Mine to Have (Mine #5)(2)

The blonde’s mouth dropped open. Then she screamed. Loud, ear-piercing.

The gun was heading back toward her head. Saxon was afraid that Kurt was going to hit her with it, or, much worse, just shoot her right there. So he lunged forward and put his hand over her mouth. “Screaming can come later, baby,” he told her.

Her gaze—terrified, stark—met his.

He smiled at her. Unfortunately, he knew the sight wouldn’t exactly be reassuring.

Kurt shoved the gun against Saxon’s chest. “I don’t care who you are,” Kurt told him. “I don’t care if the others jump when you appear, I don’t give a shit about—”

“You’re just going to kill her.”

She shuddered in the chair.

“That’s what you do, right, Kurt? If the money’s right, you take the hit. Just like you did on Jenny Long.” He threw that name out deliberately.

Kurt laughed, and his face—thin, a bit rat-like, gleamed for a moment with pleasure. “The money was very right with her. Freaking FBI turncoat. She deserved all the pain I gave her.”

No, she hadn’t. Jenny had been a good woman and a standout FBI agent. Saxon’s back teeth ground together. “I only want an hour, then you can have her back.” Lies and truth didn’t matter to Saxon. They couldn’t. Not in the world he lived in.

“She’s got to suffer,” Kurt said, as if that should be obvious. “Her pain is part of the deal.” The gun was still pressed to Saxon’s chest. An annoyance. One that Kurt would regret.

Saxon looked down at the gun. “How much were you paid for her?”

“Ten thousand.”

The woman was trying to talk behind Saxon’s hand. Muttering frantically.

“And unless you’re going to give me ten grand for that hour with her—then you need to get the hell out of here. Because I’m supposed to be dumping her body in forty-five minutes.”

Her muttering stopped.

Saxon sighed. “It just couldn’t be easy…”

“What?” Kurt demanded.

“My night.” Then Saxon grabbed the gun, he jerked it right out of Kurt’s grip because the idiot hadn’t been expecting him to attack. Saxon drove his elbow into Kurt’s face and heard the bones crack as the guy’s nose broke. The goons in the back lunged forward. They were drawing their own weapons.

Saxon shot them. He didn’t kill them, because killing hadn’t been on his agenda, not that night anyway. But the men went down, groaning in pain.

The guy he’d taken down when he first came into the room—that guy tried to play hero again. He tackled Saxon, sending them both to the floor. Only Saxon was stronger in that little fight, and a fast slam had the guy’s head hitting the rough cement that served as the floor, and the guy didn’t bounce back to his feet.

Kurt rushed out the door. The coward had let his men fight while he ran. Now Kurt probably thought he’d get more backup from the others in The Blade. And if the guy brought more folks in there, Saxon would have to keep fighting. “I don’t have time for this shit,” Saxon muttered.

He pulled his knife from the sheath around his left ankle. Then he headed toward the blonde. He hadn’t thought it would be possible for her eyes to get any bigger, but they were huge right then.

“Please, don’t…there has to be a mistake! I—ahh!”

The knife sliced through her ropes and her scream cut off.

He hauled her up and onto her feet. “Here’s how this is going down, sweetheart.”

She was staring at him in shock. Right, like women hadn’t done that before. But then she gave a hard shake of her head. “I’m…Elizabeth. Elizabeth Ward. I need—”

He waved that away. They could talk about needs later. Right now, it was ass-hauling time. “We’re going out the back. You’re not going to scream. You’re not going to fight me. Because if you do either of those things, you’ll be dead.”

Her lips were full, plump, and currently trembling. “Y-you’ll kill me?”

He grabbed her arm and ran for the back door. “Have you realized it yet? I’m your hero. The only guy who can keep you alive.” He shoved open that door, and they ran into the back alley. It was pitch black out there because it was a cloudy night and they had no stars or moonlight to spill down on them.

Voices shouted behind him. Uh, oh. He glanced back. Kurt had come with his reinforcements. “Should have given me my hour,” Saxon called out to the prick. “So now…I’ll just take more.”

He kept his grip tight on her and hauled ass. Lucky for them both, he had excellent night vision—and a motorcycle that wasn’t too far away. He jumped on his bike, shoved the helmet at her, and had that engine growling to sweet life in seconds.

“Get on,” he ordered her.

She hesitated.

Kurt shouted, “Bitch, I will kill—”

She got on the motorcycle.

Saxon’s hands flexed around the handlebars. “Hold on. Tight.”

Her fingers tentatively curled around him.

“Tight,” he snapped. What the hell? Did she think they were about to go for a Sunday drive?

Gunfire blasted at them. He ducked, and those bastards were lucky because their bullets missed his bike. If they’d hit his ride, he would have gone back and kicked their asses—mission orders or no orders.