He made quick work disarming the soldier, removing two good, serviceable guns, plenty of ammo, multiple knives, a length of choking wire, and—
“Watch it,” he barked as Throe’s arm came up. Catching it easily, he forced it back down with hardly any effort. “Quick moves are going to make me finish the job Xcor started.”
“Shin blade…” came the croaked response.
Tohr popped up the pants, and, hello, more metal.
“At least he kept you well supplied,” Tohr muttered as he got out his cell phone and dialed the compound.
“I have a situation,” he said when V picked up.
After some quick back-and-forth with his brother, he and Vishous decided to bring the SOB to the training center. After all, the enemy of your enemy could be your friend… under the right circumstances. Besides, the mhis that surrounded the compound could scramble anything from GPS to Santa Claus. No way the Band of Bastards would find the guy, if this happened to be a setup.
Ten minutes later, Butch arrived with the Escalade.
Throe didn’t have much of an opinion about being lifted up, carried over, and laid down in the backseat: The fucker was finally out cold. The good news was that it meant he wasn’t an immediate threat—but it would be a bene to get him back alive.
Bargaining chip? Intel source? Footstool…
The repurposing options were endless.
“Just the kind of passenger I like,” Butch said as he got behind the wheel again. “No chance he’s going to try to backseat drive.”
Tohr nodded. “I’m coming with you—”
The first gunshot that went off came from John’s forty, and Tohr immediately went back into fight mode, throwing the Escalade’s door shut, at the same time he went for his own weapon.
Second shot was from the enemy, whoever it was.
Lunging for cover behind the bulletproof SUV, Tohr nonetheless pounded on the quarter panel to get the cop to take the fuck off. Throe was too valuable to lose over something as ho-hum as a squadron of lessers. Worse, it could be the Bastards.
As the brother hit the gas, Tohr was left with his ass in the breeze, but he took care of that quick, ducking into a roll, becoming a tight, moving target that would be harder to hit.
Bullets followed him, except the guy with the trigger finger didn’t know how to lead prey—the pinging off the pavement closed in on him, but not quick enough. And as he came up to a Dumpster, he tore behind the thing, prepared to return fire, as soon as he knew where his boys were.
Silence in the alley—
No, that wasn’t quite right.
Dripping, like something was leaking out of the iron belly of the massive trash bin, made him frown and take a quick look down.
It wasn’t the Dumpster.
Shit. He’d been hit.
Like a computer running a scan, he went into his body and identified the sources of the damage. Torso, left side, at the ribs. Upper arm, underside, four inches below his pit. And… that was about it.
He hadn’t even felt the hits, and he wasn’t drained by them, not by the pain or the blood loss. Goddamn feeding—it was like pouring jet fuel in your tank. And of course, it helped that the bullets hadn’t caught anything important—they were surface grazes only.
Putting his head out around the Dumpster, he couldn’t see anyone in the alley, but he could sense slayers all around, taking cover. At least he didn’t smell any fresh blood other than his own. So John and Qhuinn were okay, thank God.
The lull that followed got on his nerves.
Especially as it persisted.
Man, someone had to kick this fight into high gear again—Butch was heading back with a ticking time bomb in his cargo hold, and Tohr wanted to be there when the brother got to the compound.
More of the Jeopardy! theme.
From out of nowhere, that god-awful scene from the butler’s pantry hit him again, his hunger and No’One’s struggles and his body’s reaction ripping through him—
A great clawing anger bit him in the ass, ruining his concentration, pulling him out of the fight—and putting him exactly where he didn’t want to be.
As his brain scrambled and his chest burned, he wanted to scream.
Instead, he chose another way to force his mind somewhere else.
Putting both guns up in front of him, he jumped out from behind the Dumpster.
Talk about a lightning rod. Triggers were pulled. Lead went flying. And he was the target.
As his shoulder kicked back, he knew he was struck again, but he didn’t pay any attention. Zeroing in on the source, he discharged both semis at the dark corner, squeezing off round after round as he walked forward.
Someone was yelling but he couldn’t hear it—didn’t hear it.
He was on autopilot.
He was… invincible.
When the call came in to the medical staff, No’One was in the training center’s main exam room, delivering a stack of freshly folded scrubs that were straight from the dryer and still a little warm.
Over at the desk, Doc Jane leaned into her phone. “He’s what? Can you repeat that? Who? And you’re bringing him here?”
At that moment, the door to the outside corridor burst wide and No’One took an involuntary step back. The Brothers Vishous and Rhage filled the room as they barged in—and the fighters were grim, their eyes darkened, their brows down, their bodies tight.
There were daggers in their right hands.
“Wait, yes, they’re here. What’s your ETA? Okay, yup, we’ll be ready for him.” Jane hung up and looked over at the males. “Guess you guys are in charge of security.”
“Damn straight.” Vishous nodded at the operating table. “So I can’t assist you.”
“Because you’re going to have a knife to the throat of my patient.”
“You got it. Where’s Ehlena?”
Conversation bloomed as Doc Jane began gathering equipment and staff, and in the chaos that followed, No’One prayed nobody noticed her. Who was being brought in—
As if Vishous read her mind, he looked in her direction. “All nonessential personnel have to leave the training compound—”
The desk phone went off again with a shrill sound, and the healer Jane put it up to her ear once more. “Hello? Qhuinn? What is— What? He did what?” The female’s eyes shot to her mate, her cheeks going pale. “Tell me how bad? And he needs transport? Do you have— Thank God. Yeah, I’ll take care of it.”
She hung up and spoke in a hollow voice. “Tohr is hit. Multiple times. Manny!” she called out. “We’ve got another incoming!”
Tohrment?
Vishous cursed. “If Throe put even one slug into him—”
“He walked into gunfire,” Jane cut in.
Everyone froze.
As No’One threw a hand out to the wall to steady herself, Rhage said softly, “Excuse me?”
“I don’t know much more than that. Qhuinn just said that he stepped out from under cover, put up two forties, and just… walked forward into a spray of gunfire.”
The other doctor, Manuel, came flying in from next door. “Who we got now?”
There was a lot more conversation at that point, deep voices mixing with the female’s higher tone. Ehlena, the nurse, arrived. Two more Brothers.
No’One sank farther back into the corner by the supply cabinet, staying out of the way as she stared at the floor and prayed. When a pair of huge black boots intruded upon her line of vision, she just shook her head, knowing what would be said to her.
“You need to go.”
Vishous’s voice was steady and sure. Almost kind, which was a new one.
Lifting her chin, she met icy, diamond eyes. “Verily, you will have to kill me and drag my body out of here if you wish me to leave.”
The Brother frowned. “Look, we’re bringing in a dangerous—”
A sudden, subtle growling appeared to surprise the male. Silly, she thought, considering he was making the—