Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(101)

“You always did underestimate me,” the younger man accused.

“Doubtful,” Bas sneered.

The man’s finger tightened on the trigger. “And you wonder why people want to see you suffer?”

Bas instantly latched on to the revealing word. “People? Who?”

Sandoval paled, as if realizing he’d revealed more than he should have.

“Me,” he snapped. “That’s why I took Molly.”

Bas’s gut twisted with a rising sense of dread. There was no way in hell this man was any sort of mastermind.

“You haven’t explained how you got her,” he rasped.

“I . . .” Again with the lip licking. “I walked in and took her.”

“A lie.” He blatantly stepped forward. “Tell me.”

Sandoval wiped the sweat from his brow. “What does it matter?”

Without warning, Fane was standing at Bas’s side, clearly running out of patience.

“Dammit, assassin, you’re wasting time.”

He sent the Sentinel a warning glare. The geek might be a coward, but he was also a psychic, which meant that it would take time for Serra to bust past his shields. He had to get Molly’s location by more . . . old-fashioned means.

“I want to know,” he snarled, returning his attention to Sandoval. “Tell me.”

“I helped write the code for your security system,” Sandoval grudgingly confessed. “It was easy to override it. Once I was in I used my psychic powers to disable the cameras.”

Shit. That was why Bas didn’t allow his ex-employees to walk away alive.

They always came back to bite him in the ass.

“That explains the tech, but there’s no way in hell your psychic skills got you past the spells I have woven around the property,” he said between gritted teeth.

“Why do you care?” Sandoval’s voice was laced with a growing desperation. “I have your daughter—”

Bas took another step forward, indifferent to the gun pointed at his heart. Goddammit. He was done with games.

He was getting his daughter back.

Period.

Before he could move, however, Serra was laying a restraining hand on his arm.

“Don’t.”

He ignored her warning, concentrating on the man who was now drenched in sweat.

“Who is it, you piece of shit?”

The man shook his head, his breath coming in rapid pants. “No.”

Serra squeezed his arm. “Bas . . . stop.”

“Not now, psychic,” Bas growled, trying to shake her off. His attention remained focused on Sandoval. The geek was ready to crack. He could feel it. “Tell me who you’re working for.”

Serra dug her nails into his arm, determined to gain his attention.

“Don’t press him.”

“Are you f*cking kidding me? He has Molly,” Bas grated, yanking his arm free. “I’m getting answers.” He moved forward, his gaze locked on Sandoval’s wide eyes. “One way or another.”

Sandoval gave a wild wave of his gun. “I’ve told you, stay back.”

Bas continued forward. “Shoot me.”

“Bas!” Serra cried out.

For a second Bas wondered why the psychic was trying to interfere. Hell, she had more reason than anyone to want Molly found.

Then the realization hit as Sandoval glared at him in bleak resignation.

“You arrogant fool,” the man muttered, turning the gun and pressing it against his forehead.

“Shit.” Bas leaped forward even as the man squeezed the trigger.

Sandoval had obviously been spelled to kill himself if cornered.

A spell that Serra had sensed, but he’d been too caught up in his desperation to notice.

The man collapsed in a bloody heap on the floor, the hole in the side of his head warning that his lack of skill with a weapon hadn’t prevented him from managing a killing shot.

Dropping to his knees, Bas reached to grab Sandoval’s shoulders, giving him a shake.

“Don’t you die on me, you bastard,” he growled, his heart squeezing as the pale eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. He could physically feel the life draining from the man. Terror dried out his mouth, his heart refusing to beat as he turned toward the female who had knelt beside him. “Search his thoughts,” he commanded.

She grimaced. “His mind is blocked.”

What the hell. The man was a breath from being stone-cold dead and he was maintaining his shields?

“Still?”

“It’s not a psychic block,” she said, her face tight with frustration. “It’s magic.”

“Tell me where Molly is.” He gave the man a shake, indifferent to blood splattering his white shirt. “Tell me.”

Serra made a choked sound, as if unnerved by the sight of the dying man.

“He can’t,” she managed to force out.

He turned to glare at her pale face. “Do something.”

In less than a heartbeat Fane was at Serra’s side, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders.

“No.”

Bas used his only true leverage over the female psychic. “Molly needs you.”

“I can’t.”

Anguish darkened her eyes, then without warning she was arching backward, a scream ripped from her lips as Fane pulled her tight against his chest.