The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) by Brad Magnarella (best business books of all time txt) 📕

Her eyes burst into black flames. “I know the fucking stakes, Croft!”

I stared ahead at the line of street lights, my cold hands wringing my cane. I shouldn’t have pressed. Vega had made her decision. If sparing the lives of hundreds of children meant placing her own child in deeper danger, she had no choice. The vow to serve and protect was emblazoned on her soul. Like my magic, it was a part of her makeup.

A light rain began to streak the windshield as we approached Ferguson Towers. The sedan scraped over the curb and onto the sidewalk before barreling through the project’s main gate. The water on the windshield spangled the lights of the east towers. Beneath the lights, hundreds of figures had amassed. On the far side of the plaza another army was gathering in front of the west towers.

“Shit,” Vega spat.

She accelerated toward the east towers and slammed on her brakes. The front line of men pulled back as the sedan skidded around on the slick concrete and came to a sliding stop in front of them. I peered past Vega. The men wielded weapons, several of them aimed at the sedan. I was no expert on arms, but I recognized the green grenades jutting from shoulder rocket launchers.

“Hey,” I said to her, “maybe we should reconsider—”

Vega threw her door open and got out. “Stiles!” she shouted.

Oh, Christ. I got out on my side and hustled around the car until I was beside her, the rain flicking my face. The armed men pressed forward until Vega and I were enclosed in a semicircle.

“Where’s Stiles?” she demanded.

Murmurs went up about cops on their turf. As I looked from face to hostile face, I understood why Vega hadn’t wanted to get a larger police force involved. The NYPD was just as much the enemy as Kahn.

“Stiles!” she shouted again.

The crowd shifted, and Stiles emerged in a boot-length leather coat, his shades and bald head glistening with water. “Ricki,” he said calmly.

Vega stomped forward until she was standing in front of him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“We had an agreement,” she shouted.

“Yes, had,” he said. “The situation changed.”

“Bullshit!” Rainwater flew from Vega’s mouth. “You were planning this stupid war before the latest victim turned up.”

“I’ve told you in the past, you live by your rules, we live by ours. Rule number one is to never give ground to your enemy.”

Vega stepped closer. “And I told you, goddammit, Kahn’s not behind the killings.”

“You’ve been gone too long, kid,” Stiles said. “You’re out of your depth. Shove off, and take Pasty here with you.”

“She’s right,” I said, struggling to keep my voice from shaking in the sudden cold. “We’re closing in on the perp. We almost had her apprehended earlier tonight.”

“Where I come from,” Stiles said, “almost doesn’t mean much.” Laughter erupted around him, and I could see how he had maintained control over his towers. In addition to whatever violence he wielded, he had the coolness factor down pat. But the line of his jaw suddenly hardened. Vega was pointing her pistol at him.

“Call it off,” she said, “or I’m bringing you in.”

Stiles shook his head. “Don’t be stupid, Ricki.”

Metal flashed, and two dozen barrels stared at Vega and me. I concentrated into my casting prism, ready to conjure a shield. C’mon, I thought to Vega. I know you’ve got history here, but is this worth it?

“Call it off,” Vega repeated.

Grumblings went up, but Stiles silenced them with a raised hand. “Everyone chill. This is between me and Ricki.”

“So what’s it gonna be?” Vega asked, the rain water that beaded over her pulled-back hair beginning to trickle down her face. Her pistol didn’t waver.

Stiles shook his head. “Still the same spitfire you were twenty years ago, never knowing when to back down.”

“Yeah, well this isn’t twenty years ago, and we’re not arguing over whether you’re two-timing me—which I knew you were. You’ve got enough artillery to reduce the west towers to a sandlot. And I’m guessing they’ve got enough to do the same over here. Look around, goddammit. Look at all the lives you’re putting in danger.”

I peeked up the east towers. The same silhouettes I’d seen last night stared from the windows. It was the smaller ones, low to the sills, that bothered me the most, the ones belonging to children.

Though Kahn’s army waited across the plaza, the aim of Stiles’s sunglasses didn’t shift from Vega’s face.

“She’s right, boss.”

I looked over to see someone large pushing his way to the fore. It was Rancho, his own rain-streaked face tense and fearful.

“I-I’ve got a family up there,” he said. “A lot of us do.”

Several of Stiles’s men shifted, necks craning back toward the towers. The movement created a shudder through the ranks, through Stiles’s generalship.

“Is that right?” he asked calmly, drawing a black pistol from his waistband. “You’re worried about your families?”

Rancho stepped back, the thick lump of his Adam’s apple bobbing as Stiles raised the pistol.

“Hey, c’mon, man,” Rancho said, showing his hands.

Stiles stared him down, then pivoted his arm and shot Vega pointblank in the stomach.

My heart stopped as Vega collapsed to the concrete. Stiles’s men backed away.

“If you know how to drive, I suggest you collect your partner and get off my plaza.” It took me a moment to realize Stiles was talking to me.

I dropped to a knee beside Vega. She was still alive, thank God, her breaths coming in choked gasps. The bullet had pierced the body armor in a small burst of mesh. There was no way to tell how deep the bullet had penetrated, but blood was seeping from the hole. A lot of blood.

Anger burned in my gut. “She was only doing her job.”

“Did you say something to me?” Stiles asked, his voice even, menacing.

I rose and rotated toward him. “She was only trying to protect your residents.”

“She knows better.”

I had no more words for the cold-blooded creature. A man who would hurt a