Kyler's Justice (Assassins of Gravas Book 3) - N.J. Walters Page 0,1

were too young to lose their mother.

“Hmm. I think our dear father wore her out. I imagine he’ll get another woman to raise the girls. Or”—he paused for dramatic effect—“get rid of them.”

“He wouldn’t.” Even before she uttered the words, she knew them for a lie. There was no low to which Helldrick would not stoop. Using his children for blackmail? Selling them for profit? Just another day in his world.

Balthazar smirked. “It all depends on you.”

“Why me?”

Quick as a Vusarian cave snake, he grabbed her chin and pinched hard. “Because, dear sister, there’s an air of innocence about you that will make any man trust you.” He thrust her back. “Anyone but me. Remember that.”

Mouth dry and face aching, she grabbed the container of water she’d placed on the corner of her workstation and chugged half of it down. There was no choice. No way could she allow sweet little Sera and her baby sister Maggs to be harmed.

Even knowing she was selling her soul to the devil, she wiped her mouth and said, “What do I have to do?”

Chapter One

Present day…

His prey wasn’t here.

Kyler el Darkos slipped into the rowdy tavern, allowing the shadows to shield him. It was late enough that most of the patrons were either drunk or well on their way. With the hood of his cloak pulled over his head, he remained unseen, a specter of death passing by.

The raucous noise, the raised voices—none of it touched him. Icy calm surrounded him, keeping him apart from the others. The air was ripe—a combination of ale and sweat—but beneath it, the enticing aroma of spices wafted out from what was likely the kitchen area. Whatever had been cooked in there smelled surprisingly delicious. His stomach grumbled, but he ignored his hunger.

A small table in a corner beckoned. He made his way there without incident and settled. Hell’s Gate was like many bars across the galaxies. Every planet had them from bright and cheerful to downright disgusting. This one reeked of danger and desperation. Chances of finding many honest folks here were slim.

Space pirates, mercenaries, drunkards, and criminals of all sorts drank, caroused, and conducted business within these walls. The handful of women in the establishment fell into two categories. They were tough and hardened, part of the criminal class. Or they were tough and hardened, working here to make ends meet, doing what they had to in order to survive.

It was the last known location of Balthazar, a man whose crimes were legion. But his biggest mistake had been taking a prince of Gravas hostage and trying to sell his weapons on the open market. Not that Balthazar had known the man he’d taken was a prince, or even Gravasian. But that didn’t matter. His life was forfeit from the moment he’d harmed the king’s son.

Gravas was a warrior planet that guarded its security and secrets well. Most thought his people never ventured far from home. And they’d be mostly right. But there were long-range scouts and spies always infiltrating other worlds—all to assure their own security. They had no interest in taking over any other world or they would have done so a long time ago.

They came and left without leaving any trail, any sign that they’d passed through. The prince had been one such scout, but he’d been betrayed.

All those involved in the auction of weapons—informants, auction personnel, potential buyers—were dead and the weapons recovered. Balthazar’s little kingdom on Tortuga had been destroyed after the prince’s rescue. All that was left was for Balthazar to face judgment. But not before Kyler uncovered any secrets the man might harbor.

Gravasian justice was swift and brutal. And he was here to see it carried out.

Gravasian assassins were ghosts, whispers on the wind, and feared by all. He was deadlier, more dangerous. The ultimate hunter, he didn’t stop until the job was done. It was in his blood, in his very DNA. In every generation, one of his bloodline was the king’s blade, the sword that fell on those who crossed the crown.

He answered to no one but King Agman el Gravaso, his loyalty absolute. Few knew of his existence. He lived and worked alone.

“Can I get you anything? Kitchen’s closed, but we’re still serving drinks.”

The waitress, whose movements he’d been tracking, stopped in the dim circle of light just beyond his table. Kyler raised his head, making sure his face remained unseen. Protecting his identity was like breathing—done without thought. “Ale.” Not that he’d drink it,