Page 161 of The Devil's Thorn

That was it. No snark. No bite. No smile. Just that calm, distant reply.

It should’ve irritated me. It didn’t. It amused me. She was playing a game—her own kind of warfare. And if she thought I wasn’t fluent in that language, she was underestimating the wrong man.

My gaze flicked to Kellan, then Ash. “You two stay out here,” I said, tone clipped. “We won’t be long.”

Ash’s jaw flexed. Kellan gave a stiff nod.

We moved as a unit—me, Nikolai, Yuri, and Isabella. She walked beside me, silent, her steps perfectly in rhythm with mine like we’d been doing this for years

The entrance to the building was guarded by two men in dark shirts, earpieces barely visible. One of them stepped forward—a broad-shouldered man with scars on both knuckles and a semi-bored look that screamed ex-military. Likely cartel security.

“El jefe wants to know who’s coming in armed,” he said in Spanish. “And who’s coming in at all.”

I answered without hesitation, in the same language. “Only three with me. You can pat us down.”

Isabella didn’t react outwardly, but I felt it—that subtle shift in energy next to me.

The guard gestured toward the wall. “Against there.”

We moved to the side. The second man stepped forward, professional and methodical as he patted down Nikolai first, then Yuri. When it came to me, I held his gaze the whole time. His hands were careful. Respectful. Smart.

He reached Isabella last. I tensed—but only slightly. She lifted her arms with no protest, her expression unreadable, jaw set, eyes locked on the door ahead like it was her kill.

Once cleared, the guard nodded once. “They’re clean. Go ahead.”

We stepped inside. The hallway was narrow, dimly lit with a soft amber glow lining the walls. The scent of leather, sweat, and smoke lingered in the air, thick like oil. My thoughts sharpened with every step we took. No mistakes. No emotions.

We reached the wide double doors at the end of the corridor. A man in a suit waited there, one hand on the gold handle.

I glanced once at Isabella as the doors opened—at the way she held her chin high, shoulders straight, fire simmering beneath her skin like it never left.

She had no idea what she was walking into. And yet, somehow, I knew—neither did I.

The door closed behind us with a heavy thud, the kind that settled like finality in your bones. I walked into the room first,Nikolai and Yuri flanking me on either side, Isabella a step behind—silent, unshaken, and dressed like a calculated sin.

Three men sat at the long table already, their posture relaxed, but their eyes sharp. One of them—the one I knew best—tilted his chin up slightly in acknowledgment, then let his gaze slide over to her. Slowly. Deliberately.

I didn’t like the way he looked at her. Not one bit.

I pulled out a chair, not the one at the head—that was for show—but the one just off center. Power didn’t always sit where people expected. Nikolai took the seat to my right. Isabella sat beside him without waiting for permission, and Yuri dropped into the last chair with a lazy grin like we were all here to drink and not talk business with men who’d slit your throat if your numbers were off.

My jaw ticked when I saw another set of eyes on Isabella. Was this what I’d brought into the room? A weapon? Or a distraction?

“Who’s the girl?” the man at the head asked, voice low, deliberate. He leaned forward with both forearms braced on the table, his thick accent wrapping around each word like smoke. “She doesn’t look like just another soldier.”

I leaned back in my chair, letting silence stretch for a moment. Power meant knowing when not to speak.

“She’s mine,” I said finally, tone flat. “That’s all you need to know.”

Isabella didn’t flinch, didn’t correct me. Smart. She knew the game.

The man’s eyes flicked to Yuri, then to Nikolai. “Strange company you keep these days, Carrion. Russian steel… and something much more unpredictable.”

“She’s here because I trust her,” I said. “That’s rare enough in our world.”

That shut him up. At least for now.

We got into the numbers then—kilos, routes, weapons shipments. I laid out the offer with the kind of calm precision that unnerved men like this. Our end was simple: access to their southern corridor. In exchange, they’d get what no one else could deliver right now—untraceable military-grade rifles, high-caliber ammunition, and explosives.