The Curse (Belador #3)(53)
“’Kay. Go ride?”
“Not right now. Maybe later.” Once she knew for sure the Svart trolls were gone. Before heading out on her motorcycle, she leaned over and kissed his forehead, careful not to get stuck by one of his horns.
The ride to meet Isak took no time since the meet point was only a mile from home.
His black Hummer sat alone on the top level of an expansive parking deck. The deck was not being fully utilized, and she’d chosen this location specifically because the upper floors would be empty in the early evening. After stowing her gear and adjusting her sunglasses, she turned to find Isak standing by the open passenger door of his truck.
Black dress pants and a cobalt-blue, button-down dress shirt did nothing to tone down the black-ops warrior beneath the civilized veneer. Short brown hair with gray flecks at his temples shouted former military, just as much as the hard jaw and intense blue gaze that scoped the area around her in a blink.
“How ya doin’, Isak?”
“Not bad. Ready?”
“I hadn’t planned on going anywhere.”
“Thought you wanted to borrow something.”
“I do, but I haven’t told you what yet.”
“Does it turn demons into shrapnel?”
She didn’t want to explode the troll. “Maybe.”
“Then I know what you want. Let’s go.”
“Are you going to put a sack over my head, Isak?”
“No.” Mr. Serious didn’t even crack a smile.
“Then why can’t I just follow on my bike?”
“Because you’ll be blindfolded.”
Crap. She walked over and put a foot up on the running board, picking up the seductive scent of cologne. Humongous hands grabbed her around the waist and lifted her onto the seat before she could protest. Taking a breath to keep herself calm, she told him, “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m five-ten, I’m wearing jeans and need no help getting into a truck.”
He put his left hand on the back of her seat and leaned in, a glint of heat burning in his eyes. “I noticed. Every. Sweet. Inch. Especially the jeans. Buckle up … unless you want help with that, too.”
Guess she’d find out how much of a gentleman he was, or he’d find out just how dangerous she could be.
Once he had the wide black cloth in place over her sunglasses, she prepared to be pelted with questions about why she wanted a special weapon. But when Isak cranked the engine, Garth Brooks crooned a country tune as the vehicle backed up, then headed forward.
Ten minutes into the ride, Isak hadn’t said a word.
She tapped her fingers, picking up speed with each tap until a warm hand covered hers.
Every muscle jumped to alert.
He started brushing his thumb back and forth over her skin, the simple gesture reminding her that he was no threat to her. With that realization, tension that had locked the muscles in her shoulders all afternoon eased.
When the truck rolled to a stop a half hour later, Isak said, “You can remove the blindfold.”
She uncovered her sunglasses to find his truck parked inside a huge warehouse. At the far end of the ginormous building, people stood beneath bright fluorescent lights at workstations. She assumed they were assembling weapons or some defensive devices that Isak manufactured.
Heavy-duty, twelve-foot-tall stainless-steel cabinets lined forty feet of one wall in the thirty-thousand-square-foot building with a ceiling that peaked at twenty feet. One section of the warehouse had been framed in as an office area that could provide six to eight average-size rooms.
But this was not the hangar she’d visited the night Isak had kidnapped her for an Italian meal. The hangar hadn’t been as bright inside, and it had been more open, with fewer shelves and minimal office area. A place his teams—the Nyght Raiders—could congregate and plan.
This place was a production facility with bright lighting, tools on workstations and the smell of machine oil.
One young man in jeans and a flannel shirt ran a forklift, carrying loads from the rear of the building to the front. He moved stacks of crates, lifting them high in the air to place on neatly organized shelves running in rows just left of the overhead door behind Isak’s Hummer.
The forklift driver’s shaggy gray hair and rumpled clothes didn’t match Isak’s buff military look, but the guy’s sharp gaze scanning everywhere as he worked and his taut posture spoke of alertness on a par with the other Nyght Raiders.
Two more vehicles were parked inside. With the right color scheme and a few decals, one could have been an armored security truck for money pickups. But who drove that sleek, do-me-red BMW Z8?
Not Isak, who filled the cockpit of this Hummer.
He’d have to wear that tiny car.
“You’re looking for one of my Nyght weapons, right, Evalle?” Isak hadn’t made a move to get out of the Hummer yet. He had his arms crossed and his attitude locked into quiet-curiosity mode.
“Yes. Hopefully, a smaller version of the one you used to destroy that demon when we first met.” She’d been interrogating a Birrn demon until Isak blasted it with one of his superweapons. The demon imploded before she could get intel she’d desperately needed. Granted, when Isak showed up the Birrn had appeared close to chowing down on her. Small detail.
“What’re you trying to kill?”
She could only dodge him so long without having to share something. If she said the weapon was for another demon, she’d get the wrong weapon. “I need something that would stop a troll without drawing the attention of … citizens.”