Deathtrap (Crossbreed #3)(71)

Shepherd averted his gaze. “I know why you did it. I just… I need you to have my back and let me have yours. Deal?”

Viktor searched the walls for a clock. “How much time do we have?”

Shepherd pinched his chin. “We should leave within the hour.”

“I need weapons,” I said.

Shepherd jerked his chin toward the door. “Come with me.”

We walked at a brisk pace down to the first level. Usually we rotated the job of lighting certain candles down the main hallways, but with everything going on, some of the halls were pitch-black.

“Claude can’t go. Not in his condition,” Shepherd said as he pushed open his bedroom door. He struck a match and lit a bright lantern. “Hold this.”

“Claude’s not going to like us leaving him behind.”

“Yeah, but he’ll understand. He’s injured, and we don’t put an injured man in danger. It puts not only him at risk, but everyone else, including his partner. He’s also dead asleep thanks to pain meds.” Shepherd strode up to his armoire, and when he opened it, my jaw dropped.

“Holy shit.”

He looked over his shoulder at me and essayed a smile. “What do you think armoires were originally used for?”

Shepherd’s cabinet was filled to the brim with weapons. There were mounts on the inside of the doors holding all kinds of daggers and knives. I gaped at the guns, impalement stakes, and even a crossbow. He pulled open the bottom drawers, revealing boxes of bullets and miscellaneous weapons such as throwing stars and concealable spikes.

He stepped aside. “Pick your poison.”

“Do you have something I could strap to my arm beneath a long-sleeved shirt? I want to hide my daggers where I can reach them. The leg harness I have is fine for when I’m wearing dresses, but that’s not often.”

He reached inside and handed me a few. “Try these. The blades are sharpened.”

I gave him the lantern and secured one of the straps on my arm.

“Those are fine if you’re not trying to bulk up,” he said. “But they’re not comfortable. You might think about one of these.” Shepherd held up a larger harness with a sheath. “This one hooks around your shoulders, so you can wear it beneath a button-up or jacket. No one will know.”

I looked at the large blade hanging from it. “That one’s too big for me.”

He nodded. “You like the push daggers and small blades. Nothing wrong with that. They get the job done just fine, especially if they’re stunners.” He handed me three small daggers and two arm straps. “On the house. Next time you run low, I charge a fee. These are some of the best weapons money can buy. Some are mine, others are for the team. So don’t get it in your head to help yourself.”

“Thanks.” I stepped forward, my voice low. “Did Mr. Bane give you the information? Don’t worry, I won’t say anything. I got to thinking that maybe he offered you some kind of favor for saving his kid.”

“We’re even now.” Shepherd closed the cabinet drawers and turned to face me. “That’s why I need to make this count.”

“If Viktor wants to take him in alive, are you going to be able to do that?”

The lantern flickered against his strict features. “I can’t make any promises.”





Chapter 21





I poked my finger in a bullet hole on the van wall. “Well, at least we can see outside now.”

Christian glared down at my tank top and button-up shirt. “Where the feck’s your coat?”

“It’s restricting.”

“Like the bra?”

I smiled. “You noticed. Where’s your coat?”

He pinched his tight T-shirt and gave me a smug look. “It’s restricting,” he parroted. “Wouldn’t want to deny the ladies a glimpse of my chiseled pectorals.”

“Exactly what ladies are we talking about?” I gripped the bench when we hit another bump.

He winked. “The ones I’ll be seeing after we finish the job. A man needs to unwind.”

“A man also needs to trim his nose hairs.”

I stifled a laugh when Christian leaned away and subtly pinched his nose. He didn’t have any nose hairs that I’d noticed, but nothing pleased me more than pointing out his arrogance by means of finding his insecurities. Our verbal banter had become a form of stress relief, and neither of us ever took it personally.

“Turn that shit off,” Shepherd growled toward the front of the van.

Viktor was driving, but Wyatt had dominion over the radio.

“Don’t start,” Wyatt said. “You know how I feel about Air Supply.”

Shepherd rolled his eyes to the chorus of “Making Love Out of Nothing at All.”

“You’ll get along famously with the man we’re hunting,” I said. “He loves eighties music.”

“I didn’t say I liked eighties music,” Wyatt countered, leaning around his seat. “Air Supply just speaks to my soul.”

“Your soul is dead,” Shepherd grumbled.

“Lay off. That’s the year I got my first computer. It’s nostalgic.”

I laughed. “How old are you again?”