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mind. But he couldn’t relax completely. He knew too many casualties would quickly alert the calvary, and the goddamn calvary was not invited to this war, because Peter Redding was determined to win.

 
     
    CHAPTER TEN
    Mark Pritchett loved watching the pretty doctor. Everyone loved watching Dr. Morales. But he was by far the most skilled at watching without her ever knowing. Hell, he’d been watching her long before he’d gotten word only a few hours earlier to keep an eye on her.
    That’s who he was—a watcher. 
    He couldn’t wait until he got the go-ahead to take care of her. They would want that, wouldn’t they? The Brotherhood wouldn’t just want him to keep an eye on her and then do nothing about it.
    Mark wanted so badly to prove himself to The Brotherhood. He was tired of being a peon. He was worthy of so much more. He could do so much more for the cause. He knew he could. If only they’d give him the chance.
    For now, Mark would bide his time. It wasn’t as if his assignment was a bad one. Keeping an eye on certain doctors was easy, and he’d been doing a damn fine job of it. Watching them and reporting back in. Smooth as silk. He knew he should be happy they trusted him. There were not many of them who had been placed in a position like this. Out of all of the guys who could have been chosen, they’d chosen him.
    There had been a handful of doctors on his list to watch, including Dr. Morales. He’d about split a nut. She was gorgeous. But an ice-cold bitch. Like they all were. Women. From his mother to his fat-assed sister to the ex-girlfriend he should have offed for being the most annoying, pain in the ass on Earth.
    Then there was Dr. Morales. Kelly…
    Damn, he would have loved to see her face when the bad-ass detective told her about Hamilton. Priceless. He wondered what Hamilton had done to get himself iced. One thing he knew for sure was when you fucked with The Brotherhood, they didn’t mess around. Obviously.
    Mark snuck inside a supply room and stuck his hand inside his elastic-waist pants, wrapping his palm around his already hard cock. He looked down. The tattoo above his navel made him smile—his identity.
    Everything that swastika stood for, he stood for.
    Thinking about the various ways he would handle Dr. Morales excited him. He tightened his grip and moved his hand faster. Little Miss Big-Shot Doctor. Now that would be something, wouldn’t it? That would really be proving himself. Death. Murder. Yes. With the good doctor, he would look right into her eyes. He would make it slow and torturous. A begging-for-mercy kind of thing.
    He thought more about Dr. Morales and what he was going to do to her. It was pure ecstasy. He leaned against the wall, slid down to the floor, and finished himself off. He couldn’t wait much longer. But waiting was a must because Mark knew no matter how bad he was, the people he worked for were far worse.

 
     
    CHAPTER ELEVEN
    Georgia Michaels—Gem for short—ran her fingers through her pixie cut, wondering how many grays were hidden beneath the Clairol Golden Blonde she’d been using since she was twenty-one and first spotted one of those nasty buggers. That was eighteen years ago, and she had no doubt the stress of raising two teenage boys—not to mention the strain of her job—had turned her hair snow white by now. There was a time, before she’d had the boys, when she’d wanted to become an international correspondent. But her hopes and dreams of interviewing and producing stories for CNN were dashed when her first son came along. She’d taken mothering as seriously as she’d taken anything in her life, and although Austen hadn’t been planned, she’d fallen in love with him at first site and enjoyed being a mom.
    However, kids grow up, divorces happen, and finances dwindle. For the past few years, she’d gotten back into reporting and her dreams were alight again with possibilities for the future. Probably too middle-aged and not pretty