Page 22

The two men dropped in tandem. Three more shifted in the background, hiding behind a pedestal that cost more than my Corvette. One leaned around and fired in my direction, the angle shit and his aim worse. I fired, catching him in the arm.

He dropped his gun with a curse. Every fucking one of them wore full body armor, but there were gaps. Arms and legs, mainly.

Another man leaped in to try and offer cover, proving they’d trained to work as a unit. Probably paid very well for men who were about to die on a stranger’s property. I hoped their families were properly compensated for their stupidity.

My smile stretched wider, and I rolled across the floor as a spray of bullets flew into the marble. Laughing, I darted around a second pedestal my men used as protection and fired. He saw me coming and swung his rifle toward my chest. “Too late, motherfucker.” I caught the barrel, pushed it to the empty wall, and slammed my forehead into his nose.

Bone crunched. Blood poured over his mouth, and his grip loosened enough for me to unclip the weapon from his rifle sling and drive the stock into his ribs.

He folded, but he wasn’t finished. The knife appeared in his hand so fast I almost admired him. Almost. The blade sliced across my forearm when I caught his wrist. White-hot heat spread up my arm, and the tiny part I’d been holding back came loose. I enjoyed this shit a little too much. Or a lot. Depending on a person’s perspective.

Laughing in his face, I twisted his wrist until the knife dropped, then kept going until the joint gave with a pop.

He screamed and I hummed. “I love that sound. Do it again.”

One of my men shot past my shoulder, and the third attacker stumbled.

I’d nearly forgotten about him in the fun. Instead of joining his partner or taking a shot, he turned and ran. That pulled me up faster than a bullet would have.

Mercenaries repositioned. They only fell back when a commander ordered them. They didn’t abandon men in the middle of an active engagement in hostile territory unless their directive was to bring something back.

“Keep this one alive.” I shoved the man with the ruined wrist toward one of my soldiers, ripped my pistol free of the holster, and sprinted after the runner.

He had a good head start and by the time I hit the next junction, he’d already cleared the first security door and disappeared around a bend. I followed the smear of blood without slowing, my pulse hammering with exhilaration I hadn’t felt in months. My arm burned where the knife had opened it, warm blood slipping beneath my cuff. The pain amplified everything. And so did the chase.

The bastard was fast. That made it better.

I caught a glimpse of black going around a corner and adjusted my speed as a bullet tore through the molding where my head would’ve been. I ducked through a side door, vaulted a desk, and came out through the second door while he fired again at the empty hall.

Panic flashed in his eyes when I slammed him into a wall hard enough to send every picture crashing to the floor. They were ugly anyway. Maksim should’ve replaced them years ago.

The man drove an elbow toward my ribs. I let it land, caught the next swing, and buried my fist in his stomach. He grunted but stayed upright, so I hit him again. The third punch finally folded him enough for me to catch the back of his vest and introduce his face to my knee.

While he cursed, I shoved him backward. He took advantage, using his weight instead of wasting energy trying to outmuscle me. Twisting, he nearly broke my hold. Ah, a smart fighter. I hooked one leg around his and took us both down.

He rolled before I could pin him, drew a compact pistol from behind his back, and tried to line up a shot.

I trapped his wrist and slammed it into the floor. Once. Twice. Three times really seemed to be the charm with this one, because he let go. I slid the gun into the back of my pants and pinned him with an elbow on his arm and a tight grip on his throat, making sure my fingers dug into the soft space in his jaw so he couldn’t bite down. “Why’d you run?”

He spat blood near my shoe and used his free hand to punch at my ribs.

I ground my knee into his arm until he hissed, and squeezed his neck at the same time. “Shall I add this hand?” I wiggled my free hand. “I could take out your eyes? You don’t need those to talk to me.”

He blanched, and the fisted hand stopped flailing at me.

“You know what I like about professionals?” I leaned over him, breathing hard enough that every inhale seared my lungs with gunpowder and blood. “You’re smart but predictable. You don’t panic when bullets start flying.” My chest rumbled with a laugh. “What are you carrying that would make you abandon your men?”

His throat worked beneath my hand in a spasm. When he realized what he’d done, he tried to buck his hips and throw me off.

I cracked my knee into his balls. “Well, now I’m excited. It must be good.” While he cursed and wheezed, I ripped the vest open and ran my free hand over his chest and sides. Something thick bulged from his right ribs, and I yanked out a folded map. I shook it out, my eyes narrowing when I recognized the floorplan for the entire west wing. A route had been marked. A route that ended at Maksim’s private archive. “What was your mission?” I released pressure on his throat and gripped his pistol.

“None of your business.” He tried to bite down, but I shoved the pistol into his mouth, almost breaking his front teeth in the process.

“None of that. You’re not dying until I say so.” Rolling to the side and up at the same time, I pulled him up with me. “You can tell me now, and I’ll let you die with the dignity of your own choosing. Withhold from me, and you’ll learn how many body parts you can live without, and for how long, before death comes knocking at your door.”

A chilling transformation took over his face. It blanked between one blink and the next, reminding me of Roman on a bad day, and I sighed.

“So be it.” I grabbed a round paperweight from Maksim’s desk, yanked the pistol out, and replaced it with the weight so fast he barely managed a grunt. When I dropped my hand, his eyes were wide, his throat working. “Welcome to my world. You’re going to hate it here. I’ll be making sure of that.” I wrenched both his arms around and locked them in my grasp.