Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(62)

Fuck. Bas forced himself to lean back in his seat, barely containing the fury that blasted through him.

A game?

The son of a bitch thought this was a game?

“Masters don’t use little girls as pawns,” he rasped.

The pause was less than a heartbeat, but it was enough to tell Bas his accusation had struck a nerve.

“She was necessary.”

“For what? If you’re such a skilled player then meet me in a face-to-face challenge.” Bas twisted his lips into a sneer. “Don’t hide behind a child.”

He heard the hiss of an annoyed breath. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“Molly isn’t the pawn.” A deliberate pause. “You are.”

The ground shifted beneath Bas.

He’d considered a dozen different reasons for Molly’s kidnapping.

But not once had he considered the hideous possibility that it was personal.

“Me?”

There was a low laugh, made all the more chilling by the distortion.

“The infamous Bas Cavrilo. The mercenary who lives his life in shades of gray,” the stranger taunted. “What better way to test your claim to moral ambiguity than to place you in a position where a choice has to be made?”

Bile clogged Bas’s throat, nearly choking him. Goddammit. Who the hell was this bastard? And what had he done to inspire such rabid hatred?

“A choice between the lives of hundreds or thousands—”

“Millions,” the kidnapper smoothly interjected.

“Or my own daughter?” Bas continued between clenched teeth.

“Exactly.”

Christ. The man truly was a lunatic.

Bas clutched the arms of his chair, his knuckles white as he battled back the urge to grab the monitor and toss it across the room.

“Have you considered the possibility that the use of Anna as a weapon will spark a war between high-bloods and norms?”

“Of course I have.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

“If there is a war, there is no one to blame but yourself.” Bas didn’t have to hear the gloating in his voice to know it was there. “You could keep Anna locked in her cell, and the world would never learn of her and her apocalyptic powers.”

“This isn’t a game, it’s revenge,” Bas rasped. “What have I done to you?”

“You offend me simply by being alive,” the man fired back without hesitation.

Anger. Bitterness. A feral need for payback.

Could Bas somehow use the man’s seething emotions against him?

“Then come out from the shadows and fight me like a man,” he taunted. “Or are you like all cowards who talk a big game but never have the balls to stand up to a superior opponent?”

The shadow twitched, as if Bas’s words had landed a physical blow.

Which meant he might be a high-blood, but he hadn’t been trained by monks.

“Careful, Bas.” With a jerk of his arm, the man reached to press something in front of him. “Have you forgotten what’s at stake?”

Bas’s lips flattened. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Perhaps you need a reminder.”

There was a flicker on the corner of his monitor as a second screen was opened.

Bas frowned, studying the darkened room in confusion. Then the overhead light was flipped on and he could see the camera was focused on a narrow bed with a tiny child covered by a pink blanket.

The ruthless control that had been hammered into Bas during his training threatened to shatter.

Christ. He threatened to shatter.

His sweet, innocent baby.

What kind of monster snatched a child from everything that made her feel safe, just because he wanted to punish Bas?

It was only the knowledge that the kidnapper was still watching him, eager to see him break down, that kept him from laying his head on the desk and howling out the bleak agony that filled his soul.

Instead he reached an unsteady hand to touch the monitor as the light woke the slumbering child and she slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes in confusion.

He swallowed his tears at the sight of her unruly mop of silver-blond curls and the round cheeks that were pink from sleep.

“Molly,” he breathed.

Astonishingly, she abruptly turned toward the camera, her eyes the same unique bronzed shade as his, widening with hope.

“Daddy?”

Oh, hell. She could hear him.

He leaned forward, his nose nearly touching the screen. “I’m here, sweetheart.”

She perched on her knees, her arms wrapping around her thin body that was covered in a pink nightgown. Bas’s jaws clenched until they nearly crushed his molars.

Molly hated pink.

“Are you coming to get me?” she demanded, her voice low, as if she was afraid of attracting unwanted attention.

Which meant there must be a guard on the other side of the door he could just catch a glimpse of them at the corner of the screen.

Other than that there was nothing to indicate her location. White walls, a kiddy bed that could be bought at any discount store. No windows. Cheap carpeting.

Shit.

There was no way in hell he was going to risk asking Molly if she could offer him any information about where she was or who had kidnapped her. The bastard holding her captive thought this was a game. A twisted, sick game. If he didn’t play by the rules, there would be no hesitation in snuffing out the life of this precious child.