Hunters The King & Slater Series Book Eight Matt Rogers Copyright © 2020 by Matt Rogers All rights reserved. Cover design by Onur Aksoy. www.onegraphica.com Contents Reader’s Group Facebook Page Books by Matt Rogers Preface Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Chapter 69 Chapter 70 Chapter 71 Chapter 72 Chapter 73 Chapter 74 Chapter 75 Chapter 76 Chapter 77 Chapter 78 Chapter 79 Chapter 80 Chapter 81 Chapter 82 Chapter 83 Chapter 84 Chapter 85 Chapter 86 Chapter 87 Chapter 88 Chapter 89 Chapter 90 Chapter 91 Chapter 92 Chapter 93 Chapter 94 Chapter 95 Chapter 96 Chapter 97 Chapter 98 Chapter 99 Chapter 100 Chapter 101 Chapter 102 Chapter 103 Chapter 104 Chapter 105 Chapter 106 Chapter 107 Chapter 108 Chapter 109 Chapter 110 Chapter 111 Chapter 112 Chapter 113 Afterword Afterword Books by Matt Rogers Reader’s Group About the Author Join the Reader’s Group and get a free 200-page book by Matt Rogers! Sign up for a free copy of ‘BLOOD MONEY’. Meet Ruby Nazarian, a government operative for a clandestine initiative known only as Lynx. She’s in Monaco to infiltrate the entourage of Aaron Wayne, a real estate tycoon on the precipice of dipping his hands into blood money. She charms her way aboard the magnate’s superyacht, but everyone seems suspicious of her, and as the party ebbs onward she prepares for war… Maybe she’s paranoid. Maybe not. Just click here. Follow me on Facebook! https://www.facebook.com/mattrogersbooks Expect regular updates, cover reveals, giveaways, and more. I love interacting with fans. Feel free to send me a private message with any questions or comments. Looking forward to having you! Books by Matt Rogers THE JASON KING SERIES Isolated (Book 1) Imprisoned (Book 2) Reloaded (Book 3) Betrayed (Book 4) Corrupted (Book 5) Hunted (Book 6) THE JASON KING FILES Cartel (Book 1) Warrior (Book 2) Savages (Book 3) THE WILL SLATER SERIES Wolf (Book 1) Lion (Book 2) Bear (Book 3) Lynx (Book 4) Bull (Book 5) Hawk (Book 6) THE KING & SLATER SERIES Weapons (Book 1) Contracts (Book 2) Ciphers (Book 3) Outlaws (Book 4) Ghosts (Book 5) Sharks (Book 6) Messiahs (Book 7) Hunters (Book 8) LYNX SHORTS Blood Money (Book 1) BLACK FORCE SHORTS The Victor (Book 1) The Chimera (Book 2) The Tribe (Book 3) The Hidden (Book 4) The Coast (Book 5) The Storm (Book 6) The Wicked (Book 7) The King (Book 8) The Joker (Book 9) The Ruins (Book 10) “It is lamentable that to be a good patriot one must become the enemy of the rest of mankind.” Voltaire 1 Devin Nelson stood in the Oval Office before the President of the United States and said, ‘Do you trust me?’ The President hesitated. ‘Would you be here if I didn’t?’ The thick oval rug muffled their words. Nelson liked that. If they reached unwanted ears, they would cost him his career, his wellbeing, and almost certainly his life. His involvement in the world of covert black-ops afforded him the ability to rid the meeting of lingering officials. The Secret Service were outside in the adjoining office, waiting diligently for the briefing to conclude. It didn’t help Nelson’s nerves that he’d spent all day thinking about this moment. In typical presidential fashion, the planned early-morning debrief on active wet work missions had been rescheduled twice to accommodate the President’s chaotic and never-ending list of obligations. Finally Nelson had wormed his way into a 5:30p.m. debrief, and the time slot had miraculously stuck. Now the President stood above the Seal, the coat of arms adorning the middle of the rug. It formed the centrepiece of the room. The man was in his early sixties with steel grey hair, cut short. His suit was tailored to his thin frame and his eyes were pale blue, sharp and uncompromising. It was like he never blinked. Nelson had known that gaze for decades, well before the man took office. Its unwavering power had carried him to the highest throne in the land. Elevated him to places neither of them anticipated. ‘It’s my job to be here,’ Nelson said. ‘I’d understand if you didn’t have the same confidence in me as you did in the old days.’ ‘Why would anything have changed?’ ‘I’m just asking.’ ‘But why are you asking, Devin?’ He was the President, after all. If he didn’t know how to cut to the chase, he’d have been bullied out of power at the beginning of his term. Nelson said, ‘I have something for you.’ He slipped a tiny glass vial out of his inside jacket pocket. He held the contents up for scrutiny. The liquid within gleamed under the lights. It was semi-dark outside now, the White House grounds coated in a stormy grey, which only emphasised the allure of the amber substance, like a warm hug on a cold night. The President stared at the vial for a beat. ‘I don’t know what that is, but how the fuck did you get it in here?’ ‘You think they bring me in through the front?’ Nelson said. ‘You think I’m subjected to the routine for regular schmucks? All those screening procedures?’ The President shrugged. He rounded the Resolute desk, that giant old-fashioned slab, and sat down in his chair. Then he gestured for Nelson to sit opposite. Which definitely wasn’t, ‘No, put that away and get out.’ Nelson hadn’t entered the White House the “regular schmuck” way in nearly a decade. He reminisced on the painstaking security measures — passing the Uniformed Division officers with their rifles, the Belgian Malinois’ sniffing for explosives, the infrared and audio detectors, the marksmen on the roof, the sweeps, the frisk searches, the alarms just waiting to blare if so much as a hint of treachery was detected. Nelson had abandoned all that when he’d ceased to exist. Running black operations does wonders for expediency. All those boring hoops public officials have to jump through become an outdated relic of the past. With great power comes … well, whatever you want, really. So now Nelson came and went as he pleased, away from the lens of public scrutiny, delivering intelligence briefings to perhaps the most famous individual on the planet. Information that would never make the news or the talk shows. Now he pulled up an ornate wooden chair and sat
