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Rusk thuds against the door. “I’ve got you now, pet. By the time I bust through that lock, you’re going to be very, very sorry you delayed me. Now I won’t have time to play as much. I’ll have to finish you quicker. Much less fun for us both.”
Charlie draws me back, effortlessly picking me up off the floor. Moving soundlessly, he sets me on the bed, touches my right hand and feels the knife. His lips curve against my ear in a silent,Good girl.
I slide my hand under the pillow and pull out the other knife. Now I have two. I flip both blades out and tuck one under my thigh. The other I keep hidden in my hand, tucking the blade along my wrist.
He holds me a moment, his mouth pressed to my ear. “Bait him,” he breathes softly.
I shudder but nod. Charlie will get him. I have no doubt.
He backs away, disappearing into the blackness of the room. I can’t feel him anywhere.
“Go away!” I scream. “You can’t take his place as my Master. Never!”
A gunshot tears through the lock, sending shrapnel through the room. I clamp my hands over my ears and scream again. He kicks the door and it slams against the wall. He stands in the doorway, a black shadow against the dark hallway. “He thought he could set a trap for me, didn’t he? But I’ve always been a step ahead of you, Charlie. I have you to thank for my first kill. Now I have you to thank for my last.”
I draw my knees up, huddling against the headboard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He left me. He abandoned me when I needed him most.”
“You’ve given me the perfect opportunity, Gyres. You left my signature on her. We all know you’re dirty. You took out Matheson so you could get your hands on this sweet piece of ass one last time, and I just happened to arrive and catch you in the act. At least come out and make this a good fight. Let it be interesting. I’d much rather have your dead body and hers as evidence, though if you run, that’s fine with me too. The FBI will hunt you down like the dog you are now.”
Playing along, I look around wildly. “Master, help me!”
Rusk charges across the room and wraps his hand around my throat. He drags me up out of the bed and uses me as his shield. “Fool. Some Master you picked. He used you like a helpless little worm dangling on the end of his hook. I know you’re here, Gyres. Show yourself or I’ll bend her over your bed and tear her ass apart while you watch! I’ll slit her pretty throat and bleed her out on the bed where you fucked her. Is that what you want?”
I don’t struggle in his grasp, though he squeezes my throat so hard I can’t breathe. I sag in his arms, making him work to keep me upright. My instincts shrill at me to flail and claw at his hand on my throat so I can breathe, but I force myself to stay limp. As if I’m already unconscious.
“Fuck.” He jerks me against him. “Useless cunt. No wonder he abandoned you.”
I shove my right hand back against him as hard as I can. His breath gasps out against my ear in a horrible wheeze. Sobbing, I jerk the blade out and stab him again. I have no idea where I hit him. If it’s fatal. Charlie said never stop with just one.
Rusk falls on top of me, but he never lets up that pressure on my throat. The gun slams into my temple, pushing me quicker into blackness, but he doesn’t shoot me.
He’s saving the bullet for Charlie.
Something moves, so fast and light that I barely register its passing. Rusk jerks on top of me. Again. His fingers loosen and I haul in a choking wheeze. I struggle, fighting to get out from beneath his weight. The gun fires again, right by my head, deafening me.
I can’t see. I can’t hear. But I can feel the twitches of Rusk’s body on top of me. Something hot pours down my face. It tastes salty. Coppery. Blood. His? Or mine? Did he shoot me?
I scramble, crawling and kicking to get free of his body. I fling my hands out desperately, trying to find anything for leverage.
Rusk lifts for a moment and I almost escape, but he flips me over and falls down on my legs, trapping me. He looms over me, the gun pointed at my head. His arm wavers, then he curses, a wet muffled word I can’t understand. His shoulders slump, his arm falls, and he sits on my legs, staring at me.
Hands grab me beneath my armpits and haul me out from under him. Charlie.
He holds me a moment on our knees, cheek to cheek, our chests heaving frantically. His hands slide over me, his fingers firm, over my head, seeking the lumps, the cuts, my throat, my chest. Checking my injuries.
“Did he,” I pant, gasping for air, “shoot you?”
“Have a little faith in your Master, kitten.”
Rusk groans and lifts his head, though he’s still slumped on his knees.
I can’t help the shriek that probably rattles Charlie’s eardrums. “I thought he was dead.”
“He is,” Charlie says in a light, agreeable voice. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”
Sheba barks, growing closer by the second. She’s okay. That means Matheson was at least able to get to the car and let her out.
“I have to go now. Your cavalry’s on its way.”
