No One Left To Tell

The Asian woman was nowhere in sight. He expected as much. She'd never take on his fight. Still, he could have used her help.

The meager glow of the flashlight left much of the warehouse in shadow, but it was enough to bring his plan to a screeching halt. As he stepped into the light, he knew one thing. He'd lost his edge. And now he had no weapon. Yet his eyes remained focused on the man holding Raven. Her life would depend upon his instincts—and his ability to manipulate a sociopath.

'What's your name?' Christian kept his hands raised, his tone even. 'I gotta know who would wage war on a priest.'

The smug look on the man's face faded, twisting into something more sinister. 'Logan McBride. And while we're on the subject, care to share?'

'Delacorte, Christian Delacorte.'

'Ahhh. Seek the truth, Christian.' The man laughed. 'So we finally meet. Blue Blood will be ticked off when he finds out what I'm gonna do to you.'

'Don't know a man named Blue Blood, but maybe I can help you with your dilemma.' His voice low, threatening. 'Dead men don't have to answer to anyone.'

'You're a cocky son of a bitch.' The stare of McBride wavered, his irritation showing. 'I see you don't carry a gun.'

'The bigger the gun, the smaller the— Well, you know the old saying.' A lazy smile spread across Christian's face. His gaze drifted to the Glock in McBride's thigh holster. 'Let's just say I have nothing to prove.'

Silence.

Christian knew the man would have something to prove to the men standing in the rafters. He taunted him with his insolence, daring the man to take up his challenge. McBride would figure that only one alpha male would leave the maze. All he had to do was stall long enough for the police to arrive. Whether he had to kill or not, Christian was determined—Raven would make it out alive.

He knew McBride had had enough. The man glared; his jaw tightened. His hands clutched Raven's hair. Her eyes filled with pain.

It hurt Christian to see her suffer. Yet he kept his face unreadable, for her sake. Maybe he went too far with the taunts, but McBride would smell weakness and take it out on her. So he decided to push it even further by using the man's ego as a weapon against him, redirecting his hostility.

He lowered his hands and crossed his arms over his chest in open defiance, mirroring the mercenary's arrogant expression. By the look in his eye, McBride couldn't resist the pissing match.

'You look like a guy who enjoys dangerous games. How about we play one?' A menacing sneer twisted McBride's face. 'Just you and me.'

'And you look like a coward, the kind of guy who'd prefer to tip the odds in his favor. Your men won't interfere?'

'Not if I give the order.' Turning his head, he yelled over his shoulder. 'You men on the catwalk, stay put. That's an order.' He shrugged, then lowered his voice. 'Good enough?'

Christian didn't answer.

As McBride reached for his flashlight, he slid his night-vision gear back in place. 'And since you like the dark so much, let's make things more interesting. Lights out.'

Christian caught a motion to his left. Raven shook her head, screaming under the gag. Her eyes brimming with terror.

The last thing he saw before the lights went out.

The darkness came. And with it, Christian felt serenity for only an instant, anonymity a welcome change.

'You're mine now.' A raspy voice jabbed his awareness like a sucker punch.

'You talk too damned much,' he taunted, and braced for the man's rage. 'And bring on your dogs, coward. I prefer a challenge.'

McBride's anger might force a blunder, giving him an edge. It was a theory. For Raven's sake, he hoped the gamble would pay off.

By the sounds, three men surrounded him. He crouched, hands held waist-high, ready to move. Slowing his breathing, he shut his eyes, his weight poised on the balls of his feet. His muscles grew taut, ready for the first attack. He didn't have long to wait.

A hand grabbed his right elbow, slinging him into the barricade. The sandbags felt rock-hard. It knocked the wind from his lungs. The coarse burlap scraped his chin. A fist punished his back, battering a kidney. Wedged against the stockade, he couldn't move. His arm wrenched by a firm grasp from his first attacker, his shoulder nearly yanked from its socket.

The abuse continued.

'Is this the kind of challenge you wanted, smart ass?' the man whispered at his back.

But a familiar sound drew his attention, catching the breath deep in his throat. A knife unsheathed, slipping from leather. The lethal whisper of a blade.

He listened, trusting his instincts. Shoving hard off the wall, he hurled his body into two men. Full force, he rammed his boot into a knee. The crack echoed through the dark, followed by a tortured scream. A man fell hard to the floor. The sound of a low, guttural moan lingered after he crawled deeper into the maze.

Christian launched into the man to his left. Ripping off the man's night-vision gear, he pitched it over the wall. His fist connected with the mercenary's face, knocking him off-balance. Blow after blow, he punished the man's ribs until he doubled over, recoiling from the abuse. Gripping the man's tactical vest at the shoulders, Christian thrust him hard into the barricade. He collapsed to the cement in a heap, unable to get up.

But while he focused on the second man, he had lost McBride. With all the sounds of men overhead and the mix of scents in the air, his sensory radar betrayed him. He strained to hear the sound of breathing. Where was McBride? Raising his chin, he sniffed the air. Still nothing.

As Christian turned, he felt the knife. A gasp burst from his lips, the thrust stealing his breath.

He felt searing heat from the blade as it punctured his belly. His eyes watered with the agony. McBride held him close, stepping in for the kill. The man twisted the blade upward, his breath warm on Christian's face.

'Arrgghhh,' Christian cried out. 'Oh, God.'

Even through intense pain, he heard Raven's muffled cry, thankful she couldn't see. A bead of sweat trickled down Christian's cheek. It stung his eye as it mingled with a tear.

'That's gotta hurt.' McBride wedged an elbow into his throat, propping him against the wall. The man pulled out the knife, forcing another choked gasp from his lips.

'You're mine.' The whisper mocked him. 'Don't fight me.'

Christian smelled the sickening sweet odor of his own blood. His legs grew numb. Only the weight of McBride held him in place. The chill of shock skittered across his shoulders as he sucked air into his lungs. His belly churned hot, slick with blood. He shoved against the man, trying to fight free. But his arms felt heavy and sluggish. Blood loss had taken its toll.

All he could think about was Raven.

'Shhh. Just let go. I'll make sure—' McBride never finished. The words hung in his throat.

The mercenary howled, a long, wailing cry, then dropped to the floor. The haunted cry echoed, its sound pulsing through the emptiness. A low murmur of voices, too far away to hear.

Without McBride to hold him up, Christian slid to the cement, his body deadened. Taunting his senses, he heard the lethal efficiency of a knife thrusting into flesh again and again. He fought for consciousness.

What the hell was happening?

So focused on the kill, the man never saw it coming. And Jasmine took her time, indulging in the moment.

She only wished she'd entered the maze sooner, to save Nicky's son from getting stabbed. Not knowing how bad the wound was, she took it out on McBride.