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Gideon's blood seethed at the sight of an obvious abduction kit.
Keaton's Master had apparently changed his mind about siccing Rogues on Savannah and now wanted her taken alive. The thought didn't sit any better with Gideon.
He swung his head around the cluttered basement, looking for the Minion.
Found him lurking in a back room of the space.
Gideon strode forward, toward a connected room separated by a beaded curtain. He swept it aside and entered a room decorated in what could only be described as Assorted Early Warfare. The walls sported an extensive collection of muskets and maces, rapiers and powder horns. Evidently, Keaton preferred his history with a dash of bloodshed.
Gideon stalked toward the glow of Keaton's form, concealed behind a closet door at the far end of the room. Gideon wanted to blast a hole in the bastard through the wood panel, but he needed the Minion breathing so he could wring the name of his Master from him.
"Planning a road trip, Keaton?" he asked.
No reply. The Minion made small, urgent movements inside the closet, movements Gideon saw as slight shifts of the human's energy mass. He couldn't kill Keaton outright, but taking off a limb at a time might prove his point.
"We need to have a talk, Keaton. You need to tell me who you serve."
The Minion snickered now. Gideon blew out a curse and shook his head. "You can come out now, or you can come out in pieces."
Again, no response. So Gideon fired a shot into the door.
The Minion grunted upon the impact, but hardly reacted to the pain. Then he started chuckling. Tittering maniacally.
Gideon realized his mistake only a fraction of a second too late.
Keaton opened the closet door. He was smiling, holding two World War II-era grenades in his hands. The pins were already gone.
Holy Christ.
Gideon turned and sped in the other direction.
Made it halfway up the stairs just as the grenades detonated.
The blast threw him into the wall, smoke and debris flying all around him. He hit hard, felt the burn of random shrapnel peppering his back. But he was alive. He was still in one piece. Relief washed over him...until his nostrils filled with the alarming scent of his own blood.
A lot of it.
He shifted from where he had fallen on the stairs and looked down to assess the damage. Hundreds of lacerations and singed skin where the hot shrapnel had hit him. Nothing his Breed genetics couldn't heal on their own in a few hours' time.
But it was the other wound that gave him pause.
The catastrophic rip in his left thigh, which had nearly severed the limb and was currently gushing like a geyser with each heavy pound of his heartbeat.
Blood seeped out of him fast and hard.
His body could mend itself from injury. It had, more times than he'd ever bothered to remember.
But this was bad.
This was deadly bad, even for one of his kind.
Chapter 14
A heavy thump hit the front door, drawing Savannah up from the chair with a start.
Gideon?
It seemed like she'd been waiting forever, concern for him and distress over being left alone in the sorrowful old house making time drag endlessly.
