Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(92)

“Can’t it wait?”

She rolled her eyes. “No.”

He cursed, shoving Bas against the wall before stepping back and folding his arms across his chest.

There was a tense silence as the two men glared at one another. The smallest twitch would send them back to flying fists and crunching bones.

Then, with a mocking smile, Bas glanced in her direction.

Serra squared her shoulders, studying the man’s lean face. Despite his smile, the assassin had lost his familiar smooth sophistication.

Her lips twisted. No, it was more than a lack of sophistication. He looked like he’d been in a drunken brawl.

His dark hair was ruffled and there was blood trickling from the side of his mouth. Not even his clothing had survived unscathed. The white silk shirt was stained red and the black slacks ripped.

“Say what you have to say,” he commanded, as bossy as ever.

Jackass.

She met his accusing gaze without flinching. “We didn’t betray you, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.”

The bronze eyes narrowed. “You didn’t have a secret meeting?”

“No. Fane realized we were being stalked so we set a trap to catch him.”

“And?” Bas prompted.

It was Fane who smoothly answered. “He took poison and killed himself.”

Bas snorted. “That’s it?”

Fane met the man’s derision with stoic indifference. “That’s it.”

Bas remained unconvinced. “You learned nothing?”

“Maybe,” Serra murmured.

Fane scowled, taking a step toward her. “Serra.”

She refused to be intimidated. “You said it, Fane, we’re running out of time.”

The dark eyes were hard with warning. “I don’t trust him.”

Like she did? God almighty. The man had kidnapped her. Hell, he’d poisoned her.

She’d sooner trust a rattlesnake.

But she understood that she was between a rock and a hard place.

“We don’t have any choice,” she stubbornly insisted.

He shot Bas a venomous glare. “I always make sure I have choices.”

Bas ignored the bristling Sentinel, taking a step toward Serra. “Tell me what you discovered.”

Well aware of Fane’s disapproval, Serra kept her focus trained on Bas’s lean face, noticing the shadows beneath his eyes that had nothing to do with his recent battle with Fane.

Inanely she wondered how long it’d been since he’d actually slept.

“The man’s thoughts were blocked by a barrier, but we managed to discover he’d been hired by a third party,” she confessed.

His features might have been carved from stone, but he couldn’t disguise the flare of hope in his bronze eyes.

“Who?”

“We didn’t get his name.”

Bas clenched his hands. “Liar.”

Fane made a low, dangerous sound as he moved to stand at her side.

“Careful, assassin.”

Serra kept her gaze on Bas. “He was taken blindfolded to an underground fight club.”

Bas blinked, as if caught by surprise. “Fight club?”

“Yes.” Serra nodded. “He called it the Dark Side.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Bas muttered.

Serra grimaced. Well, crap. She’d been desperately hoping the name would mean something to Bas.

So much for her grand plan.

Then Kaede stepped forward, speaking directly to his employer.

“It’s a very exclusive club. Only the fighters who’ve earned a reputation at other clubs are issued an invitation.”

Attention turned toward the younger man.

“You fought there?” Fane asked.

Kaede nodded. “Once.”

Bas sucked in an audible breath, the fragile hope returning to his eyes.

“Where?”

“It was in an abandoned factory,” Kaede said. “But it never stays in the same place.”

Bas’s expression hardened. “How do we find it?”

Kaede gave a lift of his shoulder. “I was contacted by a friend.”

“Call your friend and get the location for tonight.”

“I can try.” Kaede pulled his phone from his pocket. “We didn’t part on the best of terms.”

Fane watched Kaede in narrow-eyed suspicion, no doubt assuming this was some sort of trap.

“Why?”

Kaede flashed the Sentinel a taunting smile. “I took his title of champion.”

Bas made a sound of impatience. “Just call him.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Bas grimly glanced toward Fane, his expression rigidly composed despite the violent emotions that continued to churn just below the surface.

Fear. Fury. Hope.

And threaded through it all a vicious, throbbing pain from his cracked ribs.

“You stay here,” he commanded, turning to head stiffly toward the door. There was no way he was going to reveal his growing weakness in front of the Sentinel. “I’ll call when I need you.”

“No f*cking way,” Fane growled.

Sensing the Sentinel following behind him, Bas forced himself to turn and glare at the interfering ass.

“Don’t for a second think you can give me orders, Sentinel,” he snarled.