It was the team leader of the fifty-million-dollar hit squad Elias Thorne had hired. The mercenary's tactical armor was in shreds. His collarbone was shattered, his left arm was in a sling, and his face was a patchwork of deep, vivid bruising. He was shaking, though whether from the physical agony or the sheer terror of standing before the High Table, it was impossible to tell.
Viktor looked down at the broken killer, his expression entirely unreadable.
"Twelve Tier-One operatives," Viktor said, his voice smooth and heavily accented. "A fully funded, open-ended contract. The target was a corporate logistics CEO and two bodyguards. And yet, you are the only one who returned. Explain yourself."
The mercenary swallowed hard, tasting copper. He forced himself up onto his good knee, bowing his head respectfully to the shadows around the table.
