“I can handle it. Besides, if you’re worried about me finding out what you’ve already done with the chap, I know that too.” He reached for her. “Now, give me your hands.”
“Fine.” Ely dropped her hands into his, feeling the calloused skin of his fingertips rub against hers. Damn him and his psychic ability for finding out every detail of her life whether she wanted him to or not. Mike might be psychic but not everything he read was inside people’s brains. He could read body language and gestures too. Her refusal had given her away.
She exhaled. Mike’s work-ravaged hands always felt comforting.
He closed his eyes for a few seconds, his lips pressed together before he opened them again. “Have you noticed you’ve been insulting Maine without wincing in pain?”
“Yeah, I noticed earlier.” She just didn’t want to get too comfortable with the idea, in case she was wrong.
“When?”
“Ah…” She thought back. The last few times she’d thought of Jenks inside the club, the pain had struck, but while chatting to Dakota, both of their wristbands had started to glow at the same time, and they’d connected with the supervisor in the control room until they were cut off as abruptly as the simultaneous jolt of pain. “I think it was in the arena…” Had it been shortly after the sudden piercing pain inside her head?
“You’re not going to believe this, but the inhibitor chip isn’t working,” Mike said with a smile. “The buzzing surrounding it is gone. It used to sound like a foreign body trapped inside your brain, a barricade I couldn’t penetrate no matter how hard I tried. But now, there’s nothing.”
She swallowed. “Are you sure?”
“There’s no activity.”
“How do you think it happened?” She was starting to realize she actually already knew.
“Well”—he dropped her hands—“something must’ve happened to either alter the chip’s frequency or make it stop altogether. Whatever kept his inhibitor functional has now been broken, because the tie has been completely severed. I don’t think you’re forcibly tied to him anymore.”
The words hit her like a bucket of cold water. She looked down at her wristband, now nothing more than another accessory. “Mike, the terrorists infected all the computer systems inside the arena with a virus. I don’t know what it was but all communication, security and everything else shut down automatically. The only thing kept functional was the Recast feed. Do you think that’s what did this?”
He scratched his head. “Well, I suppose it is possible but I’m no tech-head, so I don’t know for sure. Still, having said that, if Maine kept all of you in check by connecting your inhibitor chips to a frequency within the arena’s computer system, then it makes sense that shutting it down would sever the tie.”
“So, in spite of everything they did, those three actually helped me,” she whispered, still feeling the throbbing on her nose from the blonde woman’s punch. At least it wasn’t broken.
“Their intention was never to hurt people,” Mike said with a shrug. “Don’t frown, it doesn’t suit you. I didn’t tell you anything because the thing inside your head would have forced you to interfere with their plan.”
“Well, it’s not working now.” Why did she feel like sulking? Mike was good at forcing her inner teenager to the surface.
“No, it’s not.”
“Tell me everything you were able to read from the other guy’s head,” she said.
“What other guy?”
Ely tried to put all her weight onto her good ankle.
“I think I need to take a look at your foot.”
“Yeah, sure, but don’t try to change the subject on me.” It was hard to stay upright after standing for so long and even harder to hide it from Mike, but she still tried to stand strong.
Mike clicked his tongue. “You’re a stubborn woman, Ely’Shea. And sure, I’ll tell you everything the cowboy friend of your chap’s was thinking. It was there so loud and clear that I couldn’t help but read him like an open book. But we need to get inside, okay?”
She looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”
“You’re hurt, and trouble’s approaching.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Ely nodded and followed him into the club, trying not to step on her swollen ankle too hard. She didn’t say anything while she watched him lock up the back door, followed by the entrance. Something he never did. Or even when he headed behind the bar and pulled out his rifle, laid it out on top of the counter between them, poured her a drink of amber liquid from a bottle with no label, and began his story.
With every new word she heard, Ely’s anger toward Ace melted a little more. Had she done the wrong thing by running from him?
“Hey, are you listening?”
She sat up straighter, nodding. “Yes, Mike, I’m listening.”
“Good, ’cause you need to hear this. All of it.”
Ace smelled trouble before it smacked him across the back, but by then it was too late to respond. His spine curved as the impact sent him slipping and sliding. A cloud of sand kicked up around him before he managed to skid to a stop. On all fours, he dug his claws into the dirt so they would serve as an anchor.
When he lifted his snout and instantly recognized the whiff of sweat and beer, his pulse raced.
He’d been so busy running while trying to zero in on Ely’s scent after finding traces of her along the way, that he’d failed to notice the looming danger until it literally hit him.
The bandits circled around them but he couldn’t shake Ely from his mind. He knew she’d gone to Mike’s.
“Colt.” Brynn’s ear-splitting scream was followed by a thump and several voices calling out to each other in rapid commands he couldn’t grasp.
Ace shook off his thoughts and raced back the way he’d come, pumping his front and hind legs as quickly as he could. After running as beast across the desolate landscape, he’d started to feel a lot better, but doubted his injuries were completely healed.
As he approached the commotion, his stomach churned.
The three assholes they’d beaten out of the bar a couple of nights ago already had Brynn. Her horse had taken off into the dense desert surrounding them, probably scared to death by the ambush. Brynn’s eyes were closed as she lay unconscious in the arms of a tall man with a shaggy beard. He was dressed in leather pants and a vest. His bare chest glistened yellow from the light streaming out of the parked ship close by. A line of blood ran down her hairline, staining her golden braids.
Colt had fallen off his horse and was struggling to use the animal’s saddle to stand up. The horse resisted, freaked out, and whinnied a second before slipping away from the cowboy’s grasp to join his partner in the dark desert, leaving Colt unbalanced. He fell to his knees. “Brynn,” he called, raising a hand out toward her.
Another one of the men came out of nowhere and kicked Colt in the face. He collapsed onto his back, his tranquilizer pistol skittering across the sand.
Ace stopped his approach and growled. The sound carried around them. Loud and menacing enough for their attention to turn to him, almost as if they’d forgotten he was still there.
“Carrie, I thought you’d taken care of the dog,” the one carrying Brynn barked.
“Damn it, Keith, you know I did. I smacked that sucker with this, right across the back.” She held up a thick metal rod with both hands. “He shouldn’t be walkin’ around. I’m gonna have to hit him again.”
“Don’t waste your time,” the man still beating on Colt said with a laugh. “Knock him out with some tranq juice.”
“I used my last one on the bitch.” Carrie’s ugly face contorted into a frown. “What?”
Neither of the men responded.
Ace assumed the guy in the vest was the leader of the trio and didn’t appreciate their weaknesses being advertised. If their tranquilizer gun was out of dosages, it meant they wouldn’t be able to shoot him. Well, until they noticed Colt’s discarded pistol.
Ace
waited for someone to mention the obvious, but the very masculine-looking woman approached him. When she got close enough to swing her piece of metal in front of him, the man named Keith disappeared inside their transport ship.
Damn, the last thing they’d expected after fleeing the arena was to be ambushed by these fools.
“I’ve got you now,” Carrie said as the rod sliced through the air above his head.
Ace jumped out of the way at the last second and she lost her balance, tipping forward to land on her face. She moaned and spat out dirt.
He took off at a run until he reached the one still kicking Colt and closed his jaw around the man’s ankle. Ace’s canines were sharp enough to tear through both boots and pants until the taste of grit and sweat was overtaken by that of blood. Several drops filled his mouth. Ace didn’t particularly like blood because it reminded him of some of the horrid acts he’d seen vampires perform back on Marks, but he’d never shied away from it while making a kill in the wilderness. Sure, he hadn’t hunted for a long while, but his beast never forgot how to stalk or take down prey.
“Fuck. He’s tearing me foot up.”
“Smack him, Garth. Quit crying like a girl and hurry the hell up—both of you. Take the dog out, Carrie. We’ve got to deliver this precious cargo within the hour or the deal’s off.” Keith’s voice filled the empty night around them and Colt lay limp at Garth’s feet.
“What about the other one?” Carrie asked.
“What other one?” The man who’d been holding Brynn was now heading out of the ship.
“The pretty, dark-skinned one,” Carrie answered, “I want to have a little fun with that one before we hand her over.”
Keith shook his head. “We’ll have to come back for her.”
“The pretty singer’s all mine,” Carrie continued, dusting herself off when she got to her feet. “I can’t wait to get my hands on her.”
Ace clamped on harder to Garth’s ankle and he cried out, dropping his weapon. Ace knew exactly who they were talking about and they weren’t going to get anywhere near her.
He released the man’s ankle, twisting him in the opposite direction before slamming his paws against Garth’s chest, knocking him to the ground.
A whooshing sound cut through the air. Colt had gotten a hold of his tranquilizer pistol and shot the guy in the arm before Ace had pushed him down.
“Brynn,” Colt whispered. “We need to get to Brynn.”
Ace inclined his snout in what he hoped resembled a nod and raced toward the ship, but something struck his back leg. He stumbled, missing a step when the warm feel of blood trickled out onto his fur. The sharp sting worked its way through his system.
Damn it, he’d been shot.
He didn’t slow down, limping closer to Carrie. She hadn’t shot him. Keith was left holding the smoking barrel.
Ace threw himself against the ugly woman, squeezing her neck between his large teeth. She stopped struggling within seconds. She’d passed out.
He’d accept small favors.
Pushing back on his legs, putting as much of his weight on his good leg as he could, Ace leaped into the air. He’d intended to take the only man left standing out of the equation, but the searing of a second bullet struck him in mid-flight.
Ace’s chest burned so much he thought he was on fire.
Instead of landing gracefully on the sand, he fell like a piece of ruined carpet. Sand flew into his eyes and filled his mouth. He couldn’t move a damn muscle.
Footsteps headed for him, and he waited for Keith to finish the job.
Ace pressed his chin into the cool sand and allowed peace to settle into his raging body. Every inch of him ached from one injury or another, but if two of the fools were down and Keith was concentrating on him then Colt could rescue Brynn.
The last thing he heard before everything turned black was Ely yelling his name.
Ah, this must be the sweet feel of death. Otherwise, why would he imagine the one person he wanted more than anyone else calling his name in the middle of nowhere?
Ace had come to Fray with one objective—to put a stop to Jenks Maine’s sick operation. And he’d succeeded. Forming a friendship with Colt and Brynn along the way, as well as encountering temporary emotional and physical happiness with Ely, were perks he could take with him in death.
It’s worth dying for.
Chapter Twelve
“Ace.” Ely fell to her knees, grabbed a hold of Ace’s upper body and awkwardly half-dragged him onto her lap. Her shoulder complained and her ankle ached beneath the weight of her body, but all she wanted to do right now was hold him. “Please be okay, please be okay.”
If she said it enough times, it would happen.
Please be okay.
She pressed her cheek against his, continuing her mantra and hoping it would be answered, even if Ace felt limp and lifeless in her arms. She’d seen him pounce into the air in his animal shape a second before the bullet hit him. He’d then collapsed in a heap of fur but changed into a man shortly after. The barely there jeans he’d worn during their confrontation were gone, and his body was damaged—cuts and bruises adorned his torso as well as his face. The swell of skin over his right eyebrow made her heart ache because she was sure she’d caused it. She held him close and whispered in his ear, not bothering to check for a pulse and ignoring the swollen, pus-infected wounds.
Instead, she pressed her ear to his chest and relaxed a little when she heard the beat. A little too sluggish for her liking, but enough to confirm he was still alive.
“He’s still breathing,” she called to Mike.
He kept his rifle level in front of him, stepping closer to the man who’d shot Ace. Two others lay nearby, bleeding. She knew how they’d gotten their wounds but didn’t care. The telltale signs were on Ace—blood smothered over his mouth and down his chin, his fingertips just as bloody.
“Put the gun down, son.” It was amazing how calm Mike could sound even under extreme circumstances.
After telling her the bits and pieces he’d snatched the other night from the other cowboy’s head, he’d paused and calmly said, “There’s trouble with that chap you care about.”
“I don’t care about him—”
“Don’t lie to me or to yourself, grab your weapon and let’s check it out. I don’t like what I’m hearing.” They’d raced out immediately.
Ely and Mike had walked several miles to get there without being detected and it hadn’t helped her ankle any. Although after Mike had put some of his magical, all-purpose salve on it and bandaged it up tight, it was starting to feel a whole lot better. She’d been right, it was only a sprain. Mike should bottle and sell the salve to the masses. He’d become a wealthy man, but he refused every time she made the suggestion.
The gun-toting man smiled at Mike and shook his head. “I don’t think so, old man.”
If he underestimated Mike, it would be an advantage he wouldn’t even realize he was giving to the enemy. Most people underestimated the psychic because on first glance he appeared to be nothing more than a middle-aged man with a skinny frame. They hadn’t seen beneath his checkered shirt and jeans. He might be thin but every bit of his body was packed with muscle. Mike could pack a physical punch as well as a mental one. He didn’t like to depend on his psychic gift for everything.
“I’ll only warn you once, son.”
“And I won’t warn you at all.” The man fired his gun and Mike stepped to the right. The bullet strayed into the night. Being able to read other people’s thoughts helped him anticipate their moves.
The man frowned but Mike had already pressed the trigger of his rifle several times. The moron stumbled back before falling to the ground like a sack of rocks. Mike swiveled to the right and shot the other man in the chest who’d been crawling toward him. The only one left unconscious was a woman.
Silence filled the desert as Ely looked at the fallen criminals and Mike lowered his rifle.
“I warned him. You give �
��em just one warning before acting then it’s up to them.” Mike turned to the dark-haired man who’d risen to his feet.
The cowboy was bruised and bleeding and he stumbled forward on wobbly legs but nodded, meeting Ely’s eyes. The bandana now hung dirty around his neck. He stood with both palms out in front of him. “They have my…”
“Don’t worry, Colt, she’s safe,” Mike said.
The dark-haired man recoiled when someone else wandered out of the ship providing the only light in the area. “What the hell?” Colt said with a shake of his head.
Ely watched Walsh—the only Y-123 model they had in the arena—step out from the ship’s opening. He was helpful and completed any task given to him because of his capacity to learn and evolve as more than machine. He also happened to be Jenks’s pride and joy.
“Walsh, what are you doing here?” she called as she hugged Ace tighter against her body. His skin was cooling in the night and she wanted to keep him warm.
A smile spread over the AI’s thin lips as he carried the unconscious blonde out of the ship. It happened to be the woman who’d whacked Ely in the face. Walsh headed for Colt, stopped in front of him and said, “Brynn told me you wouldn’t react well to seeing me. I remind you of someone you disliked very much, don’t I?”
Colt stared, but didn’t respond.
“Take her, she’s fine.” Walsh held her out farther until Colt took the blonde from his arms.
“What happened?” she asked, her head pressed against Colt’s chest.
“They stunned you, Brynn. The fuckers were going to take you away.” Colt pressed a hasty kiss to her lips.
“What?”
Mike stepped closer, lowering his rifle. “They were body traffickers. They take pretty young things like you, and sell them to the highest bidder. It was the real reason why your man”—he pointed at the cowboy—“beat them up real good the other night.”
Brynn looked at the man holding her so tight it looked like he’d never let go. “Is that true?”
Colt nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I could ask you the same about this guy.”
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