The Defender

by Donna Grant

  The Defender

  Sons of Texas, Book 4

  Donna Grant

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  THE DEFENDER

  © 2019 by DL Grant, LLC

  Cover Design © 2018 by Charity Hendry

  * * *

  ISBN 10: 1942017480

  ISBN 13: 9781942017486

  Available in ebook and print editions

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce or transmit this book, or a portion thereof, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  www.DonnaGrant.com

  www.MotherofDragonsBooks.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Thank You!

  Never miss a new book

  Also by Donna Grant

  About the Author

  1

  Kiev, Ukraine

  The click of the hammer on the pistol behind him was piercing in the silence of the corridor. And it stopped Lev in his tracks.

  He glanced at the hallway three steps ahead on the right, and the door eight steps to his left. Either one could get him to the next level of the theatre, but not without taking at least one bullet in the process.

  “Don’t be a hero.”

  The very feminine, very American accent brought him up short. Before he could respond, the woman repeated her statement in perfect Ukrainian, and then again in Russian.

  It was lucky for Lev that he spoke all three, though his Ukrainian was rusty.

  “Turn around,” she demanded.

  Lev waited until she said it in Russian before he slowly turned toward her. The moment his gaze landed on her, he knew this was no ordinary woman. This was someone who had seen war up-close and personal.

  It was there in her deep brown eyes, in the set of her jaw, and the way she held the gun as if it were an extension of her hand.

  He noted her thick, wavy, caramel-colored locks with the top pulled back away from her face to fall with the rest of her hair down the middle of her back. Her heart-shaped face was classically appealing, the kind of beauty that made men do anything just to be with her.

  She was of average height, but there was nothing average about her. Lev would’ve believed she was just another patron at the ballet with her form-fitting black gown, the pearls dangling from her ears, and black stilettos.

  Except for the gun pointed at his head.

  Their gazes locked, clashed.

  If he were going to get out of this and complete his mission, he would have to think fast.

  The COM in his ear crackled before Callie said his name from the underground base in Texas where the rest of the Whitehorse team was located. When he didn’t answer, she called for him again. But this time, she was cut off mid-sentence.

  Which meant his link to the outside world had been disabled.

  6 Hours Earlier...

  Lev adjusted the bowtie at his throat while trying not to tug at it as he glared with distaste at his reflection in the mirror. He wouldn’t mind wearing the tux if he didn’t have to have something around his throat. It reminded him too much of being choked.

  He stopped his thoughts before they could travel down that bumpy—and disturbing—road. It was no use griping about wearing the tuxedo. There was no way around it. He turned to where his cell phone sat on the table near him and checked it.

  Another day without hearing from Sergei. It pained Lev more then he liked to admit that he hadn’t heard from the old man. Though that old man wasn’t just anyone. Sergei Chzov ran the Russian mob at the docks in Dover, Maryland.

  And Lev was his Brigadier. His captain.

  Which made it doubly hard not to be by Sergei’s side. Lev had watched over Sergei for more than twelve years. Sergei was, in fact, the only family Lev had.

  And Sergei wasn’t even blood.

  Lev set the phone down and walked to the open bottle of vodka. He poured some into the glass and downed it in one swallow. The alcohol slid from his throat into his belly with a warm rush.

  His eyes closed as he set the glass down and thought about the events that had led him and Sergei from Dover to Texas. It wasn’t that Lev didn’t want to join forces with the Loughmans. It was simply that his first duty was to Sergei.

  Except they’d discovered the Saints. The worldwide organization that had manipulated their way into every government in the world to secretly become the biggest power player of all. And they were out to control the population by using a bioweapon that would sterilize women.

  Luckily, all four Loughmans—Orrin, the father, and the brothers Wyatt, Owen, and Cullen—had taken the bioweapon, Ragnarok, and killed the scientist who could recreate it.

  The Loughmans had been joined by four feisty women, and it just happened to be Mia who got Lev and Sergei into this mess. But only because Mia reminded Sergei of the daughter he’d lost.

  It went against everything in Lev to help Mia and Cullen Loughman—and eventually the entire Loughman bunch—but he had never gone against Sergei’s orders. And he wasn’t about to start now.

  Lev blew out a breath and opened his eyes. He had much to make up for. While he couldn’t bring Sergei’s daughter back from the dead, he could—and would—protect Sergei until his dying breath.

  First, Lev had to finish his mission in Kiev. Then, he could return to Sergei’s side.

  The moment his phone vibrated, Lev spun around and grabbed for it. “Hello?”

  “You sound irritated.”

  At the wispy voice thick with a Russian accent despite years in America, Lev relaxed for the first time since leaving Maryland. “Sergei.”

  “Cullen and Mia have kept me up-to-date. It seems you’re to attend the ballet this evening.”

  There was no humor in Sergei’s voice. He knew just how much Lev hated having anything near his neck. “That’s right.”

  “Are you all right?”

  Is that why Sergei called? Was the old man worried about Lev? There was a hint of a smile on Lev’s face as he walked to the window and peeked through the curtains to the city. “I’m fine.”

  “You know what fine means, right?”

  This time, Lev chuckled because the conversation harkened back to the very first one between the two of them. “Freaked out, insecure,” he began.

  Then Sergei joined him and finished with, “Neurotic and emotional.”

  They both fell silent. Lev’s thoughts went to the night Sergei had found him, and the fact that he was still alive because of the Russian.

  “I should not have made you go,” Sergei said.

 
Lev let the curtain drop closed. “I could’ve refused.”

  “We both know you would not have done that.”

  No, he wouldn’t have. Sergei was his Pakhan. His boss.

  Sergei sighed heavily. “If I was younger, I would be there with you. Hell, I would have gone in your place.”

  “I know.”

  “This is a fight everyone must join, no matter how much we wish we did not have to.”

  Lev turned his head toward the mirror and met his own gaze. “I know.”

  “You are not your father, Lev. You are not in Russia. No one knows where you are. Remember that. All of it,” Sergei said, his voice deepening with emotion.

  “I don’t make the same mistakes twice. You don’t need to worry about me.”

  Sergei made a sound at the back of his throat. “Of course, I worry. You are the son I never had.”

  Lev clenched his teeth as emotion swelled within him. Neither of them had ever spoken this way, and he wasn’t prepared for it now.

  Before he could form a reply, Sergei cleared his throat and said in no uncertain terms, “I expect you back home. Get your mission completed and return to your post.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lev replied.

  The line went dead. Lev slowly lowered the phone to the table and tugged on the bowtie and the collar of his shirt. He then went to his bag and opened it, pulling out a Sig Sauer 226, a Colt M45A1 close-quarters pistol, as well as two knives.

  He strapped the Sig in his shoulder holster and the Colt to his ankle holster on his left foot. He slid one knife into a sheath on his right calf, slipped the other into a scabbard on his left forearm. Then he put the COM in his ear.

  “Check,” he said.

  Instantly, Callie responded. “I hear you loud and clear, Lev. Good luck.”

  He took another shot of vodka, looked at himself in the mirror one last time, and then made his way out of the hotel room.

  Lev didn’t doubt for one moment that the intel Callie discovered was sound. It was Orrin Loughman who had trained and recruited her for his company, Whitehorse. She was damn good at her job. Lev could work his way around the internet, but there were places Callie could get to that he didn’t even know existed.

  The summer air smelled sweet and fresh as he got into the cab that would take him to the theatre. Lev was used to moving in the company of questionable people. But the Saints were an entirely different matter altogether.

  Anyone could be a part of the Saints. The organization might have begun with the leaders of the world, but they had methodically and meticulously made their way down the ranks to everyday, normal people.

  But few knew the real drive behind the Saints. Right now, none of that mattered. Because tonight, Lev had to stop the assassination of one of Ukraine’s new political figures.

  It seemed that Denys Stasiuk had unknowingly stumbled upon the Saints. Without even knowing it, Stasiuk began to call out those who supported anyone involved. The politician’s stand against such a clandestine powerhouse had made international headlines. More and more of the country’s other politicians were standing with Denys.

  It caused a fervor that the Saints couldn’t ignore. Because if one stood against them, then others might, as well. After all the work the Saints had done to take control, they weren’t going to let go easily.

  Frankly, Lev would rather be searching for the book that contained the names of all the top brass of the Saints. He wanted that volume so he and the others could go after the organization.

  But he feared that it might take more than that to bring the Saints down once and for all. Since his group was no closer to locating the secret book, they had decided to thwart the Saints’ attempt at taking Stasiuk’s life.

  It had been a long while since Lev was in such a situation, but he was ready for it. Perhaps it would remove some of the regret he lived with.

  The cab pulled up to the theatre. Lev paid the driver and got out of the car. He adjusted the sleeves of his shirt while letting his gaze move around the area.

  Men decked out in tuxes, along with women in dazzling dresses and jewels, made their way up the stairs on the outside of the building to the entrance. Long banners declaring the ballet hung from the roof and billowed in the slight breeze.

  For just a heartbeat, Lev was taken back to his childhood as his mother dragged him to the ballet. He missed those times with her. If only he’d known then what he knew now, he wouldn’t have put up such a fuss. He would have drunk in every second with her before she was ripped from his young life.

  Lev drew in a deep breath and released it.

  Callie’s voice sounded in his ear. “Everything looks good so far. I still wish Maks or someone else was there backing you up.”

  “Don’t need it,” Lev muttered.

  “Maybe not, but I’d feel better if you hadn’t gone alone.”

  Lev didn’t remind her that their team consisted of just eleven people, not counting Sergei. They were already stretched too thinly.

  “I have the schematics pulled up,” Callie continued. “Owen and Wyatt have already picked out the places they expect the attack to originate from.”

  Lev slowly walked up the long flight of steps. “You sure it’s a terrorist group?”

  “That’s what I saw in the chat room on the dark web. But it’s the Saints masquerading as terrorists.”

  “Then they’ll be a part of the audience, and possibly part of the ballet troupe.”

  Callie made an inaudible sound. “Wyatt said the same thing. That’s why I got you tickets in a box. It’ll give you the advantage of looking around the theatre. It should also give you time to make your escape and get to Denys Stasiuk since he’s in the box directly above you.”

  “If I was going after him, I’d use a sniper,” Lev said.

  “There’s too much chatter for just a hit. No, they’ll want to make an example out of him.”

  Lev pulled his ticket from his pocket to hand to the attendant. With a nod of his head, he entered the theatre. “Here we go,” he whispered.

  2

  There was no turning back. Though Reyna had known that the moment she joined the Saints five years earlier. The pearl dangling from her earlobe brushed against her neck as she made her way up to the balcony seats.

  At one time, she would’ve been ecstatic to attend the ballet. She’d always loved to watch dancers. While she’d been in a few classes when she was a child, it had soon become apparent that she didn’t have the skill for it. Yet she remained because her love for it was so strong.

  Perhaps if she’d known her skills lay elsewhere at such a young age, she would’ve left dance.

  Her gaze was trained on the stage and the closed burgundy velvet curtains, but her mind was going through her plan. There was no fear or excitement within her like there used to be before such a mission. Her first twenty or so assignments, she’d vomited before each one. Once she’d settled into her role, the fear and anxiety turned to anticipation and exhilaration.

  She was dead inside now. Had been for some time.

  The lights flickered twice to alert everyone that the show was about to begin. Reyna drew in a deep breath as the lights lowered and the first strings of music from the orchestra filled the air.

  For the next forty-five minutes, she let herself pretend that she was a normal person taking in a ballet like everyone else. The music, the performers, the dancing was all magical. She wanted nothing more than to watch the rest of the show.

  But her internal clock reminded her that her desires didn’t matter. Reyna got to her feet and made her way past other patrons to the aisle. She then walked out of the doors and turned right.

  After a quick glance around to make sure that no one was watching, she entered through a door marked STAFF ONLY. Holding her long skirt up, she quickly navigated the stairs in her stilettos.

  When Reyna reached the bottom, four armed figures in solid black garb waited for her. One handed her a pistol. She took a moment to look at each of the
men before giving a nod that set the night into motion.

  One of the men spoke into a transceiver, letting the other groups know that the operation was a go. Reyna released the magazine of the gun and saw that it was still fully loaded with jacketed hollow point rounds.

  She slid the magazine into the weapon and pulled back the slide. At that moment, her men were barring doors to make sure no one could get in or out of the theatre.

  “Ma’am.”

  That was her signal that it was time for the next step. Reyna didn’t want to interrupt the ballet. It reminded her of the world she’d been in before, the life she’d had. The dancers and the crowd watching were oblivious to the chaos that was about to descend.

  She lifted her skirts again and continued down the remaining stairs that brought her backstage. The dancers making their way to the stage shrieked when they saw her and the black-clad men—and the weapons.

  Reyna ignored them, knowing that the soldiers behind her would gather the stragglers. She kept walking, past the stage manager with her headset. She flashed a confused look when she saw Reyna.

  Reyna met her gaze and lifted her finger to her lips as she strode past. The woman’s mouth fell open as her hands dropped to her sides, and the clipboard clattered loudly to the floor.

  Reyna’s men rushed past her and onto the stage as Reyna stood in the wings, her gaze locked on that of Denys Stasiuk. He wasn’t her target. She was there to ensure that no one else tried to do anything heroic to save the day.