Nolan and Carlton hurried back to their room, bounding up the stairs and giving the door an agreed-upon series of knocks.

Gun in hand Annalise opened the door, scanning the sidewalk and parking lot to ensure that the men weren’t followed.

“Everything go smoothly?” Annalise asked, after locking the door.

“Not exactly,” Nolan answered, gathering up everything in the room that he anticipated taking with them. “Fox was jumped in the woods. The guy from dinner bushwhacked him.”

“He’s a damn ghost,” Carlton grumbled.

“Anyway,” Nolan continued. “We’re on the move. No idea who that guy works for, but he’s no local. He was carrying this.” Nolan slid the gun they’d taken from Stoichkov across the table to Annalise.

“This is Russian military issue,” she observed.

“Hey, lots of stuff went on sale when the Soviet Union collapsed,” Nolan reminded his cohorts. “Don’t read too much into that gun. But the fact that the man who was carrying it was out poking around in the woods after dark and got the jump on Carlton has me spooked. We’re going to get into a vehicle and get out of Dodge. Heard from Canaan?”

“No,” Annalise replied. “Nothing. But I didn’t go looking for him, either. Let’s go get him and find transportation. Hopefully it’ll be hours before anybody wakes up and notices their car is missing.”

Nolan checked the window, saw nothing, and stepped out to take point on the group’s expedition to locate transportation.

As soon as he opened the door, however, he was met with the barrel of a gun.

Arava.

“Step back inside, set everything down, all the guns on the bed and then walk backwards toward the bathroom,” QB’s deputy sheriff ordered.

Nolan and Annalise complied, backing away with their hands raised. They expected Carlton to do the same, but his reaction was entirely different. Carlton walked confidently past his erstwhile teammates and slipped a hand around Arava’s waist and pulled her in for a deep kiss, which she returned eagerly. By the time it ended, Carlton’s hand was cupping a great handful of Arava’s ass, and she seemed to mind not even a little bit.

“Where’s Canaan?” Arava asked.

“With my bitch of a sister,” Carlton replied. “Quinn has betrayed us. She’s been feeding intel to the Titans back stateside.”

“Well, that’s definitely a problem,” Arava replied. “Anything else I need to know about?”

The gears in Nolan and Annalise’s minds cranked away as they tried to process Arava’s sudden appearance, the fact that Quinn and Carlton were apparently brother and sister, and Arava— who Annalise had assumed had some sort of physical relationship with QB— was clearly very close to Carlton.

“There’s a man in the woods,” Carlton continued. “Short, probably seventy. He’s a pro, not sure who he’s working for. He needs to be dealt with.”

Carlton gathered the weapons from around the bed as Arava maintained extended eye contact with Annalise; an intense stare from Arava, intended to intimidate.

“In another life, we could have been friends,” Arava suggested. “I admire everything you’ve accomplished. It makes me proud to be a woman.”

“Does QB know that you and Carlton— or whatever his name is— are so close?” Annalise asked.

“Don’t waste your time trying to drive a wedge between us, you cow,” Arava replied, Carlton’s hand around her waist.

“It just occurs to me that he might have enough to be insecure about without being cuckolded, too, that’s all. Might make him angry.”

“You know nothing about me or my relationships with men, you whore,” Arava spat at Annalise.

Carlton intervened. “She wants to distract you, since she knows it’s over for her. It’s not worth it.”

A seething Arava gave Annalise a death stare.

Annalise smiled back at her. “You’re very uptight. Do you attract impotent men? Sex is a great stress reliever. You obviously aren’t getting any from QB, so that leaves our friend here, and—”

Arava stepped past Nolan and backhanded Annalise hard across the face.

“This is all going to end very badly for you,” Arava threatened Annalise, who rubbed her jaw and tried to blink her eyes into working again.

As Arava walked away, Annalise continued to pester her. “I always wondered if there was such a thing as a blind tattoo artist. Now, I see the proof.”

Arava’s response was blinding; a flying back kick that caught the entire room by surprise, connecting just below Annalise’s throat, sending her sprawling back against the wall, sputtering as she slumped to the floor.

Nolan desperately wanted to comfort his teammate, but with Carlton’s finger caressing the trigger of his Glock, he dared not.

“It’s becoming more and more evident that you’re not ‘Carlton Fox’. So who are you, really?” Nolan asked. “You’ve got me. I’m going to die. Might as well fill me in on who is doing the killing.”

Carlton looked to Arava for guidance, and when she shrugged, he came clean.

“I’m Quintus Brentford. Son of QB, brother of Quentin Brentford, Jr. the new QB whom you met earlier.”

“Lovely,” Annalise replied.

“What do you suppose happens when the Russian in the woods comes to, Quintus?” Nolan asked. “I mean, what if I didn’t bear down on that chokehold quite tight enough? He could be up and looking for you, as we speak.”

Quintus snickered. “Let him come. I’ll be ready for him next time. Besides, we…err…. you took his gun away, remember?”

Just then, a knock came at the door, the knock predetermined by Nolan to gain entry into whatever hotel room they inhabited.

Arava put a finger to her lips to signal for everyone to be quiet, and she made sure her captives remembered who held the gun.

Quintus opened the door wide enough for Canaan and Quinn to come in, quickly shutting and locking it. Quinn’s eyes flew open when she spotted Arava.

“And now, all of our guests have arrived,” Arava laughed. “You two, go and stand by Nolan and Annalise while we figure out who dies first.”

When Quinn hesitated, Quintus gave her a nudge. “You’ve betrayed the family. You’re no better than they are, in my estimation.”

Quinn considered protesting, but if she had to choose between standing with Canaan or standing with Arava, it was really no choice at all. She walked over and stood beside Canaan, who guided her to stand behind him, so that he’d be a human shield.

Chivalry wasn’t something Quinn was accustomed to, growing up with a largely absentee father who spent more time jumping from bed to bed, impregnating women all over the world in his downtime between illegal weapons deals to whatever conflict needed them, and bribing politicians, than he did teaching his daughter how she deserved to be treated.

Canaan squeezed Quinn’s hand, and she squeezed back. If this was to be the end, at least she’d had a taste of what she’d been missing her entire life— love.

“I have a truck downstairs,” Arava told the group. “You’ll walk in a single file line to the truck and get in the back. If any of you deviate from the plan. I will shoot you. If QB didn’t want to see all of you again, I’d do it now.”

“Qadim is dead,” Quinn blurted out. “Quentin killed him. Because they had a disagreement. How many more of your siblings have to die for you to wake the fuck up, Quintus?”

“How…?” Quintus asked, looking to Arava for answers.

She stepped over close to him, putting her hand on his face.

“It was necessary,” she explained. “He was in his helicopter. But he’s gone now. And she will be, soon. Then it’ll just be us and Quentin, lover. Don’t you see?”

Quintus considered her words, and seemed on the fence, but the amoral greed and lust for power inherited by all Brentfords won the day.

“Fuck it. You’re right. Let’s get them back to Quentin and we can figure out just what she’s told them and how. Then we can move forward.”

“Quentin thinks she’s loyal to him,” Quinn pleaded with her brother. “But you know she’s not. If this is what she does when she’s away from him, what does she do when you’re not around?”

“Shut up, Quinn!” Quintus warned. “You’re the one who fucked up. You’re the one who betrayed your family. Not me, you!”

“You’re all fucked,” Canaan said, stepping forward and puffing out his chest defiantly. “There’s nowhere you’ll be able to hide from my family. Nowhere.”

“You’ve begun to bore me,” Quintus announced, reaching over to take a gun from Arava, a piece with a silencer screwed onto the barrel. Quintus lifted it and pointed it at Canaan’s forehead. “You’re just some wannabe Olympian anyway. This isn’t even your world. You were just bait. A pawn. And my foolish sister decided to slum it with you. Well, no more.”

Bang!

Quinn shrieked at the sound of the suppressed gunshot, and Canaan shut his eyes, bracing for impact.

Then the entire room looked on in shock as Quintus pitched forward, dead of a gunshot wound to the head.

Behind him in the doorway stood a little old man with a Russian-made pistol in his hand, which he now pointed at Arava.

“Please, do something foolish, young lady,” Stoichkov said to Arava.

Before Arava could act or even process the death of her secret lover, Annalise leapt across the bed and kicked the gun from Arava’s hand. She followed with a series of punches, to the stomach and face, most of which Arava parried. Her Krav Maga training served her well, and she struck back, sending Annalise sprawling across the bed. Canaan was next to reach her, but she countered him with the same fury she had Annalise, and Canaan staggered back, clutching his ribcage and wiping blood from his mouth.

Nolan considered repaying Arava for the groin kick she’d given him the previous morning, but instead he chose discretion, diving onto the bed for the MP-443 Grach he’d taken from Stoichkov earlier. He fired three shots from point blank range, concurrent with Stoichkov hitting Arava with a volley from his own backup weapon. She fell back into the corner, giving a grimace of rage and pain before sliding down the wall, leaving it covered with a streak of blood.

“Local law enforcement will be here soon, and this is a shit show of the highest order,” Nolan said. “We move now.”

“I have a vehicle on the street,” Stoichkov said.

“Do you mind me asking who you are?” Nolan asked, as they hit the stairs to the parking lot.

“Oleg Drenik sends his regards,” Stoichkov replied, with a smile.

Annalise and Nolan exchanged knowing glances.

Quinn and Canaan followed, holding hands.

They made for Stoichkov’s car, but noticed a box van and black SUV parked at the opposite end of the parking lot, with two men arguing nearby.

“Go to the car. Pick me up on the street,” Nolan ordered, and the group complied.

Nolan ran alongside the building in the shadows, getting close enough to hear the men arguing in French, arguing whether or not they should stay with the vehicles or go to the room and investigate the gunfire. Making the decision easier for them, Nolan ran from cover, expertly dispatching them both with headshots.

He reached the SUV and got low, flattening his back against the rear passenger door before laying down and rolling beneath it, popping up on the other side and pulling open the driver’s door.

In the backseat, alone in the vehicle, sat Quentin Brentford, Jr. QB.

“You son of a bitch,” Nolan hissed, emptying his magazine into the last of the Brentfords who intended him harm. It was a far more merciful death than QB Jr. deserved.

Nolan wasn’t sure he completely trusted Quinn Brentford, but they had her outnumbered now, and he had time to debrief Canaan later.

And she’d saved them. Without a doubt.

Stoichkov peeled out around the corner, and Nolan leapt into the passenger seat. The nondescript, but well-maintained sedan drove into the darkness, bound for Romania.