Page 53

Cyclone

H e reached for his coat—too slow.

I was already on him.

I slammed him to the ground, one knee to his back, wrenching his wrist until I heard the pop of cartilage.

He grunted in pain but didn’t scream.

Sick bastard probably liked it.

“You should’ve stayed buried,” I growled, yanking the weapon from his coat—a slim black blade, serrated, he wore gloves so there would be no fingerprints.

Of course.

He tried to roll, elbow aimed for my ribs, but I blocked it and slammed his face into the dirt.

Blood was smeared across the ground.

Still, he smiled.

“You can’t protect her forever,” he hissed through cracked teeth.

I grabbed a fistful of his collar and hauled him up so we were face to face.

“Watch me.”

He laughed then. Low. Unsettling.

Like the sound of something breaking that you couldn’t fix.

I didn’t say another word.

Didn’t have to.

River and Gage moved in from the trees, guns raised, faces unreadable.

“Bag him,” River said.

I shoved him into Gage’s hold. “You so much as twitch, and I’ll break the other arm,” Gage snarled.

The Auditor didn’t resist.

Didn’t struggle.

He just turned his head—and looked at her.

At Jude.

And smiled one last time.

But Jude?

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

She stared right back.

And then she turned away.