Erik Von Detten Brink Novels & Stories

Creed groaned as he looked at him. "How about you let Erik come forward? I have some information that can help." ***

He doesn’t right away- he stares Sam down for what feels like an eternity before I elbow him in the ribs and he returns the handshake. “Brock’s the alpha of the pack in Riverton,” I supply, shifting my gaze from him to Sam uncomfortably. The tension between the two of them is so thick that I feel like I could reach out and grab it. Men and their damn egos. “The same pack that Heidi’s staying with,” I add, looking to Chris. We need a buffer in here, stat! He takes the bait, stepping forward. “Oh yeah? She said the family she’s been staying with is wonderful, been taking good care of her.”

Then Eric bought, renamed it Ostrov Nol the day the papers were signed and had the name carved in Cyrillic into the cliff face at the helipad. The house Single-level brutalist fortress of black concrete and one-way smoked glass perched on the cliff summit. Helipad painted with a blood-red Н (Cyrillic “N” for Nol). 180° fixed ballistic-glass wall facing west into endless Pacific storms. Garage hidden in the rock: his matte-black 1995 Ferrari F50, a snow-white Lada Niva he shipped from Siberia “for the irony,” and a blacked-out Sikorsky S-76 with Н0L tail number. The caretaker is ex-Spetsnaz (silent, 6′7″, lives in the boathouse year-round).