a rougher, heavier man, with a silent power that permeated the room. He wore a whiskey-brown, knee-length leather jacket over a crème collared shirt and tailored brown slacks. He shifted his big body to left and another man appeared from behind him like fucking magic.
He was also in shades of brown. But he was leaner, and smooth as hell, damn near gliding behind the man in front of him.
Shit.
There were eight of them, not seven.
God’s attention caught on a man so strikingly out of place he wondered if the guy understood what kind of company he rolled with.
He seemed serene, almost delicate, in a pristine white hooded jacket, pale Henley, light trousers, and gold-rimmed sunglasses with reflective lenses shielding his eyes.
The gold cross suspended around his neck shone softly against all that white. He had one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around a cane unlike any God had ever seen. It was gunmetal gray, sleek and elegant, with a matte black handle. It looked more like a weapon than an aid. He swept it in a tight arc in front of him, controlled and exact, as if it could read the room.
The man beside him was also in white, but the color gave him an opposite appearance. His scarred face, and dark aura made him anything but delicate. He scanned the room before he leaned into the gentle man and whispered something too low for God to make out.
God hadn’t met any of the men who’d just walked in, but he knew the last two.
Ex gave him a smug smile when he strolled in wearing black denims, and a modern, Gothic-style black hooded jacket. “Long time no see, Lieutenant.”
God eyed him for a moment, but instinct, and self-preservation made him turn his head.
There he stood. Imposing and terrifying.
Meridian.
God had encountered dangerous men most of his adult life. He’d arrested them, fought them, killed them when they left him no other choice.
Meridian was in a class all his own.
Evil personified.
He wore black everything, simple and expensive, no visible weapons or unnecessary flash. Dark goatee framing a sharp jaw. The scent of spicy tobacco beneath vetiver and designer cologne clung to his skin as he passed him. He wasn’t the tallest or broadest man in the room, but space and shadows reorganized itself around him anyway.
The Ravens walked further inside the suite, moving because he moved.
Day stared.
Cassidy stared.
Ruxs and Green vibrated with alert hostility.
Genesis rose to his feet slowly.
Steele stilled the balls rotating in his palm.
Meridian pushed his low hood back, his face impassive, every line of him controlled to the point of cruelty. His eyes, black and glossy as wet onyx, moved once over the room, measuring, before he returned his dark attention on him.
God closed the door.
“Didn’t know you’d come this deep,” God murmured.
The bass in Meridian’s voice was ruinously smooth. Not cold exactly. Cold things still had temperature. His voice held no warmth at all.
A chill swept through the room.
“You said you needed help,” Meridian answered. “You didn’t say how much.”
God held his stare for a beat.
Meridian didn’t offer introductions of the men he’d brought with him. The low hoods covering most of their faces were indication enough they didn’t want to be known.
That was fine with him.
God pointed towards Free’s screens. “We’ve been providing protection for Xander Vale, the man in the hat you see tied down. He’s had numerous threats on his life and—.”
Meridian lifted one hand.
God stopped.
“I don’t care about your righteousness, God.” Meridian’s gaze cut to the feed. “Just tell me why I flew to the other side of the country in an extremely expensive jet. What do you want me to do?”
No one moved.
Everyone in the room seemed to realize, all at once, that the men standing in it were exactly who they looked like.