Page 11 of Protected from Malice (Blade and Arrow Shadow Team #1)

I’d rather not. Gunfire means attention, and that’s something I don’t want. I want some private time with this fucker, so I can hear all the things his lawyer won’t let him confess.

As I wait, my mind flies through the sequence of moves I’ll use.

Arm chop if he has a weapon.

Strike to the chest. Then a jab to the face to stun him.

Leg sweep to take him down.

Flip him over. Restrain him using the zip ties I’m never without.

With a small clink, the metal tool pushes the slide bar out and away, freeing the lock.

I slow my breath. My pulse. Shove all emotion aside.

Gone is the Rafe who comforted Eden in bed. In his place is a jaded warrior who’ll do anything to protect the people he cares about.

The intruder pushes the door open.

Slowly steps inside.

Everything narrows to this moment.

Taking down this fucker who’s here to hurt Eden.

In the man’s hand, a knife flashes, catching the reflection of the light from the TV screen.

He grunts quietly. Mutters, “Where the fuck is she?”

Rage threatens to take over.

He’s here for Eden.

My Eden.

No fucking way.

Instinct demands I attack him right now. But logic reminds me it’s not the right move. I need to get the door shut behind him first.

Make sure whatever goes on between him and me is private.

So I allow him to take another step inside. And another.

Until he’s clear of the door.

Then.

I move.

As I leap at him, I shove the door shut.

He spins towards me, his face jerking with shock.

My arm comes down. The knife hits the floor. With a quick kick, I send it skittering away.

Limbs a blur, I strike. Punch. Kick. Just as I planned.

In under fifteen seconds, he’s on the floor, his face smashed into the carpet.

I yank his arms and legs behind him, zip-tying them together so he’s hogtied and unable to do more than struggle uselessly.

He twists his head to look up at me and snaps, “Let me go, you psycho. I was trying to get into my damn hotel room. What the fuck?—”

Crouching over him, I wrap my hand around his neck and squeeze. Not hard enough to choke him out, but enough to hurt. Enough to turn the defiance in his eyes into fear.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” I hiss. My eyes narrow, pinning him with a glare that promises murder, if he dares. “You don’t have the leverage here. I do. And you’re going to tell me everything .”

His mouth opens wide to yell, but a beat later, it slams shut.

He can’t yell. Can’t call for help. Not when he just broke into my hotel room wielding a knife.

“I have video,” I snarl in a low, dangerous tone. “Of you breaking in. Jimmying the lock. So don’t you dare try to play this off like a mixup. You came here for someone. And I want to know why.”

“It was an innocent mistake,” he says weakly. “I thought I lost my key card. And it’s so late, I didn’t want to?—”

My hand tightens around his throat, cutting off his words.

I bend down lower, so my face is less than a foot from his.

“Do I look like I want to hear your fucking lies? You’re not armed.

You’re tied up. But me?” I lift my Sig so he can see it.

“I could shoot you right now. And I’d be perfectly within my rights.

Self defense. Protecting myself against an armed intruder. ”

He gulps.

Then he lifts his chin. “I don’t have to say anything. Call the cops. I don’t care. I’ll stick with my story. I got locked out. The front desk guy was asleep. I heard a noise inside my hotel room, so I pulled out a knife?—”

Rage flares, white hot and all-encompassing.

Then I suck in a deep breath and tamp it down.

I’ve no interest in this fucker’s games.

And I don’t have the same moral hangups as some of my friends.

So I shove him onto his stomach. Grab hold of his ring finger and bend it back until it snaps. Stifle his pained yelp by pushing his face back into the carpet.

My mouth close to his ear, I bite out, “I’ll keep breaking your fingers until you tell me the truth. Then I’ll move on to your toes.”

“No,” he mumbles. “You won’t. You can’t. You?—”

I break his pinkie finger this time.

He whimpers. “No. Don’t.”

“Who are you here for? Did you come on your own? Did someone send you?”

“No,” he repeats. “It was all a mix?—”

A third finger breaks.

An unintelligible sound works its way up his throat.

As I roll him back onto his back, the asshole looks up at me with terror in his eyes.

And a dawning realization that I’m not fucking around.

“Honestly,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t mind shooting you. If you won’t talk, there’s really no point in keeping you alive, anyway.”

For emphasis, I drag the barrel of my Sig across his cheek.

He cringles away from it. His eyes roll wildly. “You’re crazy.”

“No, I’m not.” My voice dips. “You fucked with the wrong person. And you have a choice here. Tell me everything, or you’ll wish the police were here instead of me.”

For a few seconds, all I can hear is his panicked breathing.

Then he sighs. “It’s just a job, man. Nothing personal.”

“Nothing personal ?” I snarl. “Trust me. This is very personal. Now tell me.”

Another brief hesitation, as he weighs his options. Stay silent and risk more broken fingers, but hope I’m just bluffing. Or tell me what I want to hear, effectively implicating himself.

“Okay.” I start to roll him back over. “More fingers it is, then.”

“No.” It bursts out. “No. I’ll tell you.”

“Good.” I rock back on my heels. “You said it was a job. Who sent you?”

“I don’t know. It was all anonymous. Just a job I found on a message board. Find the woman, knock her out?—”

“Knock her out?”

“Chloroform. It’s easy to get.” Now that he’s talking, the words come faster. “It was supposed to be a simple job. And it would have been if not for—” He stops, his expression jolting with recognition. “It was you. In her house. You’re the one who came busting in?—”

“Yes. That was me. So you failed the first time, figured you’d come back for another try?”

“I had to,” he replies with a hint of desperation. “The guy—I don’t know his name, I’m assuming it was a guy although he was using some kind of voice distorter—he flipped when I told him I got interrupted. He said I’d better get my ass over here and find her. Take out anyone with her.”

A shocked gasp drags my attention away from him for a moment.

Over to the bathroom door, where Eden is standing in the doorway, watching.

My stomach drops.

How much did she see? How much did she hear?

What does she think of me now?

But those are questions for later. Right now, I need to focus on extracting the truth. Finding out who sent this fucker here with the intent of knocking her out, with damn chloroform ?—

Still. I want to tell Eden to get back in the bathroom. Get as far from this man as possible. But I don’t want this man’s attention to go to her. Don’t want him to look at her. Even think about her more than he has already.

Has he seen her picture? Traced the lines of her face with his finger, fantasizing about what he’d do to her once he had her unconscious, once?—

My molars almost crack; my jaw clenches so hard. Keeping my voice as calm as I can manage, I ask, “So you were supposed to get her and then what?”

“I was supposed to call the guy back. Then he’d tell me where to bring her.”

“So you didn’t know the location in advance?”

He shakes his head. “No. I told you. The guy was going to tell me once I had the woman. Then I’d bring her… wherever… and do the tradeoff. Ten K to hand her over to him.”

Fury ignites into an inferno.

I want to kill him.

And I wouldn’t feel a second of guilt.

But I can’t. Not when I need more information. And not when Eden is standing right there, watching.

I don’t want her to think I’m even more of a monster than she already thinks I am.

“And what if there was someone else here?” I ask. “Other than her. What were you supposed to do?”

Fear flickers in his eyes. “Kill them. The guy said he’d pay extra if I had to. Five K more. As compensation. But only if I took a picture to prove it.”

A sharp laugh bursts out. “So you agreed to commit not just assault—yes, that’s what using chloroform on a woman is—but kidnapping and murder for fifteen K?”

The man swallows hard, his throat bobbing against my hand. “I… I guess so. I didn’t think… I thought I could just get in and out. I didn’t think there would be some fucking martial arts expert waiting in here. It was supposed to be easy. Just take one woman and deliver her to the client.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eden still standing in the bathroom doorway, her hand pressed over her mouth. Even in the dark of the room, I can’t miss her horrified expression.

“How did you find her?” I know he didn’t follow us. I know it. And my ID is airtight. There’s no way it could be linked back to me, let alone Eden.

“The guy sent me her photo and a GPS tracking pin.”

“And you have that on your phone?”

“No—”

My voice dips threateningly. “Do you have your phone?”

“Yes. In my pocket.”

Reaching into his pocket, I yank out his phone and tap the screen. “What’s the passcode?”

He immediately shakes his head. “No way, I’m not telling you that.”

“Okay.” I roll him over. Break a fourth finger, his thumb this time.

A shrill cry of pain escapes. “Fine! Fine! It’s 5432. Just stop breaking my fucking fingers, you psycho!”

I pin him with my glare. “You’re the one who broke in. With the intent to kidnap an innocent woman. Who planned to take me out if necessary. So I think you might not want to throw stones at glass houses.”

Punching in the code, I access his recent calls and snap, “What number was it?”

“I don’t know. He just texted it to me. I don’t know.”

My thoughts are speeding along, coming up with potential ideas and immediately discarding them. I can call the client, as this fucker called him. Pretend I’m— “What’s your name?” I demand. “And don’t lie.”

“Greg. But I told him my name was Wyatt.”

I can call, pretending to be Wyatt. But I can’t go off to meet this guy and leave Eden behind. Although… I could drop her off at the police station on the way. Then she’d be safe while I go after the person behind this.

The last thing I want is to be apart from Eden for a second.

Shit. If Indy were here, or Niall, or Xavier… or, fuck, any of my old buddies, this wouldn’t be an issue.

Still. I need to do something.

“When did you talk to him last?” I demand.

“An hour ago. While I was waiting in the parking lot.”

“Good. Now you’re going to tell this guy you have the woman. Ask him where to meet.”

“No!” Real fear fills his eyes. “He said if I turned on him, he’d kill me. Kill my family.”

“Or I could just kill you and be done with it.”

The man—Greg, aka Wyatt—blinks. Whimpers. Then he nods. “Okay.”

I quickly find the number in question and dial it. After one ring, a mechanical voice answers, “Is it done?” Shoving the phone at Greg, I gesture at him to respond.

Silence hangs.

Then Greg whispers, “I… Yes… I… found her.”

Fuck. His voice is actually shaking .

“Did you really?” the caller asks. “Or are you lying to me? Did you fuck it up again?”

“I tried! I tried! But you didn’t say there’d be someone else there. He broke my fingers! He’s going to kill?—”

The call disconnects.

“You idiot!” I snap. “What the fuck!”

But Greg—aka Wyatt, aka the worst would-be kidnapper possible—has apparently hit his limit. He bursts into noisy sobs, whimpering between them, “Don’t hurt me again. I don’t want to die. I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again. I just wanted a new car to impress my girlfriend. I just?—”

My fist flies out.

Connects with his jaw.

I don’t hit him hard enough to kill him, even though I desperately want to.

But it’s enough for his eyes to roll back in his head. For his body to go limp.

Fuck.

I stare at him for a second before standing up.

Turning towards Eden, I find her halfway across the room, hovering by the bed. She’s hugging herself, looking more scared and vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her.

“I’m sorry,” I start. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

She takes a deep breath. And another. And another.

I want so badly to comfort her. To reassure her she’s safe.

But what if I’m the one she’s scared of now?

I’ve never regretted my methods before. But if Eden’s afraid of me…

A dagger stabs into my heart and twists.

Eden looks at me. Walks closer.

Her gaze is steady on mine.

Then.

She touches my arm and asks softly, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine.”

Her hand comes to mine, touching my slightly reddened knuckles.

Her fingers trace across them, feather light.

Then she looks up at me. Lifts her chin.

“We’ll call the police. Say he broke his fingers when you tried to close the door as he was breaking in.

” She glances at the phone I’m still holding.

“And he must have lost his phone somewhere. We never saw it.”

Relief and admiration crash into me with such intensity it’s hard to breathe past it.

Maybe I didn’t fuck everything up between us.

Maybe.