Anything He Wants: The Betrayal(17)
“Not that I don’t enjoy our time together…”—he glanced at his watch—“but we have less than ten minutes until the cavalry arrives. Six, if they have a method in place for physically tracking either one of you that I don’t know about. These factories are a maze, tough to get through even with a map.” The assassin reached behind him and pulled out a black gun, caressing the barrel with his free hand without taking his eyes off me. He saw me watching and shrugged. “It was a blow to my professional ego when both of you survived my poisoning attempt. That won’t be a trick I use again, but still, I need to correct my mistakes.”
I kept my eyes on the other man’s, trying desperately to control my breathing. A dozen scenarios flitted through my head on how to get away: hand-to-hand combat, running away, diving off into the water. In every scenario however, I lost. Badly. The quiet confidence in his face told me everything I needed to know, that his skills in pursuit of prey were far greater than my skills at fleeing, especially out here in the open. A detached numbness spread through my body as I watched him prepare his weapon. Is this really it? Am I merely ending up as bait to lure Jeremiah to his death?
A narrow tube appeared in one of the man’s hands, and he casually connected it to the end of the gun, spinning it in place. He cocked his head to one side and studied me. “You’re very brave,” he commented. “Most targets would be begging for their lives right about now.”
I’d do it if I thought it would mean anything. The wind picked up from the water, waves crashing into the wooden supports beneath us, shaking the ground beneath my feet. My own shivering ceased with the numb realization that I was about to die.
“I prefer it face-to-face like this,” he continued, “but most people run away and I have to shoot them in the back. Annoying business, that—almost takes away the dignity and pleasure.” He raised his weapon and leveled it with my face. “Don’t worry, my dear, you’ll see your beloved billionaire again soo—”
Something whistled past my ear and the assassin spun around, collapsing onto the ground. I stared down dumbly as he thrashed at my feet, grunting in obvious pain and holding his shoulder, then common sense flooded back with a vengeance. I spun to flee but hadn’t taken a step yet when a hand grabbed my ankle and I toppled to the ground. I managed to catch myself, skinning my knees for the first time since childhood, but was immensely grateful that Ethan had bound my hands in front of me. I squeaked as my hair was grabbed and I was hauled backward and over the assassin until I was all but laying on top of him.
“That son of a bitch,” the assassin muttered, and I didn’t know who he was talking about until a small device appeared in his hand. It had two small buttons, one blue and one red, and looked much like an electronic car key. I realized, horrified, it was probably the one to detonate the bomb around Celeste.
“No!” I grabbed his hand, wrestling for the controls. Something had obviously gone wrong—Ethan had betrayed him, or the cavalry had arrived early on its own—but it didn’t matter; I couldn’t allow him to press that button. All I could see was Celeste’s panicked expression when she saw me, her cries not to leave me even as Ethan hustled her away, and I couldn’t think of letting her die. Not without a fight.
The assassin hadn’t expected my resistance, and I almost pried the device from his grip before he fought back. One of his arms was all but useless—blood poured from a large wound in the man’s shoulder—so between his wounded arm and my cuffed hands, we were almost evenly matched. I also realized quickly he was using me as a shield against the new sniper and didn’t want to compromise that, but he still looped one leg around my waist and jerked me down, trying to wrench the controller from my grip.
A flash of triumph shot through me as I snagged the small plastic device from his hand, but before I could throw it into the water nearby, an elbow exploded across the side of my face. Pain exploded through my skull and, stunned, I hesitated too long and his hand was back over mine, trying to pry the controller from my fingers. Ears ringing, I tried to hold on to it but another elbow, this time to my chest, knocked the wind out of my lungs. Dazed, I struggled to breathe and faltered long enough for him to wrest the small implement free from my grip. Anger and triumph contorted his face, and I watched helplessly as he pressed the red button.
Nothing happened.
He blinked, then looked down at the controls. His finger slid again over the red button, but whatever he was expecting clearly didn’t materialize if his expression said anything. “Well, f*ck,” he said, shoulders slumping in defeat.