The warehouse sat on the edge of a derelict pier, a rusted skeleton of corrugated iron and broken promises.
It was one of Bane Valak’s smaller operations.
More of a transition point for high-end narcotics and clean weapons and that was exactly why I’d chosen it.
You don't start a war by swinging at the king’s head.
No, you start by cutting off his fingers, one by one, until he can no longer hold his sword.
The air was thick with the smell of stagnant saltwater and my men moved like shadows through the gloom, killing the enemy, their mission the only thing on their minds.
We hadn't come for the cargo.
We had come to send a signal.
I stepped over the body of a guard whose throat had been opened with surgical precision.
He’d died with a look of pure shock on his face.
Poor thi
