Shadow Bound

But I’d take boring over the basement any day.

“What would I be doing?” he asked, as we turned another corner.

“Whatever Jake needs done. Blinding the opposition. Punching holes in a defensive infrared grid, so his men can get in.”

“But we’re talking about crime, right? Criminal enterprise?”

I hesitated, trying to decide what he wanted to hear, and how best to merge that with the truth. “That sounds a little …”

“True?”

“Yeah.” I frowned. “That sounds a little true. Also, insufficient. Not all of the syndicate’s business is illegal. Some of it’s just highly discouraged by legal, spiritual and political authorities.”

“Semantics.” He brushed off my reply with an ironic grin. “What are we talking about? What’s his bread and butter?”

I hesitated, weighing my options.

“What’s wrong?” Holt glanced at me as we stepped onto another crosswalk. The light changed before we were halfway across the street, but no one bothered walking faster.

“I’m not sure I’m allowed to answer the kind of questions you’re asking now, but I’m supposed to do whatever it takes to keep you interested. Which means I’m walking the line between a couple of conflicting orders.” And if I actually got caught between them, my body would tear itself apart trying to obey both at once.

“I’d never intentionally put you in that position,” Ian said. “So if I ask something you can’t answer, just tell me and I’ll withdraw the question.”

I frowned up at him, trying to decide whether or not he was serious. Nice guys didn’t usually last long in syndicate life. Neither did nice girls, which was why I’d signed on to protect Kenley.

“Have you ever been bound?” I asked, and his sudden, startled look darkened quickly into something I couldn’t interpret.

“No. So, no, I’ve never felt resistance pain, if that’s what you’re getting at. Nor have I been caught between conflicting orders. Have you?” he asked, watching me carefully, and I nodded. “What’s it like?”

“It’s like dying, in slow motion. One piece of you at a time …” But my words faded into silence when a pair of unfamiliar eyes caught my gaze from several feet ahead on the sidewalk. I pretended not to notice, but it took real effort to keep tension from showing in my step. The stranger had glanced at me, but his gaze lingered on Ian, and his casual stance was as false as my grandmother’s teeth.

The would-be poacher was young, which hopefully meant he was inexperienced, but I was unarmed, which automatically put me at a disadvantage.

I prattled on for several more steps without really listening to myself. Waiting. Hoping Holt wouldn’t freak out when the shit hit the fan. You never can tell with civilians. And finally, as we stepped even with a narrow alley, a hand grabbed my right arm from behind and something sharp poked me to the left of my spine, through the thin cotton of my blouse.

“Scream, and I’ll cut you,” a young voice whispered into my ear, and I rolled my eyes as he pulled me into the alley. Ian didn’t even get a chance to look surprised before a second man—this one bald—shoved him after us.

“You okay?” Ian asked me, his voice soft and taut with caution as he backed away from the bald man, who carried a knife no one on the street would be able to see. If anyone noticed us at all. With any luck, no one would.

“I’m good,” I said, stepping carefully as I was tugged steadily backward. “They don’t want me. You feel like being abducted today?”

“Wasn’t on the agenda, no.” Ian stopped with his back to the brick wall, halfway between the bald man and the one holding his knife at my back.

“Plans change,” Baldy said. “Come with us quietly, or he’ll gut your girlfriend.”

I rolled my eyes again. This was a farce of an abduction at best. “First of all, I’m not his girlfriend. Second, it’s kind of hard to gut someone from behind, dumb ass.”

The hand around my arm tightened, and the first fiery threads of anger blazed up my spine. “Anyone ever tell you your mouth is going to get you in trouble one day?”

“Only hourly,” I said, and Ian laughed without taking his attention from the bald man’s knife.

“Last chance,” Baldy said.

Ian glanced at me, brows raised in question. “What do you think?”

I shrugged, in spite of the knife at my back. “Well, they’re not total morons. Knives instead of guns, so no one will hear gunshots. And they’ve got balls, coming after you in broad daylight. That one’s a Traveler,” I said, nodding at the bald man. “I’d bet my last drop of vodka on it.”

Ian frowned. “How do you know?”

“Because the other one can’t drag you through the shadows while he’s threatening my life.”

Baldy scowled, and I gloated silently.

“So should I go with them?” Ian asked, and I could hear the amusement in his voice. He was neither scared nor rattled, and I was pleasantly surprised.

“Nah.” I twisted away from the knife at my back and pulled the man holding my arm off balance. He stumbled, and I jerked my arm from his grip, then faced off against him with my feet spread for balance. “I’d hold out for a better offer.”

Knife guy reached for me, and I kicked his kneecap from the side. He crashed to the concrete on one hip and swung his blade at my leg. I kicked the knife from his grip, then stomped on his hand, satisfied by the crunch of several bones, and even more satisfied by his howl of pain.

Something scuffed against concrete behind me, and I twisted to see Baldy lunge for Ian.

Shit! I started toward them, but stopped, surprised when Ian simply stepped out of his path, then slammed Baldy’s wrist into the corner of the Dumpster. The knife clattered to the concrete at his feet, and Ian kicked it beneath the Dumpster. His motions were smooth and fast, and he hadn’t come close to breaking a sweat.

The man on the ground in front of me pushed himself up with his good hand, and I squatted to snatch his lost knife. When he stood, I stepped up behind him and held his own blade at his throat. He stiffened, good leg holding most of his weight, arms out at his sides, and I almost laughed. “I take it back. You are a complete moron.”

“Who are you?” he asked, in spite of the blade I held.

“Kori Daniels. Why? Were you expecting Little Miss Muffet?”

“Daniels? No shit? That’s just my fuckin’ luck,” he said, and his voice shook, in spite of false bravado. “I bet two hundred dollars they’d find you facedown in the river.”

I shook my head, though I’d had similar thoughts, myself. “So now you’re stupid and poor.”

The bald man grunted, and I looked up to see Ian’s left fist crash into his face. Again. His head slammed into the brick wall—hard—and a cut appeared on his right cheek. Then his eyes closed and he slid down the wall to slump on the ground, unconscious.

Ian stepped out of reach in case the bald man woke up. A hint of a grin rode one corner of his mouth when he saw me gaping at him. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“Because I’m so surprised.” Jake didn’t know Ian could fight; if he had, he would have told me.

I considered that new information for a second, trying to decide how long I could get away with silence on the matter, while the man in front of me breathed shallowly in concession to the knife at his throat. “What’s your name?”

“John Smith,” he spat. And that was exactly the alias I’d expected—a generic fuck-you to the question no one with half a brain would ever voluntarily answer.

I slid the knife beneath the short left sleeve of John’s shirt and he flinched when I split the material with one upward stroke. The cotton flaps parted to reveal a single iron-colored ring. No surprise there. “How much is Cavazos offering for Holt?”

“Hundred grand, unharmed. Seventy-five, if he’s bruised or bleeding.”

I glanced at Ian over John’s shoulder, brows raised in appreciation. “Not bad. But he’ll go higher.” I stepped back from John and shoved him hard enough that he fell to his knees in front of me, facing Ian.