Even Sabrina, as cold a bitch as she knew she could be, felt a wave of nausea with that image. Marcus—formerly her powerful, vital Iceman—made wild animal-like sounds behind her. He was desperate. She didn’t blame him. Dead was better than being puppy chow any day.
Tad moved to the desk and leaned on the edge, his back to Marcus, who fought uselessly against his bindings.
She sashayed toward him. “So what’s the plan?”
“We’re going to give Adam what he wants, his traitor, gagged and bound. The answer to why people have been dying. Mass distribution of ICE. Control of this casino and those connected.”
She sidled up next to him, and he pulled her hard between his legs. “I did exactly what the Renegades believed I wouldn’t do.” He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her mouth to his, slicing his tongue along hers, his lust branding her, as it soon would his enemy. And she was going to be there for the show.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Shuffle!” yelled the dealer.
Sterling relaxed. “Thank you Lord, the pain is over, if only for a few minutes,” he grumbled, eyeing the casino for any signs of Sabrina Walker, the redheaded cocktail waitress who Marcus had claimed was an ICE dealer.
“Any sign of her yet?” Becca asked from beside him, her leg pressed to his.
He was aware of her every move, her every touch, even the exact moment she needed to dose with that damn ICE that was keeping her alive. It was killing him to feed her those drugs, and then parade her around a casino as an invitation to Tad to try and kill her. It was like taunting the Grim Reaper—you didn’t do that shit unless you really wanted the kind of stink that meant you were ten feet under.
Sterling wanted this over. He wanted her safe. And he’d made it clear she wasn’t even going to the restroom without him. He didn’t give a damn if she had to wet herself and mess up those nice black jeans that hugged her ass in all the right ways.
“Not yet,” he said. “But her schedule says Friday at five. It’s Friday at five.”
“Marcus also said she lived in the hotel, but you’ve had men watching for her, and she’s yet to be seen,” Becca reminded him.
“She’ll be here,” Sterling said. “Because whether Marcus is working for Tad, being followed by Tad, or whether Tad is masquerading as Marcus, this woman is the connection to Tad. We find her. He finds us.”
“We’re at a blackjack table,” she said. “The only one who can’t find us here is the waitress with the free drinks. There are cameras everywhere.”
“You in?” the dealer asked.
“We’re in,” Becca said, scooting a chip forward for both herself and Sterling.
“Bingo,” Sterling murmured. “Four o’clock, coming our way.”
“The term would be blackjack,” Becca teased, discreetly glancing in the woman’s direction and watching her take a man’s order. “Oh yeah. You’re right. She’s your Madame caller. She has that queen attitude that other women hate.”
“Card?” the dealer asked.
Becca eyed the table and nudged Sterling. “You have thirteen. The dealer has twelve. He’s supposed to bust. That’s what the rule book says. You should stay.”
He cut her a disbelieving look. “How do you know?”
“Bunch of guys at NASA used to play all the time.” She smiled. “Okay. I played too.” She motioned to the table. “You should stay.”
“Fine,” he said, glancing at the dealer. “Stay.”
The dealer looked irritated, and Becca ran her tongue over her bottom lip, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Use your hand.”
Sterling kissed her because her lips were all shiny and tempting, inhaled the sweet scent of her that he wanted to breathe for a lifetime, and then cut a hand through the air.
The dealer flipped his cards and piled more money on Sterling’s area of the table.
“You keep winning,” she said.
Sterling shoved the money back at the dealer. “Tip.” He eyed Becca. “This is why I don’t gamble.”
“Because you like to win?”
“Because I don’t want to use up my luck at a damn poker table, instead of where I really need it,” he said and motioned to their mark.
“Sabrina” or “Madame” narrowed her gaze on him and looked a little frantic. Fake frantic. Sterling wasn’t an idiot, and she wasn’t a good actress. She sashayed in their direction, her breasts barely concealed by her low-cut cocktail dress. She was pretty in a slutty, never-see-you-after-this, morning-after kind of way. The kind of woman he would have favored before Becca. The kind of woman who represented how shallow and empty his life had been.
“Here we go,” Becca whispered.
“You in?” the dealer asked again.
Sterling cast him a hard look. “No, I’m not in, and I’ll flipping tip you to stop asking me that.”
Sabrina appeared by their table and made a not-so-discreet beeline for Sterling, ignoring Becca, who cast him an irritated look. “I have no idea how you figured out who I am, but you better make this look good, or you’re going to get me killed. The deal is the same. So unless your boss is willing to meet my terms, this is over with your drink order.”
So she was Madame, and she had no idea Marcus had sent him to her as part of a deal. Or so she wanted him to believe. “He is,” Sterling confirmed.
She tilted her head, studying him as if weighing the honesty of his words. “All right then. I break at nine.” She eyed Becca and then glanced at Sterling. “Crystal’s Dress Shop in the Forum. There won’t be cameras there. Dressing room two. Your woman comes in. Not you. And if she can’t negotiate what I want, I walk away.”
And then she moved along to the next table and left Sterling to wallow in the absolute certainty that this was yet another trap with Becca as the target.
His eyes met Becca’s, and for all the lighthearted banter she’d managed today, he saw the trepidation. He felt the waves of nervous energy balled around fear, blasting off her and into him.
It didn’t matter that trouble was what they’d come here looking for, and trouble was what they had found. He didn’t want trouble, not when Becca was present. How did Michael manage to focus in battle and not be scared shitless for Cassandra? Sterling wasn’t good at this. He’d never cared about living or dying before. He’d lived in the moment, used his instincts, and taken one risk after another. He told himself to think of the bigger cause he served, rather than the woman he’d come to cherish. Yet here he was, faced with a bigger cause and her safety, and the only thing he could focus on was the door, and his need to throw her over his shoulder and take off running.
Becca’s calm façade, the façade she’d played for Sterling’s benefit all day, was quickly fading into oblivion.
“I couldn’t see into her head at all,” Becca said, trying not to panic. They were almost at the forum, after sitting at the blackjack table another few hands to appear discreet.
Sterling pulled her behind a group of vacant slot machines, his hands on her shoulders. “You’re nervous. You’re okay.”
“What if she is Tad?”
He visibly shook himself. “Oh that is just a bad, bad image you put in my head. She isn’t Tad. I promise you. He might shift, but I doubt he struts.”
She frowned. “You thought she strutted?”
He smiled and ran his hand down her hair. “Like a call girl, baby.”
“Oh. Yes. I can see that.” Another horrible thought came over her. “What if my shield isn’t working?”
“Try it.”
“Caleb said no. He said I’ll alert Dorian I know how to use it and give him time to probe it and find a way around it. I wanted to touch her and try to read her that way, but I didn’t want to be obvious.”
“First,” Sterling said. “I don’t have any reason to believe Dorian is going to appear here today. Not before Adam tries to have you taken out the more conventional way—good ol’ human murder. But if he doe
s, we have the weapons you and Kelly designed.”
“That we don’t know will work,” she reminded him. “And Dorian came after me once before. You can’t know he’s not going to show up here today or even how close he has to be to attack my mind again.”
“You have a shield,” he said. “Caleb is in the hotel in case you need extra protection. And Adam isn’t going to risk his greatest weapon and the source of ICE without damn good cause.”
“Yeah, well that weapon is powerful,” she said. “I’m not sure there is a risk for him to consider. He’s that powerful.”
“Baby,” he said softly. “Please. You’re making yourself crazy. Try your shield quickly, and pull it back down—long enough to give yourself the confidence of knowing it’s there.”
Becca forced a calming breath and did as he said. She slid her shield in place, felt the comfort of knowing it was there, and then cringed as she let go of the security it gave her.
“Well?” Sterling asked.
She nodded.
His lips lifted slightly. “Good.”
“I should have touched her,” she said. “Then I’d know if she was telling the truth. Maybe she really does need our help.”
“And I think I really like blackjack,” he said. “Potential temptation turned to addiction all too easily. In other words, potential danger equals danger.”
“She gave us a warning. She gave us time to prepare. If she was planning to attack, why would she do that?”
“It’s not because she’s waiting for her break,” he said. “Don’t convince yourself that’s an option, and let your guard down.”
Becca hugged herself. “I won’t. I know.” But he was right. That was what she was trying to do.
“More likely, she had to call whoever she is working with—Marcus, Iceman, Tad—whoever it is, and make preparations for whatever is going to go down in that dressing room,” Sterling said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-three
Thirty seconds. That’s how long Sterling waited after Becca walked into that store before he went after her—planned, counted-out seconds that were the longest of his life. It took him all of ten more to clear the entrance and a few rows of dresses, to draw a hidden weapon, and yank open the curtain to room number two.
Sabrina sat, legs crossed, lounging in a red velvet chair. Becca, stiff and prim, sat in a matching chair beside her, thankfully safe.
Able to breathe again, his gaze swept to the ceiling, the walls, the large mirror mounted on the wall, before they latched onto Sabrina again.
“I’ve always enjoyed a good ménage with a big gun,” Sabrina purred. She pointed a red-tipped nail. “But shut the curtain before we get started.”
He kept the gun on Sabrina. “Becca,” he said.
She pushed to her feet and pulled the curtain, then stood close to him, as if she wanted to hang on if he decided to leave.
Sabrina sighed. “You two are clearly suffering from some sort of paranoia, so I’ll get right to it, and let you go melt down somewhere that’s not here. I gave your girlfriend a card with five of my dealer’s names. A show of good faith.”
Sterling cast Becca a sideways look, and she held up an index card.
Sabrina continued. “I can give you Iceman, his warehouse, his dealers, and his users. You give me what I asked for—protection without consequences. Tell your boss he has twenty-four hours to decide.”
She pushed to her feet, and Sterling stepped to the side, giving her space. She paused, too close, and added, “Don’t come back here. I’ll call you. If you get me killed, who’s going to give you all those juicy secrets?”
She slipped behind the curtain and disappeared. Sterling’s instincts were screaming. Whatever had gone down here, it was more of the “not what it seems” variety. He had a bad feeling—the kind of bad that made nightmares like fairy tales. He grabbed Becca’s arm. They were going to the nearest exit and wind-walking out of here.
No one inside the Renegades camp except Becca had ever seen Dorian, so the kid had walked by the throngs of Renegades and casino workers unnoticed and came straight to the executive office of the hotel where Tad waited for him.
Tad watched as Dorian meditated, eyes rolled back in his head, and waited for the announcement that Rebecca Burns was dead. The far left wall displayed camera footage of the dressing room, and Tad was starting to get antsy.
Sabrina had left the room, and now, so were Sterling and the Burns woman. Tad would have preferred to shoot the bitch from a distance, but any further violence at the hotel after the ICE fatalities could bring unwanted attention from military operations.
Abruptly, Dorian’s eyes rolled back into position. “I cannot reach her mind from this distance without an emotional imprint to track,” he said, speaking to both Tad and Adam, who was on speakerphone.
“She’s headed for the door,” Tad told Adam. “Say the word, and I’ll order my men to shoot her.”
“I will go to her,” Dorian said, already headed to the door.
Holy shit. If anything happened to that kid, not only would he lose his abilities, but Adam would kill him. “Dorian! No!” It was too late. Dorian was out the door, too powerful for Tad to stop.
“Put your shield up,” Sterling ordered, whisking Becca to the back of the casino near the door he’d established with Caleb as their safety zone—where backup would be waiting.
“I thought—”
“Don’t argue,” he ordered. Every second she was unprotected was a risk.
“You think Dorian is here,” she said anxiously.
“I don’t know what I think,” he said. “Other than my instincts are screaming, and when they scream, I listen.”
“No,” she said. “I’m not putting up my shield.”
He stopped dead in his tracks in the protection of a crowd and glared. “What do you mean you aren’t putting it up?”
“I want this to end, Sterling,” she said. “I want it over. We walk out that door, my shields down, and we don’t wind-walk to safety either. End this. No one is safe while Dorian is free. We can only hope your instincts are screaming because we have a chance to catch him.”
Sterling stood there, the sound of slot machines and screams melting into an abyss. No—he would grab her and wind-walk her to safety the minute they exited.
She reached up and pressed her hand to his chest, as if she sensed the decision he was going to make. “We are trying to stop a monster before he can get his grip on the world. This is the time for you to learn to deal with reaching beyond your protectiveness for me. If you can’t be objective under these circumstances, then you were right to question yourself and us, because you never will be.”
Clarity came to Sterling. She was wrong. He would do the same for anyone. Okay, with a little more conviction for Becca, there was no denying that. But he saved lives. He took risks so other people didn’t get hurt. He grabbed her hand. They were getting out of here. She yelped as he tugged her forward, pushed through the crowd. The instant they were away from the entrance cameras, they were riding the wind.
“Wait!” Becca demanded as he shoved open the door only to find her crumbling to her knees.
“Becca,” he yelled, bending down to pick her up, only to have a piercing pain rip through his head. “Ah. God.” In some distant place, he could hear Becca whimpering, hear people screaming. Somehow, he pulled himself to a sitting position, and holy shit, Jesus help them, found bodies lying everywhere.
Becca had gone fetal, and suddenly, a young boy was standing above him. Instantly Sterling was captured in the boy’s mesmerizingly lethal stare—pale silver, rather than black.
“Sterling!” came Damion’s shout from behind. The boy lifted his hand, and glass shattered—a fierce blast that collided with the pain in his head and made him gag. But somehow, he threw himself over the top of Becca. Screams permeated the air then utter silence. A heavy blanketing force replaced the glass. Holy crap. Becca was right. This kid w
as a nightmare. The only people coming to help them were coming from inside the casino. He wasn’t sure that was possible; there could be a barrier there too.
Sterling hunkered over and reached for the nicotine weapon in his belt, when bullets would have felt a whole lot more comforting. So would the strength to lift the weapon. The screech in his head was depleting him, zapping his energy.
“Enough, Dorian,” came Caleb’s voice.
“Uncle?”
Uncle, meaning Caleb. Even in his current state of near insane pain, Sterling heard the whimsical fascination in Dorian’s voice about Caleb—the child beneath the evil—with an idol, of sorts.
“Have you decided to join us now?” Dorian asked. “Father will be pleased to see you.”
“Stop hurting the woman,” Caleb ordered. “And we will go see your father together.”
Sterling could feel Becca shaking beneath him, sobbing. And he knew if Caleb could help her, he would. He must have used whatever mind juice he had to get here in the first place.
But Sterling saw opportunity and distraction when it presented itself, despite the screeching in his head. He told himself to fire now and willed his hand to life. Shoot the gun while Dorian was occupied. He had to fire the gun.
“I don’t like to disappoint Father,” Dorian said.
“If you bring me to your father,” Caleb said. “I promise you, Dorian, he will forgive all else.”
Sterling aimed the gun and fired over and over, but at the same moment, Dorian said, “I don’t think so.” He lifted his hand, and that barrier that had replaced the glass came down on top of them, crushing Sterling and Becca with the force of an eighteen-wheeler.
And then, suddenly, it was gone—as if Dorian or maybe Caleb had somehow destroyed it. Sterling gasped for air and reached for Becca, turned her over, and found no pulse. He screamed in horror. Frantically, for the second time since meeting her, he began CPR.
In his peripheral vision, he was aware of Dorian on the ground, proof the nicotine bullets had not only worked they’d crumbled the wall Dorian had created. Damion grabbed Dorian and faded into the wind as Caleb and Adam came toe-to-toe. Michael stepped to Caleb’s side. Then Marcus stepped to Adam’s side before shifting into Tad.
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