Hostile Ground (The Arsenal #7) - Cara Carnes

Acknowledgments

It might take a village to put out a book, but when it comes to The Arsenal I’m beyond blessed to have an army behind me. I wish there were enough pages to thank everyone individually.

Thank you to my fearless editors, who never fail to knock my words into shape. And my talented photographer and fabulous cover designer for always, always providing gorgeous covers that bring the world to life.

A huge thank you to Tracie, Heather, and Becca for your valuable feedback. Your insight and dedication to The Arsenal world is truly appreciated. Also, for all those who received an ARC and provided feedback on typos, etc…you have my eternal gratitude for helping polish Hostile Ground.

Thank you to all the experts I’ve reached out to throughout this series. I have learned so much from your expertise, and I thank you for your time and insight. Any errors are entirely mine.

And to The Cohorts and all the readers who have reached out about this series…You all are beyond fabulous. Your passion for these books, the characters within, and the romance genre itself is why I love writing so very much. I hope that I can do justice to the world you’re enjoying.

***While The Arsenal series is a romance at its heart, the fiber, blood and bone of this series is a gritty, sometimes dark, and daunting rollercoaster ride of suspense, family, team, and honor. Love isn’t ever an easy road to navigate. While I’ve made every attempt to warn readers of possible triggers, please know there may very well be subject matter within this series that may be difficult to read.***

Hostile Ground has some scenes involving torture which may trigger some readers.

1

Twenty-two years ago…

Outside Moscow, Russia

“Papa, no!” Kristof Sidorav struggled between the two men holding him. Pain ran down his shoulders, but he didn’t care. Mama needed him to be strong. “Mama!”

Tears trekked down the woman’s face when she looked at him. Blood ran down her busted lip and along both eyes. Why was Papa hurting her? Had Kristof made him mad again? Mama always took his anger whenever he did. But he wasn’t young and scared anymore. He was a man. Fourteen.

“Papa, I’m sorry. Punish me,” Kristof begged.

“You’d hide behind our son,” Kostya said. Anger boomed within his voice as he pressed the gun against her forehead. “Tell him what you did.”

“Kostya, please. Do whatever to me but take him away.” Her voice broke toward the end as she gasped for breaths. Papa had squeezed her throat so hard earlier Kristof had worried she’d die.

No. Not Mama.

Tears tumbled down his face. Papa hated when he cried. Maybe if he cried harder, he’d punish him rather than her.

“Tell him!” Papa screamed.

“I betrayed your father,” she said. Her gaze swept to Uncle Kir, whose body laid face down, his wide, dead eyes focused on where she knelt in front of Papa.

“I gave you everything and you dared spread your legs for him like a whore.” He spat in her face and squeezed her throat with his left hand. “No one betrays me and lives. Especially not you.”

Kristof struggled once again. Ivan punched him in the stomach. “Watch! This is what happens to whores and betrayers.”

“I love you, Kristof. Never forget that.” Mama clutched at Papa’s hand as he squeezed harder.

The gunshot boomed in the room. Blood sprayed the area as Papa stepped back and Mama fell. No. Shock and pain rolled through Kristof as Ivan and the other man released their grip.

He surged forward and fell to his knees. “Mama!”

Kristof drew his mama into his arms and rocked back and forth. Garbled grief rolled from his throat as he cried.

“Enough. My son will not grieve for a whore.” Papa dragged him backward.

Kristof pulled away from his papa and turned. “Why? How could you?” He punched the man’s chest and squeezed his eyes shut, but all he could see was Mama’s blood. All he heard was the gunshot.

“Enough!” Papa bellowed. “You will not cry for a whore. She’s made you weak.”

Kristof glared up at the man who’d done nothing but hurt and scare him. He’d never hugged him close like Mama had. He’d never told stories or sung songs or played with him. “I hate you!”

Pain exploded along his jaw. He touched the area and glared up at his papa. Red filled the man’s face. Evil lurked within his eyes like it always did.

“I’ll kill you for this,” Kristof promised.

Papa laughed. “You are nothing but a weak and pathetic runt I should’ve smothered at