fought it back—not wanting that needless death and not willing to leave Gwen vulnerable.
A stark frozen instant of time, that’s all it took. Then the man stumbled back, staring agape at his forearm —at the sight of bone peeking through the gash laid from the inside of his elbow to his wrist, the blood spurting.
The second man didn’t hesitate, leaving his comrade to flounder while he leaped back, hand darting for the gun in the cross-draw holster at his belt.
“Hold!” The command came in an inexorable shout, and as the man froze, as Mac regained his ready stance before Gwen, the puppet master from above took an audible breath, slow and deep. “Did I not tell you to treat them with care? See to Maitho. It will be to our new friend’s regret that the woman stays, but he has made his decision.”
Mac barely heard him; he took his cue from the other two men. Their change of body language, the emotions rippling through the blade—
Right into Gwen, who was probably pretty damned sorry she’d been crowding him at all.
“Further gone than I thought,” the man above said; the other two had found their exit, leaving the room bare again. “I don’t imagine the past twenty-four hours have been easy on you. Let me get right to the point, then.”
“You have something I can use. You
Mac couldn’t help it. He jerked back into sudden focus, aiming glare and demand up at that screened corner.
“Everything.” The man’s voice deepened further. “I have struck a bargain the likes of which would astonish you and the likes of which you will never quite see—there can only be one of us. But I can nonetheless guide you to fruition. I would find you useful, thus.”
“I find myself perfectly useful as I am,” Mac snapped back, as Gwen made a little vibrating noise in her throat. Warning, perhaps. Just plain creeped out, definitely.
But the improved lighting had finally given Mac what he needed—the way out. Just a glimpse of it, a plain old push door in the corner, half-hidden behind a sheltering entry wall. He nudged Gwen in that direction, waited for the glimmer of bright hope that would tell him she’d seen it.
Their host seemed undisturbed. “I’m fully prepared to demonstrate what I can offer you.” He took a deep breath; when he spoke again there was a smile behind his words. “And how deeply impossible it will be to resist.”
“Now you’re just getting cocky,” Mac muttered, more to see Gwen rise to it than through any impulse to mouth off. And still the unidentified terror, bundled in with the bizarre nature of this man...his minions...the emotions battering at him...
Time to go.
He looked straight up at the screen. “I’d say I appreciate the effort, but I don’t. I’d say no offense, but I don’t give a damn. We’re leaving. You know that I could have taken your guys out anytime I wanted between here and there, right?”
“In fact, I do.” That rich voice sounded—inexplicably—amused.
“They won’t be as lucky another time. You know that, too, right?”
That voice gave nothing away. “Circumstances vary.”
“Is that a door?” Gwen squinted at it, finally understanding. “Hell, yes. Let’s get outta here!”
“That’s your option,” the man said. “But I believe your companion will choose to stay.”
Mac snorted. “The hell I—”
A scream, short and harsh.
Mac stiffened, assaulted from within, the blade going sharp and hard and past all his defenses.
“Mac,” Gwen said, desperation in her tone as she tugged at him to no effect, “he’s playing you. You
“It’s real,” he said, his voice gone raspy, the
“She is,” the man said modestly, “entirely for you.”
That jerked him back to himself—against the pull of the blade, propelling him toward a future he didn’t want. Going beyond what had always satisfied it: the moments of revenge, the vigilante justice that kept it fed while keeping everyone else safe. “No,” he said.
“You still think you have a choice?”
“Mac?” Gwen said, and doubt crept into her voice.
The man laughed. “Your decision to trust him was premature, my dear.”
And Gwen didn’t spit at him for saying
Gwen sent a desperate glance at the door.
And Mac stood, still rooted to the ground like a tree. Mesmerized—or locked in some deep struggle.
One she was no longer sure he would win. If he was even still sane. And he had a sword in his hand. A big, gently curved, gleaming sharp,
But she didn’t move. And that damned gut instinct of hers, born of blood and loss...it shouted of intent, but it spoke nothing of her.
A door beneath that man’s catwalk opened—a brief slash of light in the dimness through which Mac saw so well. Mac took three swift steps and froze again, trembling. She had no idea why.
Nothing ever changed, it seemed.
A woman stumbled into the middle of the warehouse—hunched over herself, cradling her hand to her stout body. She wore mom jeans over ample hips, a basic purse clutched tightly over her shoulder, her dark hair caught in a careless clip in the back. Her complexion spoke of mixed blood and her faintly plumping jowls spoke of her age.
An average woman, plucked out of her errands and dropped into this nightmare.
She saw Gwen and her eyes lit with hope. “Please,” the woman said, holding out her hands in entreaty—one slashed wide-open and dripping blood. “Help me.”
Mac made a low sound, like a man inexplicably stretched too far.
Gwen glared up at the screened corner. “I don’t know the rules to this sick game,” she said, “but we’re leaving.”
“You should have done that very thing when I gave you the chance.” There was little regret in that voice. “Now you’re part of
Gwen said something very, very rude indeed, tossed her head, and marched up to grab the woman’s arm— ignoring her questions and fears and heading to march right out the door.
