Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(93)

“And don’t think I’m going to allow you to confront the kidnapper without me.” Fane met his warning with the cold confidence of a warrior certain he could kick the ass of anyone in the room.

Unfortunately, he was probably right.

Even if Bas hadn’t been nursing at least three cracked ribs.

Thankfully there was nothing wrong with his pride. It allowed him to meet the dark, lethal gaze with an expression of disdain.

“This has nothing to do with you.”

“It does if you decide to get yourself killed by charging after the kidnappers without a plan,” Fane informed him, his chin jutted to a stubborn angle.

Bas snorted. “You make one ugly-ass mother hen.”

“We’ve been through this before. If you die, Serra dies,” he growled. “I can guarantee you that’s not going to happen.”

Bas wasn’t particularly happy with the edge of certainty in the man’s voice. Like he had a plan already set in place. Something that might have troubled him if he didn’t have a dozen far more important problems to consume his thoughts.

“I have plenty of muscle,” he bit out.

Fane folded his arms over his massive chest, his tattooed face stripped of emotion.

“Not as good as me.”

Not boasting, a simple statement of fact.

Before Bas could respond, Kaede was moving to stand at his side.

“He’s right,” the younger man said with a grimace.

Bas snapped his lips together. He was right.

He might hate the bastard, but Fane’s reputation as a fighter was the stuff of legends.

His pride was no match for his desperate need to find Molly.

“Fine.” He held Fane’s gaze, allowing the Sentinel to see his ruthless determination. He didn’t want to kill the psychic, but he would. “But you both come. If we track down the kidnapper she might be able to pull Molly’s location from his mind.”

He turned back toward the door where Fane was abruptly standing in front of him.

“Where are you going?”

Bas narrowed his gaze, his fingers twitching with the urge to wrap them around Fane’s thick throat and squeeze . . .

Instead he was forced to content himself with a glare as a stabbing pain shot through his side.

Soon.

“I need to prepare my people so they’re ready when Kaede has a location.”

Fane shook his head. “How do I know you’ll share the location with me?”

Bas’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile. “You’ll have to trust me.”

“Like hell,” Fane rasped.

Feeling sweat begin to drip down his spine, Bas stepped around the looming Sentinel and out of the suite.

He walked steadily toward the elevator, knowing Kaede was directly behind him, ensuring that Fane didn’t do anything stupid.

He maintained his pretense of composure until the doors slid shut. Only then did he lean heavily against the side of the steel compartment, a low moan wrenched from his lips.

Kaede used his key card to send the elevator directly to the parking lot beneath the hotel before moving to stand next to Bas, clearly prepared to catch him if he collapsed.

Not an unreasonable fear.

“How badly are you injured?” Kaede asked.

Bas’s lips twisted. “A quick visit to Vicky and I’ll be as good as new.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Or as good as a man can be at my age.”

Kaede sent him a questioning glance. “There’s no shame in being injured by a worthy opponent.”

“Thanks,” Bas said dryly. Fantastic. He hadn’t felt shame. Anger, yes. A desire to return and finish kicking Fane’s ass. But no shame. At least not until his companion had mentioned the word. “Don’t you have some calls to make?”

Kaede lifted his cell phone, clearly sensing Bas wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

The silence lasted as they left the hotel and made their way to the lab that served as Bas’s current home.

Reluctantly Bas allowed Kaede to help him from the car and into his office, the pain becoming almost unbearable by the time he was lowered into the leather chair behind his desk.

“Have Vicky sent to me,” he ground out, sweat dripping down his face.

Kaede gave a swift nod, heading toward the door. “Of course.”

“And let me know the second you hear anything,” Bas called out.

“You got it.”

Kaede disappeared and Bas leaned his head against the back of his chair, closing his eyes as he released a weary breath.

Christ, he was tired.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept. Or ate. Or did anything that didn’t include trying to retrieve his daughter.

Logically he knew he was close to the edge of complete collapse, but he refused to give in to the weakness of his body.

Not when they had a potential lead.

Or at least what he hoped was a lead.

Groaning softly, he pressed a hand to his ribs, trying to think through the pain.

The Dark Side meant nothing to him, but a fight club made sense. What better way to discover humans capable of becoming adequate hit men?

And while it wasn’t necessary for the kidnapper to actually be at the fight, he had to have his people there to manage the club. People who could be convinced to give Bas the information he needed to find Molly.