“Great,” Lucan muttered, “another party checks in.”
The head of the guards was tall as a male and just as well muscled, her dark hair pulled back in a severe twist, her affect one of total dominance. And yet even with all that, her eyes were actually the most dangerous part about her. Lucan had learned the hard way that her peripheral vision was incredibly sharp. The only thing better? Her aim. Gossip had it that she’d made her money as an assassin in the human world.
Lucan didn’t question that backstory. Then again, he really didn’t give a fuck.
“You rang,” he said as he looked at her.
“I see you’ve done some redecorating.” She walked forward, her body shifting lithely under the armored plates she wore on the front and back of her torso, as well as down her legs. “Proud of yourself?”
He had to give her credit for all that gear under her weapons. A lot of males who were all about the engagement and the militia shit were too proud, too overconfident, to protect themselves. What they saw as an admission of weakness, she saw as preservation.
She was smart like that.
Which was how she’d managed to quietly gather power, first under the Command, then under the Executioner. And now, it didn’t take a genius to figure out she was going to make her big move.
But he couldn’t let her do that, although not because he wanted to play king himself.
“It was about time to change things around here,” Lucan announced. “A new set of rules. So I’m taking over—”
“Are you.” The smile on the female’s face was about as warm as a winter squall. “You’re underpowered for a coup on the wall, just the three of you.”
He nodded over his shoulder at the body on the wall. “We’re doing okay so far.”
“Just because you killed him, you think you’re in charge.”
Raising his voice, he said, “It’s time to end this whole fucking thing. Centuries of people falsely imprisoned, working in deplorable conditions, suffering so a series of despots can pocket the money—”
“Okay, we’re done with your sermon, wolf. Step aside now and I’ll thank you for your service to me—and there will be no repercussion. Argue even one word and I have fourteen other guards in the wings—and another twenty-five I can call in. You’re not going to win this fight, wolf. You’re going to wake up dead.”
“Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
“No, I’m originally from Boston. It only makes sense to people from the six-one-seven. But I digress.” She smiled again, her eyes slicing into him, through him. “You three have few weapons, little ammo, and no cover. As I said, if you have a death wish, I’ll indulge it now, and then hang you and your accomplices up next to the Executioner. Or you can stand down, let me into the private quarters, and do your fucking job on the Caldwell streets.”
Lucan shook his head—and prayed Rio had done what she needed to do to save herself. “Not the way it’s going to happen.”
The head of the guards looked at the door. And smiled again, in that carnivore kind of way.
Under different circumstances, he would’ve gotten along with her better.
“Is there someone in there?” The female stepped in more closely. “Someone you’re protecting. Somebody that you have to hide because she’s not supposed to be here?”
“You’ve got it all wrong. But it’s a nice thought.”
“So you just love reeking of incense, then?” The female slashed a hand through the air. “It doesn’t matter. What does, is the fact that this isn’t a game, wolf. I’m not going to let you take over this whole operation with a human just because you’re greedy.”
“I don’t give a shit about money—”
“I know the dealer you’ve been negotiating with is here. I’ve scented her in the stairwells, and she’s under that stench you’ve doused yourself in. I think you’re looking to cut everyone out, and make a fortune for yourself—and it’s not that I can’t respect the goal, but I’m not going to allow you to take control.”
“You should write fiction, you’ve got a knack for it.”
“I’m done talking. Let me into those quarters. Or I’m going to pave the way in over a bleeding corpse.”
Rio stayed frozen where she was for—oh, maybe a second and a half. Then she frantically patted her pockets. The phone. Where was that phone.
Had he taken it, too?
Glancing around the floor, she didn’t see the thing anywhere, so she dove for the messy blankets of the bed, shoving the covers out of the way, splaying her hands wide, searching for that glossy little screen—
“Thank God,” she muttered as she found it trapped at the foot of the mattress, in the one corner of the sheets that was still tucked in.
Her hands were shaking so badly she nearly dropped the cell, and she looked to the door. Tightening her hands around the key fob, she closed her eyes and told herself she had to go.
Take care of yourself . . .
She was a fucking cop, for godsakes, and she was on the job. Everything that happened here at this site was about two things: lining up evidence to arrest and prosecute everybody in charge for illegal drug trade and staying alive to deliver that evidence into the hands of the prosecutor.
So the innocent could be cleared and returned to their families and loved ones, and the wrongdoers could go to jail for their crimes.
That was it.
And now was the perfect time to get out.
With one last look at the door Luke had disappeared through . . . she wheeled away and stumbled for the back exit. As she passed by the gun rack, she threw out a hand, grabbed one of the rifles, and slung its strap over her shoulder. Snagging a box of ammo off a shelf, she went to the numbers pad.
She punched in Mayhem’s pattern from memory and the lock unlatched.
In the end, she had to glance back one last time. No more gunshots out there, and the voices had dimmed down. But who the hell knew what was happening.
The pull to change direction was so powerful.
. . . and don’t look in the rearview.