Free The Shopgirl's Prophecy (Beasts of Vegas Book 1) by Anna Abner Page A

seconds ticked by.
    “Keep going. You’re both doing great.” Working around Ali, the doctor cut his blood-soaked T-shirt and jeans off, leaving him in nothing but a pair of blue boxer shorts. He looked young and thin, not at all like he’d been that afternoon in the hotel suite.
    She hadn’t saved her uncle. She’d been too late. She hadn’t saved Stefan. She’d been too afraid. But here was her chance, finally, to do something.
    There was still hope. Connor wasn’t dead yet.
    I’ll save you. I’ll bring you back.
    She leaned into her thirty on, two off rhythm, compressing his chest nearly to the point of fracturing ribs. Blood coated both her palms as sweat beaded on her brow and ran down her face.
    Eleven, twelve, thirteen.
    The doc tapped Ali on the arm. “You can get down now.”
    “I’m not done,” she panted. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen .
    “Okay, but this might sting a little.”
    The doctor slapped on a couple chest leads and activated the defibrillator.
    Oh. Ali hopped off the table as the heart monitor beeped.
    Flat line.
    She couldn’t watch one more person die. She might lie down and fade away forever. Her stomach fluttering in sympathy, she backed into the doorframe, inhaling through her nose, but it didn’t help steady her nerves. She smelled blood and death.
    She meant to keep it inside, but her prayer slipped out in a whisper. “Please.” The paddles went off once, twice. The lines on the machine leapt wildly. The doctor shocked him again.
    #
    Volk had christened the former chapel inside St. Peter’s Hospital the cathedral, and it was his favorite meeting room. It had a definite air of the supernatural. The crumbling plaster, the charred walls, the birds nesting overhead. It was a beautiful cliché, and Maks adored it.
    The only furnishings were a large table—currently covered in colored maps of the area—one chair, and Volk’s sofa. He stretched out on it and waited for Olek to speak.
    There hadn’t been words exchanged on the tense drive back from Paradise. Not only had they lost Anya, but that uppity human had wasted their time and killed Dawn. Someone would pay for the waste of time and the waste of a good soldier, and Maks only hoped it wouldn’t be him.
    The Destroyer paced, brows drawn. Not a happy face. Maks schooled his features. It was second nature at this point, reading Olek’s moods and reacting appropriately. Maks’ skill at lying had reached master levels. His boyish face put everyone at ease. They underestimated him, always had. They saw a teenager when they should see a man, full grown. A dangerous man.
    “You promised me,” Olek said, growling, “that Anya would be there.”
    He sat up. Time to soothe the savage beast. “We received bad information.” Keeping his gaze averted, he added a hint of deference to his voice as he remembered Olek had been shot today. “It won’t happen again.”
    Olek paused in his pacing across the faded, torn carpeting. “You have failed me twice.”
    “Forgive me, my lord.” He bowed his head. “But she is within our grasp.”
    Maks had been keeping tabs on Anya since his release from his American prison. For the past twenty-two years, she’d been in the UK, out of reach, ensconced in a metropolis built upon an island. Uri Rusenko had planned his disappearance perfectly. But, over time, he’d grown sloppy. Over confident. The fool had died and left her all alone.
    And Maks wasn’t the only person watching. Almost the moment Anya stepped foot on American soil, Olek knew it. He was far trickier than even Maks gave him credit for. He’d taken a few days to plan, and then five of them had gone to Paradise. Except they’d missed her by minutes. She was on a bus, her uncle admitted under threat of torture. Olek sent Maks along to investigate. But a clueless humanitarian had nearly shot his head off. Fearing he’d pass out and be imprisoned again, Volk had fled.
    Infuriated, sensing a never-ending rabbit chase, Olek killed