Free Extreme Danger by Shannon McKenna Page A

last man in the line, a big, hulking blond. “You’re not here to make noise.”
    Nick shut up and followed them up the walkway. The buzzer at his belt vibrated.
    His stomach tightened with a chill premonition.
    It could be an animal, blundering past one of the sensors. The men were ahead of him, spread out widely, almost to the house.
    “The Vor’s hungry,” the last guy said over his shoulder. “Prepare a meal for him. And don’t fuck it up. Bad food makes him irritable.”
    Nick froze for a second, letting the distance between them lengthen. Prepare a meal? Him? Pavel hadn’t said anything about cooking.
    “What does he want to eat?” he asked.
    The blond guy shot a contemptuous glance over his shoulder. “Ask him, asshole,” he said. “Your problem, not mine.”
    What did he have in the kitchen, anyhow? His appetite was for shit these days. He choked down the occasional frozen dinner when the feeling of emptiness inside him became physically debilitating. He couldn’t cook worth a damn. He could barely use the microwave.
    Maybe this was it. The stupid detail that would get his throat slit.
    There was a chorus of rough, barking exclamations. Several guns jerked up simultaneously. Clickity-click, rounds were chambered.
    “Who the fuck is she?” one of the guys snarled.
    She? Oh, fuck. No, no, no. His artificial calm evaporated in an instant. He lunged through the clot of men to see…
    Yes. Becca. Fuck.
    Clothed this time, but she might as well have been naked, for all the diaphanous blue peasant blouse and the skintight jeans revealed.
    Dead silence. The men stared at her, hungry-eyed.
    She looked even prettier than last night. Her hair, dried, was a mass of brown curls. The color of the blouse made her skin look luminous. Her full, gleaming pink lips trembled. Unlike last night, she had good reason to be scared now.
    Transfixed with dismay, he didn’t track the movement of the guy next to him before a hard clout to his face with the man’s pistol knocked him back. “What the fuck is she doing here?” the guy hissed.
    Zhoglo turned to Nick, a smile curving his mouth. “Nice touch,” he said. “I appreciate initiative in an employee. A welcome gift? How kind.”
    The bottom fell out of his gut, and tumbled down, down. He scrolled through the possible responses he could make, calculating how quickly—or, worse, how slowly, they would get her killed.
    He swabbed the blood streaming out of his nose with his hand.
    “Ah, actually…no,” he forced out, voice froggy.
    Zhoglo’s smile froze. “No?”
    Nick swallowed. Hot blood trickled down his throat. “She’s the, ah, cook.”
     
    Becca stared at the guns. Feeling faint, she stared at the blood streaming from Mr. Big’s nose.
    One of the men stepped forward. A short, fat man, in expensive clothes. He spoke, his voice low and cultured, in a language she didn’t know. Mr. Big replied in the same tongue. The fat man’s smile disappeared. He had not liked the response.
    The temperature dropped. So did her stomach.
    These were people from another world, a world she did not want to visit. Oh, was this ever a mistake, and oh, was she sorry. Forget keys, glasses, pride, self-esteem. All she wanted was to curl up on her couch, pig out on Oreos and watch Jane Austen movies on DVD.
    Her eyes focused on Mr. Big. He looked unconcerned by the blood coursing down his chin, but he stared at her with a burning intensity.
    She didn’t dare look away from him, with those guns pointing at her, those men staring at her body. He was her only point of reference.
    It had taken her that whole night to work up the nerve to come back, and the whole morning to get ready. She hadn’t had much to choose from, just what she found in Marla’s closet, and the cosmetics rattling around in her purse. Her houndstooth power suit and stale white silk blouse and heels weren’t an option. Marla’s clothes were snug, though, and Becca hadn’t wanted to seem like she was looking