Scar groaned, pain wracking his body, yet his eyes never strayed from the man lounging with lazy indifference on the couch.

In those pupils—dark and wide with terror—was the cold reflection of Kai's distant, implacable face.

Scar didn't doubt for a heartbeat: if Kai gave the order, those two bodyguards with guns would turn them all into Swiss cheese without hesitation.

When death stares you down, the primal instinct to survive claws its way from the ...