Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(50)

Serra yanked her fingers free, not in the mood for his games. “The clock is ticking.”

“So it is.” He waved a slender hand toward the still-open door. “Shall we?”

Serra deliberately moved to stand beside Fane as they left the suite in silence. Then, entering the elevator, Bas used a key card to punch in a secret code. They traveled downward, and it was no surprise when the elevator opened to reveal the underground parking lot that was off limits to the public. What did startle her was the fact that it was suspiciously dark, as if someone had shut off several lights.

Prepared to step off the elevator, Serra was halted as Bas held an arm across the opening, waiting until the uniformed driver climbed out of a black stretch limo and gave a nod.

Obviously that was the all-clear signal, although Serra didn’t know what they were all-clear from, as Bas lowered his arm and led them toward the car.

All very James Bond, she wryly acknowledged, her heels clicking on the cement floor.

The driver moved to open the back door, the light from the interior outlining the stark male profile.

Kaede.

Serra rolled her eyes as she slid into the butter-soft seat. That’s all she needed. Three male alphas trapped in one small space.

As if to prove her point, she was abruptly squished between two male bodies that smothered her in a searing heat. Sweat trickled down her spine and she struggled to breathe as the overabundance of testosterone seemed to suck the oxygen from the air.

Kaede slid into the driver’s seat, adding to the smoldering tension, as he shifted the car into gear and they headed toward the north.

Serra clutched her tiny purse, resisting the urge to slam her elbows into the ribs of her two companions, telling them to tamp down the heat before they fried her to a crisp.

They were all on edge. She could bitch all she wanted, nothing was going to ease the tension.

Her only hope was directing all that male aggression in a constructive direction. “Where are we going?”

Bas adjusted his starched, diamond-studded cuff, which glittered in the passing streetlights.

“A local socialite is hosting a ball to raise funds for one of her pet charities.”

Well, that explained the tuxes.

And her own drop-dead gorgeous dress.

“The socialite was a client?” she asked.

“No, but the owner of the home directly behind her estate was,” Bas explained. “We can slip away once the dancing starts to see if you can sense Molly.”

Serra nodded, resisting the urge to fan herself. Christ, it had to be a hundred degrees.

Her sideways glare toward Bas was predictably ignored, as was the more direct glare she sent at Fane’s rigid profile. Even Kaede managed to elude her silent chastisement as he split his attention between the road and the mannequinlike passengers in the backseat.

Eventually the car slowed and they pulled into a narrow side street. Serra grimaced as she realized they were headed into one of those fancy-assed communities that were stuffed with the rich and overprivileged.

It was even gated to keep out the riff-raff.

Stuck-up prigs.

Of course, there was some satisfaction in watching the guard wave them through the gates with a wide smile.

The idiot had just invited in three lethal killers and a psychic who could crush his mind without batting an eye.

And all it’d taken was a limo and a pretense of sophistication.

“Nice neighborhood,” she muttered.

Bas deliberately rubbed his knee against hers, the bronze eyes shimmering in the darkness.

“I would be willing to purchase you a home in the area if you wanted to come and work for me.”

“Work for you?” Serra sent him a glare filled with loathing. “You’ve infected me with a toxin, threatened to kill me if I don’t perform a miracle, and you think I would ever willingly work for you?”

“It’s not personal, Serra.” A flicker of emotion tightened his expression. Something she might have suspected was regret if she hadn’t known just what a cold-blooded bastard he was. Whatever. It was swiftly replaced by a mocking smile. “I’ve done what was necessary to earn your cooperation, but that doesn’t mean we couldn’t have a profitable alliance in the future.”

“Go screw yourself.”

He softly chuckled. “Sex is negotiated in a separate contract.”

There was a blur of movement as Fane reached over Serra to grasp Bas’s knee, his grip hard enough to make the assassin grunt in pain.

“There are few things in life I’m going to enjoy more than watching you die,” he said, the flat certainty in Fane’s voice disturbingly chilling.

Serra froze, the violence in the air hammering at her psychic senses.

Shit. This could get really bad, really quick.

Then, with an experience that spoke of years dealing with pissed-off Sentinels, Kaede was pulling the limo to a halt and turning to send his boss a warning glance.

“Show time.”

Fane slowly released his punishing grip and settled back in his seat. The threat of bloodshed remained, but it had returned to the slow simmer that allowed Serra to draw in a shaky breath.

Bas muttered something beneath his breath, then, closing his eyes, he focused on weaving his magical disguise.

At his side, Serra watched as the illusion altered his hair to a sandy blond that was slightly thinning, his face becoming even leaner. The magic worked lower, making his body appear shorter, softer.