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“These two are but a fraction of Spartan’s potential. Behold…” Ananke lowers her microphone, swiveling her head back toward us.

One. Whispered. Word.

My vision doubles for a second. Circe grabs her head, her scream guttering.

“Gentlemen? Weapons, please. Circe, be a dear and stab your lover in the heart!”

“Isthis a Bratva perk or a Diamante perk?” I muse, stepping off the private helicopter.

“This is a ‘a bunch of people owe us some serious favors’ perk.” Ciro leads our little party down away from the helipad toward a broad, low building across a long, narrow footbridge. Everything is modern, extremely elegant looking.

And designed to be almost invisible from above. The top of the edifice blends right into the mountainside even from our vantage a few hundred yards away.

“You didn’t specify who ‘us’ is.” I have to shout over the wind. Fucking cold up here.

“And you didn’t used to talk so much,” Ciro barks over his shoulder.

“Now you know how I felt!”

“Do you know how you felt?”

“Ha. Memory jokes. It’s coming back, bit by bit.” I glance around, watching for movement. We’re being watched.

“Perhaps the psychopath twin will go back to not speaking. I like him better silent. Already have one ass-mouth,” Fyodor rumbles, hauling all of our bags with one arm.

“Fyo, don’t you know you’re never ever supposed to go ass to mouth?” Ciro snips back at him.

“How about foot to ass?”

“Only if you bring your little red tights, Zangif.”

“Not to be a nag, but whose Swiss Alps hideout is this, anyway?” I interrupt. If I don’t, they’ll never stop.

“You’ll see.” Vanya yells back, smirking almost menacingly. I hate the way she does that.

Better than the murder glare she used to give me. “That is, if J. Bond doesn’t infiltrate the base and stop the owner from executing their plan of blowing out the moon.”

Vanya snickers.

Ciro and I open our mouths at the same time. “I’d love to blow out?—”

“You should know better than to walk into a verbal trap like that, Sokolov,” a male voice calls from the porch of the partially obscured house. For some reason, my heart starts pounding.

“She’s only just starting to understand the inner workings of jokes,” Ciro quips in return, dodging a sharp jab from his wife.

“I will show you inner workings of your chest cavity. With a knife.”

“Funny way to say you wanna be inside me, dear.” Ciro pauses as we round the last hill. The rest of our party appear nonchalant, even casual as they come to a halt. The porch is empty.

“Um. What are we—?” I don’t get to finish the sentence.

Powerful arms loop under mine, pulling back and pinning me. A sack slips over my head.

“Should I have seen this coming? Think I did,” I growl as I’m manhandled along in the same general direction we were going.

“Necessary precaution,” the man behind me states. Matter of fact. Clinical. Familiar.

“Necessary, my ass!” I grunt, stumbling over a step.