Primal Pursuit - Page 162

This kind of fear is new, and I don’t like it one little bit.

I want to tell Rabbit to run. But I can’t. She won’t listen. It’s one of the things I love about her. The fact she’s so unpredictable and predictable, the fact she doesn’t really obey rules. It’s messy. It’s perfect. It’s her.

But it could also get her dead or worse—there’s always worse. My recent trip to Europe comes to mind. What her fuckwit of a perverted uncle tried to do comes to fucking mind.

I can’t think about her. It’s screwing with my focus. My calm. My coveted, dark place is swimming now with noise and light that I think might be fear. So, I force myself past it. Force myself into the fact Rabbit’s probably going to take me the fuck out if I survive, and I just might let her. Or I might kill her myself. Something I know I don’t want to do.

But here and now? She doesn’t fucking matter.

To survive, I need to be in a place where nothing matters but taking this guy out—taking down every person in my way, and finishing this job.

This situation is nothing but a puzzle, and I’m exceptionally good at those.

The obstacle needs to go down. Now. He knows someone is here. Mr. Silk Pajamas might have been expecting an order in the form of a call girl. Or not. But this obstacle isn’t worried about who rang that doorbell.

The gun is down. Drink raised.

I slide mine away and pull out my knife. And then I move. Steady, determined. Stalking my prey.

I skirt the island, take the longer route. He starts to turn. But it’s too fucking late.

I stab his jugular and slice his throat as he fumbles for his gun, dropping the glass.

Rabbit catches it before it hits the ground, and I grab the body, easing it down, and then twist his neck, snapping it, even as the life spurts out.

Adrenaline bursts, flares, spikes, and I grab Rabbit, smack my lips onto hers and kiss her hard. We pull apart, and then we’re off.

There’s no one else down here. We take the stairs and sweep the second floor. No one. And I stop when we come to the study.

It’s messy, but I don’t see the safe, and I rewind through the events. Through the blueprints.

“What is it?” she whispers.

“It’s not here.”

We go back down to where Antonio lies trussed up, hands turning a waxy purple, and I kneel. His eyes grow wide. I’m no doubt covered in the dead guy’s blood, and I say to him, “I’m going to take off your gag a moment. You don’t fucking scream, and you’ll only answer my questions. Try anything, and Rabbit, who’s got a big beef against you, will shoot you in the face. Got it?”

He nods.

I pull down the gag.

“How many other people are here?”

“None.”

I punch him. Break his nose. And to his credit he only whimpers.

“How the fuck many?”

“One in here?—”

“Who’s dead,” I say, pleasantly. “How the fuck many?”

“F-four.”

I cover his mouth again.

“Come on, Rabbit.” Without waiting, I head for the side door.