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Ash threwup his good arm to block the mercenary’s knife from giving him a tracheotomy. He halted the blade’s descent, but the guy was strong.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the merc had at least three inches and fifty pounds on him. If Ash hadn’t been injured and exhausted, he wouldn’t have blinked twice at the guy’s size. Somewhere in his mid-twenties, both Zeke and Cruz had out-muscled him, but that hadn’t meant they could outmaneuver him. To their annoyance.

But Ash’s defense was already weakening, and six inches of steel were closing in.

“You’re a hard fucker to kill, I’ll give you that.” The fingers anchored in Ash’s hair rolled tighter, forcing Ash’s head back until his neck refused to bend any farther. “Are all my men dead?”

“Only the”— he edged past the pain in his neck, forcing his attention on his hand while it worked to unsheathe his own blade”—assholes.”

Once he slid the knife free, Ash jammed it into the merc’s hip so hard the tip hit bone. The other man cursed, and his hold loosened.

Ash withdrew the weapon and slammed it into the man’s thigh, then twisted.

An earth-shaking scream.

When Ash pulled the knife out this time, blood spurted, arcing in the air with each of the merc’s rapid heartbeats.

He’d hit the femoral artery.

Good for him. Bad for the merc.

Jerking away, he kept a wary gaze on the giant, unsure if he would try a last desperate rush or simply empty his magazine into Ash’s body. “Hope you have a tourniquet.”

The merc glanced down at his hand covering the wound, blood seeping between his fingers and draining onto the forest floor. Ash watched as realization dawned on his enemy.

“Did the two women in the guesthouse make it out?” Ash asked, knowing the other man would take the answer to his grave.

The merc staggered back, caught himself against the nearest tree. Slid down, landing on his ass with a hard thud. His head wobbled on his spine, as if it were suddenly too heavy. He let it fall back against the rough bark, his eyes closing.

“Hellcat,” the merc muttered. The bloody hand covering the wound lifted, and one thick finger pointed into the woods, in the opposite direction Ash had been heading.

He could think of only one person who could earn that moniker in such a short period of time.

Kayla.

The merc’s eyes closed and his hand fell to his side.

Ash stared at the hired killer, suspecting him of sending him into an ambush. But something in the man’s tone when he’d said hellcat sounded almost respectful. Reluctant, but respectful.

“I feel your pain, man,” Ash whispered, then went hunting for a hellcat.