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T he wind blew through the trees at the rear of the manor house’s property and the scent of ozone filled the air. Braxton looked up at the sky and figured the storm would be arriving soon. It wasn’t the only thing coming, either. A steady stream of cars had paraded up the long driveway and parked outside the front door. He counted ten dinner guests, just like on the list Quinn had sent.

While Brax, Gray, Inda, Ryland and Saint hovered in the woods, watching closely, Zane flew his drone over the enormous house. Equipped with a thermal imaging camera, the others waited while Zane created a heat map of the area.

“The guests are all in a large room on the first floor, northwest corner, probably a dining room.” He whistled under his breath. “You aren’t going to believe this, but I’m seeing…”

His voice trailed off and Brax straightened up. “What?”

“What looks like a lot of tunnels beneath the house. It’s like a fucking labyrinth under there.”

“How big are we talking?” Saint asked.

“Maybe a couple of football fields big? I’m seeing lots of small heat signatures, which are probably rats or mice, but some human ones, too.”

What if Quinn’s cover had been blown and Cross locked her up in the labyrinth? Remembering how Grendel had tortured Saint, Brax felt his gut twist.

“Banshee, find me an entrance point. I’m going down there,” Brax announced. He had to make sure she was okay. Right now, Quinn was the only thing that mattered.

“Not alone.” Inda reached for her Glock.

“I’m going,” Saint said. “And if I find Grendel, let me do the honors of putting a bullet in his head.”

“Roger that,” Brax said. “Banshee, stay here and be our eyes in the sky. Bruja and Demon, position yourselves near the dining room with the guests and be ready to intervene.”

Brax’s attention slid to Ryland, who stood ramrod straight, hand on his holstered pistol. “I’m going in there and finding Cross,” he stated, voice hard and unyielding.

He knew there was nothing he could say to deter Ryland, so Brax nodded his assent. They had no idea what exactly Cross was planning, but they’d figure it out. Just like they always did. But Brax knew this wasn’t just another op. Quinn being involved and possibly in trouble made the stakes higher than ever.

“Watch your backs. Depending on how deep those tunnels go, be aware there might be issues with comms.”

“I’ve got a possible entrance for you guys here.” Zane shared his screen with Brax, Ryland and Saint, pointing out a location. “It’s hard to tell, but it would make sense considering the change in depth.”

“How can a thermal cam read depths?” Gray asked, leaning over to see the screen.

“It can’t,” Zane said and adjusted his glasses with a grin, “but your boy made some personal upgrades on his fancy drone which include advanced image processing algorithms.”

“Well, whatever that means, we’re glad. Thanks for being such a geek sometimes, Banshee.” Inda slapped Zane on his shoulder.

“You’re all damn lucky to have me.”

A raindrop fell and splashed against Brax’s cheek, and he looked at his team, feeling confident and ready. He pulled his protective gloves on and the others followed suit.

“Let’s go hunting,” Saint murmured.

◆◆◆

After explaining in far too much detail about what happens when acid meets flesh, Cross stalked up to Quinn and pinned her with a look full of wrath and retribution.

“Tonight, I will finally get my vengeance, and nothing will stop me. But you’ll have to wait a little longer for your turn. First, I have guests to poison. And I’m sure Ex Nihilo will be arriving soon, thanks to you.”

She wanted to keep him talking, plus she wanted more answers. “Poison?” she echoed. “Interesting.”

Cross paused. “How so?”

She shrugged. “Poison is normally a woman’s go-to, not a man’s.” When he didn’t comment, she continued, “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble with this whole Novichok plan when you could’ve just taken your guests out with a handful of bullets.”

“Maybe I enjoy the drama.”

“Or, maybe this has to do with Papillon?” She held her breath, suddenly wondering if she was very wrong. But the moment she said the French word for butterfly, emotion flashed across Cross’ face. “I believe she was infamous for killing her targets with poison, including Novichok.”

That was a guess on her part, but his reaction confirmed her suspicion.

“She’s none of your goddamn business,” Cross hissed. “Say her name again and it’ll be the last word you ever speak. Are we clear?”

Wow. Talk about hitting a nerve. Since she was in a crappy position and unable to fight back, she nodded.

“Good. Now I have guests to attend to, so while I’m busy upstairs, I’ll let the good doctor here have some fun.” Cross looked over at Grendel. “You can use your toys, but don’t kill her. I have plans for this traitor.”

Quinn watched Cross walk out then turned her attention to Grendel who was looking at her like a wild animal about to tear into its prey. With a maniacal grin, he reached for the scourge, and her stomach sank. The wicked-looking spikes on the balls attached to long leather straps would tear into her skin.

“Since you’ve been nothing but a scourge to our plans, maybe we should start with this?” He used his wrist to flick it back and forth.

“Or not.” She shrank back in the chair as the spiked balls danced in front of her face.

“We have so many options. I’ve been collecting these medieval instruments for a very long time. But it’s so nice to actually put them to use.”

That’s because you’re psychotic , she thought, but she didn’t dare provoke him. The man took a perverse desire in stoking fear and then doling out pain. Quinn refused to give him that satisfaction. Instead, she lifted her head and met his watery brown eyes.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, mustering up every ounce of bravery and defiance she possessed.

“You should be,” he whispered, moving closer. “You should be very, very afraid.”

Then he lifted the scourge and brought it down on her thigh.

And all she could do was scream.

◆◆◆

While Inda and Gray went to crash the dinner party, Brax, Ryland and Saint found the entrance to the labyrinth—at least one of them—thanks to Zane’s trusty drone. It was behind the main house and wasn’t much more than a covered hole in the ground.

Saint yanked the rickety trap door open and Brax peered down. Steep, wooden stairs led down into pitch blackness.

“This looks fun,” Saint grumbled. “Who wants to go first?”

“Me.” Ryland pulled his night vision goggles down and put a boot on the first step, testing its strength. Once he determined it would hold, he started walking down. “Remember, Cross is mine.”

“I’ll get Grendel,” Saint growled. “That leaves Camille, and that bitch is all yours, Pharaoh.”

“Great.” Brax adjusted his NVGs and tightened his hold on his Glock as he stepped down into the gloom. Everything glowed an eerie green from the NVGs and, as they moved deeper, it felt like the earth was swallowing them whole. But at least they could see.

Zane wasn’t exaggerating when he’d referred to the tunnels as a labyrinth. The narrow passageways smelled like dirt and seemed to twist and turn endlessly.

“Fuck,” Saint hissed. “Why the hell didn’t I go to the dinner party instead?”

“Yeah, it’s a little tight down here,” Ryland murmured.

They knew Saint hated being confined in small places, especially after Grendel locked him in a coffin.

“I’ll be fine,” Saint assured them gruffly, “as long as we keep moving.”

“Banshee, do you copy?” Brax asked in a low voice, touching his comms.

“Loud and clear, Pharaoh,” Zane responded. “How is it down there?”

“Tighter than a nun’s nasty,” Saint answered. “Now where the fuck are we going?”

“I’m tracking your thermals. Keep going straight then veer left in about one-hundred meters. I’m going to direct you straight to the other three thermals I’m seeing.”

“Roger.” Brax strode forward, trying not to worry about Quinn. She was tough and he knew she could take care of herself. Even so, something inside him, in his heart, was saying she needed him.

“Shit,” Zane said. “I’ve got movement.”

The trio halted, waiting for more intel. Not far ahead, the tunnel split.

“Tango on the move, and he’s heading down the tunnel directly perpendicular to your position.”

Dammit. Brax pressed his back against the wall while Saint and Ryland did the same across from him. A moment later, Cross passed in front of them at the end of the tunnel. But instead of turning down their corridor, he continued moving on a straight path.

“Fuck,” Ryland hissed. “I’m going after him.”

“Saint, go with him,” Brax ordered. The last thing they needed was for Ryland to lose his shit, and Brax knew Saint would help keep the other man in check. While they rushed after Cross, Brax hit his comms.

“Talk to me, Banshee.” His only response was a muffled crackle. Fuck. He tried again, but got no answer. Assuming he was too far underground, Brax continued forward then turned in the direction Cross had come from. The moment he turned the corner, he heard a woman scream.

And his heart sank.

Quinn!

He immediately recognized her pained voice and it felt like all the blood drained from his body. The overwhelming urge to protect her sent him running toward the origin of the scream. Not far ahead, he saw light pouring out of a doorway and he skidded to a halt. Staying close to the rocky wall, he stalked forward, gun tucked closely to his side.

He just didn’t realize he was being stalked, too, until the prick of a needle pierced the back of his neck. He slapped a hand over the stinging spot and spun around, coming face to face with a slim figure dressed in all black and wearing a balaclava. She knocked the gun from his hand and slammed her palm up under his chin.

His head snapped back and he let out a surprised oomph then straightened up, ready to fight. Except, he wasn’t ready at all. A wave of dizziness passed through him and his knees wobbled. Turning, he stumbled forward, desperate to get to Quinn.

“Quinn!” he roared, forcing his sluggish feet to keep moving.

But after only a few steps, he fell to the ground and darkness consumed him.