Page 96 of The FBI Agents Who Stole Me

Fuller turns away, checking his phone and loading more weapons into his vest. At least he knows this is going to turn into a war.

I’m so sick of the fucking Eligere. Every time I hear more about them, it’s like their power and crimes just keep growing. Maybe it’s time to stop letting them get away with so much.

Fuller continues his monologue, clearly impressed with himself for all he’s achieved. It will be short-lived. See, that’s funny because he’s not going to live much longer. I can be the funny one when I want to be. Elliot seems to think he’s the only one with a sense of humor.

“I debated offering Leighlan to the Eligere after we lost our skins,” Fuller says, smug. “But someone inside wouldn’t let it pass.”

Val, I bet. Good for her. She’s already fucking their shit up. But skins? Fuck, I didn’t know they were trafficking.

I shift silently along the rotting wood beam, trying to get a better angle. Elliot spots me through the shadows. He smirks.

I blow him a kiss.

Fuller’s voice keeps rolling, satisfied and pleased with himself. He thinks he’s won. But he’s not walking out of here.

Elliot spits blood at his feet. “She’s going to put a bullet in your head before you finish that sentence.”

I don’t wait for Fuller to answer.

Easing out, I scoot just far enough out of the pallets to aim. My arms lock once I raise the gun.

I pull the trigger, but something reaches for me from behind. The force makes the gun swing. The shot is about an inch short when it cracks through the warehouse.

Fuller jerks sideways with a shout as the bullet tears off part of his ear and rips into the side of his face. Blood sprays across his shoulder. For one heartbeat, I think I’ve got him.

Then an arm slams around my throat from behind and yanks me off my feet. The gun goes wild, the bullet sparking off metal framing from above us before it’s ripped from my grip. The guard’s forearm crushes against my windpipe, thick and unyielding. I drive an elbow back into his ribs, but it’s like hitting a wall. He doesn’t even grunt.

Fuller straightens, face twisted with pain and rage. Blood soaks down the side of his face.

“Sorry. I interrupted right in the middle of your villain monologue.” He tilts his head like he’s in shock I’m here. “Oh, should I speak up? Can you hear?”

Bash laughs crackles through the comms. He’s here. The butcher boy will paint this place red. It makes me really happy inside.

“You stupid bitch,” Fuller snarls. He stalks toward Elliot, who’s still on the floor, hands bound. “You’ll die right after your boyfriend.”

I kick back hard at the guard’s shin. He curses but doesn’t loosen his grip.

“One,” Calum’s voice says calmly in my ear.

They are here already, counting the bodies they’re dropping. It gives me some hope.

I just need to hold on a little longer.

A sharp cry echoes from deeper in the warehouse. Fuller’s head snaps toward the sound, panic flashing across his face. He doesn’t aim. He just raises his gun and fires.

The shot is deafening.

Elliot jerks backward and hits the concrete hard. Blood blooms fast across his chest, dark and spreading. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out at first. Then I hear “Lee—” but it's garbled behind the blood that pours out.

I lunge forward without thinking, and my air is cut off when the guard’s arm tightens. My vision tunnels. Everything narrows to the red spreading under Elliot’s body and the way his fingers twitch against the floor like he’s still trying to reach for something.

Fuller wipes blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and smiles through it, teeth stained red.

“Dead man’s switch,” he says, lifting his wrist. A slim black band is strapped there, thumb hovering over a recessed button. “A simple touch and the whole warehouse cooks. Your boyfriend included. So maybe you stop moving before I decide to test it.”

I go still. The guard’s breath is hot against my ear.

Fuller steps closer, barrel still trained on Elliot.