Two To Go: Bayou Heat (Pantera Security League Book 2) Read Free Page A

with powerful, broad shoulders. His dark hair was cropped into a military flat-top and his features were bluntly cut, with pale eyes.
    He was wearing a pair of camo pants and a white ribbed tank top, and he had that expression that said, I’m either going to kill you or eat you .
    Poser.
    And so boringly predictable.
    She headed for the stairs, already prepared for Mr. Meathead to get in her face or grab her arm.
    “Hang on, sweetheart,” he growled, doing both. “Where do you think you’re going?”
    She arched a brow, then glanced down at the thick fingers that circled her arm. Another asshole thinking it was okay to get in a female’s personal space. As she glanced back up, making a tsk tsk sound with her tongue and teeth, she noticed a second human male. This one had come out of a door to the left and was climbing down the stairs.
    “One. Two,” she counted slowly, her gaze returning to the hand on her arm.
    “Did you hear me?” the man snapped.
    Elyon grinned. She’d have to be deaf not to hear this asshole’s grunts.
    Her nostrils flared and she let the scents wash over her. “Three. Four.” She continued her counting.
    “Bitch, you’d better get your hot ass out of here or I’m going to—”
    “Five.” She interrupted his flattering yet unwelcome threat, moving with blinding speed.
    The man released a shrill scream as Elyon wrapped her fingers around his wrist, squeezing hard enough to shatter his bones. Pretty.
    She didn’t stop there.
    Still holding his mangled wrist, she whirled to the side. The motion dragged him off his feet and slammed his body against the brick wall. There was a loud thud. Like a sandbag hitting cement. A very large, very sweaty sandbag.
    She released her hold, a taunting smile curving her lips as the man gave a groggy shake of his head and forced himself to his feet.
    “I did count,” she said in sweet tones.
    The guard swore in Serbian, then charged forward. Elyon heaved an uninterested sigh, neatly stepping out of the way. Really, it was sad. There was a time when the Russian mafia hired only the best fighters. Now it seemed their standards had gone straight into the gutter.
    Who the hell charged in such a narrow space?
    Waiting until he was lumbering past her, Elyon swirled to lift her leg. She kicked him in the ass, sending him shooting into the brick wall on the other side of the hall. This time the sound was more of a crack than a thud as his skull connected with the bricks.
    He groaned, sliding to the floor with a dazed expression.
    “Nice move.” A male voice sliced through the air, his accent hinting to a childhood spent in Moscow. “Can I help you with something?”
    With a last glance to ensure the guard wasn’t intending any surprise attacks, Elyon turned her attention to the man who was standing on the lowest step.
    He was short and square with thick salt-and-pepper hair that was greased back from his florid face. He had heavy jowls and dark-rimmed glasses that were tinted to hide his eyes. An old trick that was supposed to intimidate opponents back in the day.
    He looked like the stereotypical Russian mob boss.
    Seriously, the entire place was just one big cliché, she silently, and irritatingly, concluded.
    “That depends,” she told him.
    “On what?”
    “On how much money you can offer me.”
    He shrugged, raising his hand to study his manicured nails. “You know how to cook stroganoff? Or are you a waitress?” he asked, pretending not to know why she was there.
    Heh heh. Idiot.
    “I’m asking how big your purse is,” she bluntly demanded.
    There was a gurgled sound from the guard who was trying to raise his bloody head.
    “Grr?” Elyon released a sharp laugh, nudging his ribs with the toe of her boot. “Is that Serbian for ‘I just got my ass kicked by a girl’?”
    The man on the stairs clicked his tongue. “Clearly I need to upgrade my security.”
    “You’re Victor Sokolov?”
    The man glanced toward the opening that led to the