Quinn’s eyes darted to Sam, and now she showed real fear. She shook her head at him, and Sam knew she meant for him to leave. Not to give Anson incentive or another victim. But she knew better.
Sam readied to engage his old college buddy, but he’d been too quick to dismiss the suits.
“Don’t move.” Lilling raised a semiautomatic pistol, aimed at Sam’s heart. Sam lifted his hands to his sides, willing to stall and give Nick and John time to arrive. Even the odds. Or reverse them.
His heart raced anxiously as he eyed Riley. She hadn’t moved at all. He couldn’t even tell if she was breathing. His throat tightened, cutting off his air. Think, you moron. Nick’s voice as his subconscious was back. You’re not normal anymore.
Sam swallowed and closed his eyes, but his mind darted around in panic. He couldn’t settle on anything, couldn’t calm himself enough to tap the ability. Moments ago he’d been alight with awareness, but now he couldn’t separate anything.
Deep breath. Pull it inward. Ignore everyone here except yourself. Feel what’s inside you.
That was Riley’s voice, not Nick’s. Sam followed the words instinctively and imagined a dome around him, protecting him from outside interference. Another deep breath, and the anxiety faded. There was a snap of energy, and the power in Sam seemed to identify the energy in Quinn. He could “see” it, and gasped at the darkness dominating it. Three distinct swirls intertwined but didn’t combine. One silvery-green, cool and clear, like sheets of rain. That had to be Tanda’s, and to Sam’s relief, it didn’t seem damaged by the poison around it. A faint, barely there strand would be Beth’s. It was pure grief, fading even as he examined it. The last was exactly like the smudge that was Marley, only this was live, and demanding. It had nowhere to go and battered at Quinn like a crazed, caged animal.
Sam shifted his focus to Riley and had to lock his knees when her power sparked to life in his awareness. He recognized it immediately, though he’d only glimpsed it before. It was more solid than the others, with less fluidity and swirl. The shine was metallic, hard, and contained every color in the universe.
All Sam cared about was that it was there. She was alive.
He opened his eyes, wondering what had happened while his eyes were closed. No one had moved, and he realized it had been only seconds, not the long minutes it had seemed.
Anson didn’t back off Quinn but gave orders despite his bosses standing right there.
“Danner, get her.” He indicated Riley again. Instead of the older Danner, though, one of the young guys—the one with the scratched cheek—separated from his friends and walked warily to Riley. “Take her back in the other room. Strip her down. I don’t want to risk leaving a single sliver of metal on her.”
Sam growled and shifted forward, but Lilling went, “Ah-ah!” and cocked the pistol. Sam’s jaw clenched until it ached, and he wanted to flatten them all. But even if he had enough power for that, which he wasn’t sure he did, he definitely wouldn’t have the control to avoid hitting Riley and Quinn with it, too.
“Tie her up. Then you guys—” Anson glared over his shoulder. Sam felt a spike of alarm at the brightness of Anson’s eyes. They’d been dimmer than that earlier tonight. More normal. Was he leeching Quinn right now? How? Sam closed his eyes again and couldn’t detect any flow of power between Anson and Quinn. Maybe it was a trick of the light.
“The rest of you, go with him. Keep her quiet until I get there. You can handle that when she’s unconscious, can’t you?”
Anson’s scathing tone cut through Sam’s fear. The implication was that they couldn’t handle Riley when she was awake. Sam held back a smirk of pride. She must be responsible for all of their injuries.
That’s not a good thing. The smirk dropped. She was helpless now, and they’d want revenge. They were going to do their worst if Sam didn’t stop them.
Anson’s next words froze his blood. “If she wakes up, let her know she’s next.”
Sam didn’t move, but his expression must have changed because Lilling cleared his throat and shifted his body to block Sam from the group gathering Riley up and carrying her down the hallway.
Godammit, he couldn’t let them do this. Impotent fury warred with the knowledge that he couldn’t help her with a bullet in his chest, either. He braced himself to act, to lash out at Lilling and his gun in three…two…
But then, right in front of him, Anson tipped his head back and wrapped his hand around Quinn’s throat. The sudden surge of energy raised all the hairs on Sam’s body. Anson was doing the impossible. Somehow, some connection between them made him capable of taking power back from Quinn. Sam wanted the poison out of her, too, but not like that. And Anson wouldn’t stop there. He’d leech whatever natural ability Quinn had left, leaving her empty. Maybe killing her. Finishing the job the transfers had started.
And then he’d go for Riley.
Sam leaned forward scant inches. A sharp report echoed around the room, and he jerked back a few steps. He stared at Lilling, then at the bullet hole in the wall to his right. His reaction had been instinctive, but he couldn’t move fast enough to avoid a bullet. Not even when enhanced with residual power.
“Don’t. Move.” Lilling re-aimed at Sam’s chest. “Next time will be fatal.”
Fuck! Nick, where the hell are you?
Sam had no other options. This time, he didn’t bother closing his eyes. He gathered all the power inside him and fired a spear of it across the room. It sliced between Anson and Quinn, knocking the leech back. Everyone else froze at the motion. Gasping and choking, Anson bent with his hands at his neck. Sam closed his fist, imagining the energy closing around Anson, forcing itself down his throat. You want it? Eat it!
Lilling’s attention was off Sam for a few seconds in the ruckus. Long enough. In two big strides, Sam gripped Lilling’s wrist and shoved upward, twisting the gun out of his hand by the barrel. Thank God for protector training. He ejected the clip and the round in the chamber, stripped the weapon, and tossed the pieces in different directions.
He never stopped moving. All he could think about was getting to Riley. Danner Senior, apparently wiser than the others when it came to self-preservation, didn’t get in his way.
“Son of a bitch!”
Nick had arrived. Finally.
Sam didn’t look back. Nick and John knew what they were doing. They’d take care of Quinn. “I’m coming, Riley!” he bellowed, wanting her to hold on, to fight. But it was a tactical error because at his shout the hall filled with Anson’s minions. They weren’t any better at fighting than their bosses—fathers?—in the outer room, but they were far better at getting in the way.
Sam punched, jabbed, dodged, but each Numina loser he took down blocked his path, tripped him up. He hauled some behind him and plowed through the melee. If he’d had any power left, he could have gotten through much more easily, but the little bit still glowing in him wouldn’t obey him.
His last opponent stood in front of the door to the room where Riley was, a knife in his right hand. Sam lurched to a stop, eyes flicking from the blade to the guy’s arm across the doorway to the dark room beyond. He strained for any sound and thought he heard a sob.
“If you hurt her,” Sam growled.
“Yeah, you can’t do anything about it.” The guy handled the knife well, unlike most thugs. Sam might have a foot on him in height, greater reach, and superior strength, but none of that would stop him from being gutted if the guy knew what he was doing.