"Not if I give the order." Turning his head, he yelled over his shoulder. "You men on the catwalk, stay put. That's an order." He shrugged, then lowered his voice. "Good enough?"
Christian didn't answer.
As McBride reached for his flashlight, he slid his night-vision gear back in place. "And since you like the dark so much, let's make things more interesting. Lights out."
Christian caught a motion to his left. Raven shook her head, screaming under the gag. Her eyes brimming with terror.
The last thing he saw before the lights went out.
The darkness came. And with it, Christian felt serenity for only an instant, anonymity a welcome change.
"You're mine now." A raspy voice jabbed his awareness like a sucker punch.
"You talk too damned much," he taunted, and braced for the man's rage. "And bring on your dogs, coward. I prefer a challenge."
McBride's anger might force a blunder, giving him an edge. It was a theory. For Raven's sake, he hoped the gamble would pay off.
By the sounds, three men surrounded him. He crouched, hands held waist-high, ready to move. Slowing his breathing, he shut his eyes, his weight poised on the balls of his feet. His muscles grew taut, ready for the first attack. He didn't have long to wait.
A hand grabbed his right elbow, slinging him into the barricade. The sandbags felt rock-hard. It knocked the wind from his lungs. The coarse burlap scraped his chin. A fist punished his back, battering a kidney. Wedged against the stockade, he couldn't move. His arm wrenched by a firm grasp from his first attacker, his shoulder nearly yanked from its socket.
The abuse continued.
"Is this the kind of challenge you wanted, smart ass?" the man whispered at his back.
But a familiar sound drew his attention, catching the breath deep in his throat. A knife unsheathed, slipping from leather. The lethal whisper of a blade.
He listened, trusting his instincts. Shoving hard off the wall, he hurled his body into two men. Full force, he rammed his boot into a knee. The crack echoed through the dark, followed by a tortured scream. A man fell hard to the floor. The sound of a low, guttural moan lingered after he crawled deeper into the maze.
Christian launched into the man to his left. Ripping off the man's night-vision gear, he pitched it over the wall. His fist connected with the mercenary's face, knocking him off-balance. Blow after blow, he punished the man's ribs until he doubled over, recoiling from the abuse. Gripping the man's tactical vest at the shoulders, Christian thrust him hard into the barricade. He collapsed to the cement in a heap, unable to get up.
But while he focused on the second man, he had lost McBride. With all the sounds of men overhead and the mix of scents in the air, his sensory radar betrayed him. He strained to hear the sound of breathing. Where was McBride? Raising his chin, he sniffed the air. Still nothing.
As Christian turned, he felt the knife. A gasp burst from his lips, the thrust stealing his breath.
He felt searing heat from the blade as it punctured his belly. His eyes watered with the agony. McBride held him close, stepping in for the kill. The man twisted the blade upward, his breath warm on Christian's face.
"Arrgghhh," Christian cried out. "Oh, God."
Even through intense pain, he heard Raven's muffled cry, thankful she couldn't see. A bead of sweat trickled down Christian's cheek. It stung his eye as it mingled with a tear.
"That's gotta hurt." McBride wedged an elbow into his throat, propping him against the wall. The man pulled out the knife, forcing another choked gasp from his lips.
"You're mine." The whisper mocked him. "Don't fight me."
Christian smelled the sickening sweet odor of his own blood. His legs grew numb. Only the weight of McBride held him in place. The chill of shock skittered across his shoulders as he sucked air into his lungs. His belly churned hot, slick with blood. He shoved against the man, trying to fight free. But his arms felt heavy and sluggish. Blood loss had taken its toll.
All he could think about was Raven.
"Shhh. Just let go. I'll make sure—" McBride never finished. The words hung in his throat.
The mercenary howled, a long, wailing cry, then dropped to the floor. The haunted cry echoed, its sound pulsing through the emptiness. A low murmur of voices, too far away to hear.
Without McBride to hold him up, Christian slid to the cement, his body deadened. Taunting his senses, he heard the lethal efficiency of a knife thrusting into flesh again and again. He fought for consciousness.
What the hell was happening?
So focused on the kill, the man never saw it coming. And Jasmine took her time, indulging in the moment.
She only wished she'd entered the maze sooner, to save Nicky's son from getting stabbed. Not knowing how bad the wound was, she took it out on McBride.
The man held her comrade in arms, pinning him to the barricade with a meaty forearm. She crept up behind him, knife poised. The bastard held an advantage with his height and bulk, but Jasmine knew how to remedy that.
With a thrusting jab and a powerful slice across, she tore into his hamstring muscles, crippling him. McBride dropped like a rock, shrieking in pain. His terror fueled her with adrenaline. As he rolled onto his back, she kicked the knife from his grip, hearing it clatter across the floor.
With conviction, she rammed a knee into his chest, clutching a fistful of his hair. The man quieted long enough for her to speak.
"Blue Blood sends his regards."
"Go to hell, bitch!"
"You first."
She slid the knife across his throat, bearing her weight into it. A warm spray baptized her, sticky sweet. The man's body rocked under the pressure, then surrendered to the blade. She committed every detail to memory.
Nicky would want to hear it all.
A stillness bathed the empty space. Even Raven had stopped thrashing. Christian felt death heavy in the stale air. Then a presence knelt by his side. Soft fingers touched his cheek. A woman's voice whispered.
"You better not die on me. At least, not until we've been formally introduced."
In spite of the pain, a smile shaped his lips. "My name is—"
The beautiful Asian woman touched a finger to his lips. "Save your strength. I am a patient woman who loves a good mystery. I will find you, when the time is right."
Her hand traveled down his chest, trailing to his wound. The metallic tang of blood lingered in the air.
"Hold this in place. Help is on the way." She braced a cloth to his belly, applying pressure to stanch the bleeding. The muffled sound of police sirens filtered through the haze. The cavalry had arrived.
He closed his eyes in relief, comforted by her gentle ministrations and soft voice. Then, she surprised him. Her lips touched his, stifling his gasp at the intimacy. He resisted, but she held firm, ignoring his objection.
When she released him, he asked, "Why did you—?"
"I possess the soul of an ancient warrior and the skill of a thief. I take what I want." She chuckled, a soft, feminine sound. "I had better leave before your woman discovers me."
His woman. He liked the sound of that. The dark eyes of Raven filtered through the shadows, warming him with her light.
"Not to mention the army of blue outside. The law and I do not always see eye to eye." She fumbled for his hand, placing it on top of the cloth to replace her own.
"I can't imagine why." Even in his condition, he felt obliged to dole out the sarcasm. "You intervened, saved Raven and the priest. I owe you."
From a distance away, her voice found his ear. She had started her prudent retreat.