Nightingale

Chapter 17 Beautiful Creatures

Blair Kardashian felt humiliated. He was a good agent, and his acolytes had worked hard, but they had not been able to generate any leads on the pair of masaaks.

Perhaps that justified sending reinforcements, but did they have to be dread knights?

The agents who appeared at the hotel—three men, one woman, were all brutally handsome, and all dressed in black leathers, with silver bling. It wasn't a fashion statement; it was a uniform. The leather jackets and pants were equipped with a padding made of spun selenium crystals, far stronger than Kevlar.

But it was not the clothing that dismayed him: it was the demeanor of these people. They glided across the floor as smoothly as if they were skating on ice, while their eyes roved the room, like those of mountain lions, hunting with a cool regard. There was a deadly grace in the way their hips rolled. It came from decades of practicing martial arts, of being exquisitely aware of their centers of balance, of always being prepared to instantly attack or defend.

The woman threw a suitcase on his bed, opened it to reveal black helmets and night goggles.

The lead hunter, a man with spiked hair bleached white, asked, "So you have pictures of the targets?"

"Just the boy," Blair admitted. He held out his cell phone, showed the image of Bron, climbing into his car.

The dread knight dismissed the picture with a sneer. "Show me the woman," he said, and reached up to grasp Blair's cranium before he could object.