Chapter One

Mikhail kicked in the door of apartment 501. The chains and bolts securing it tore from the frame with a clatter. Kobryn bolted for the window. It didn't matter where he ran, because Mikhail had a man on the fire escape, another on the roof, one on the ground and one in the hall to intercept the neighbors. He caught Kobryn before he made the window—caught him by the hair, spun him around, and shoved a polished steel spike through the hollow of his jaw and into his brain.

"This one's alive."

Mikhail let the body fall and went to his brother, who crouched over a human female sprawled face down on the blackened floor of the kitchenette. A male, obviously dead, slumped in the corner behind her. By the smell, other bodies rotted in the apartment, or had recently. It was a wonder the neighbors hadn't called the police yet.

He flicked on his radio and called his men. "It's done. Omar, I want you to take his body to 313. Daniel, come in for clean up. There's two, maybe more."

"Jesus, why do they all have to live this way?" Gregor said. Under his breath he added, "Fuck me if she's sixteen."

Mikhail gave a half shrug as he knelt down by his brother. Kobryn was trash. This is what trash did. If Gregor could still be shocked, he hadn't spent enough time patrolling.

The girl had long, magenta-streaked hair. Tattoos covered her skinny arms. Examining her, he found plenty of scratches and bruises, but only two bite marks—one below the ear, the other on her inner thigh. Her pulse told him she'd live. Mikhail scowled. Survivors caused complications.

Gregor said, "Do you want me to take her to the clinic?"

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