Read Blood Deep (Blackthorn Book 4) for Free Online

being engaged with someone in the room, she remained alone, hunched over her crossed legs and absorbed in her book – an activity that made her appear even more alien in that environment. It was as if no one took any notice of her. More so, it was as if the others were purposefully staying away from her. It created a sense of fragility about her, despite her deadliness – a fragility that had intrigued him as much as the shock in her eyes as he’d kissed her.
    Now he just needed to see if her loyalty to the notorious con was as fallible as her willingness to save a stranger, let alone keep him alive, had shown.
    So when she tucked those long dark ringlets behind her ear to reveal her pretty face fully, her gaze locking straight onto his – the fact she knew precisely where to look further confirming she was far from human – came the test of whether she truly would squeal as she’d threatened to.
    He’d made sure his exit was clear – his route already planned to give him the greatest chance.
    Her alarm was palpable as her startled eyes met his. Reassuringly, her instant wary glance in Pummel’s direction only confirmed her desperation to cover her tracks. She’d clearly been telling the truth when she’d said any news of her speaking with him would end only one way. Only seemingly the consequences were grave for her too.
    His angle was confirmed.
    Which was fortunate considering it took less than a minute later for Pummel to also notice him.
    Muscular legs parted, shirt loose on his chunky body, Pummel held the match poised at the end of his joint.
    Pummel – aka Nathan Stark. Any con who was anyone didn’t go by their birth name in Blackthorn. They earned names based on their reputation, and Nathan Stark had undeniably earned his.
    Two others sat to the left of him. The one immediately to his left was maybe in his early thirties, his floppy blonde hair scraggy over his forehead. Saul Harker. His crimes were mainly petty, but he had an unpleasant penchant for the vulnerable. His scarily high IQ would have no doubt proved useful to Pummel. Harker was nicknamed Chemist for one simple reason – he was experimental with his victims, inflicting all sorts of concoctions for whatever purpose took his fancy.
    The one next to him had a shaved head like Pummel’s. He was the youngest at late twenties. Troy Blackwell, aka Dice. Absent of conscience, he was eloquently able to justify every action he took by the flip of the cubes he kept in his pocket. He had a list of crimes from petty to downright violent.
    The one sat opposite Pummel was Lennie Masters. Of the same stocky build though visibly younger by maybe ten years, Lennie, as his numbers suggested, had a streak as brutal as the scar that appeared from the side of his neck and, as Eden knew, spanned down to his stomach. He had survived the gutting attempt whilst still in the penitentiary; the three who had attempted it hadn’t. He was known as Homer. He was Pummel’s right-hand man – his intellectual adviser.
    This was Pummel’s main crew. And each pair of eyes rested on him in succession.
    Eden crunched through the remainder of his mint, being mindful not to look back at the girl as he crossed the room towards them.
    And the girl, from what he could see of her downturned head, had equally opted to act smart and keep her curiosity to a minimum too.
    If she was going to squeal, she was taking her time thinking about it.
    As he’d predicted, Homer stood instantly, squaring up in the horseshoe entrance to block Eden’s way. Despite his puffed-up chest and jutted-out jaw, he still didn’t meet Eden’s six-foot-one framenor, more importantly, his relaxed composure. And it was the latter that evoked a hint of well-masked apprehension in Homer. More to the point, it had stirred Pummel’s curiosity enough to give his second in command the nod before finally lighting his joint.
    Eden knew the routine. Without protest, he slipped his coat off. He handed it to Homer