Black and Blue (Otherworld Assassin #2)(36)
Author: Gena Showalter

“He never came around after that?”

“No.”

Then he wasn’t a good man, Blue thought darkly. He’d kiboshed his kids. He was a bastard.

Blue had done a lot of shitty things in his life, but ripping out a kid’s heart wasn’t one of them.

And now he hated that he’d once called Evie spoiled rotten. She wasn’t. Not at all. She’d faced rejection time and time again, and had built a wall around herself. Probably the only way she’d been able to survive.

“How about you?” she asked. “What about your parents?”

“I don’t remember my biological parents. I was adopted at the age of four.”

“Were your adoptive parents good to you?”

He’d never talked about this with anyone, not even Solo and John. Still, he found myself saying, “They tried to be.”

“Tried?”

“I wouldn’t let them.” He told her about his brothers and sisters, how they’d saved him. “I was so broken up about losing them, I shut everyone else out. When my new parents tried to hug me, I threw a tantrum. When they asked me to come eat at the table with them, I turned my back and went silent.”

“You were an emotionally traumatized kid. I’m sure they understood and hold no grudge.”

“You’re probably right, but I can’t ask them because they’re dead.”

She reached over, squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

He breathed a sigh of relief when a town came into view. “We’re close to the warehouse.” He wasn’t sure how to respond to this kind, generous side of her.

With spotted fur and catlike movements, the Bree Lians looked like animals stuck on human legs. The Cortaz were far more delicate in appearance, with glittery skin and bright lights seeping from their pores.

Everyone stopped whatever they were doing—shopping, selling food from wheeled carts, talking, and laughing—to watch as the car passed through. Blue gripped the handle of a pyre-gun, ready, just in case. But no one chased after them as they turned one corner, then another and another, leaving the center of town and entering a deserted area.

Finally, the vehicle stopped at the entrance of a metal building that looked as if it had been beaten by wind and weather, and seemed to bend at several odd angles.

Any other time he would have parked farther away, but he wanted the car as close to his location as possible.

“We’re here.”

“You think Star’s men are nearby?”

“No. They were pretty adamant about not coming to the area until dark, because they were afraid to face the otherworlders that live here, as well as Solo himself—if that’s who is actually here. But we’re still going to act as if they’re surrounding the place.”

“You going to power surge?”

“No. Too many innocents. We’re doing this the old-fashioned way. With guns.” He checked his pyre’s crystal. “Here. Put this on.” He handed her a black leather mask with clear, malleable plastic in the eyeholes.

After she pulled the thing over her head, he gently untangled her hair from the ear hooks. She went utterly still, as if anticipating his next move, and the moisture in his mouth dried.

He couldn’t dare a next move. His arms fell away.

He threw a pair of gloves at her. “These, too.”

She yanked the material over her hands, and withdrew the pyre from her purse. “Don’t you need a mask?” she asked, dialing the weapon to its hottest setting.

He did, but he’d only been able to find the one. “I’ll be fine.”

He held his breath and exited the vehicle in sync with Evie. They raced inside the building together, and in the short time it took, Blue’s face was pelted with thousands of stinging grains of dirt. As he shut the door to the warehouse, blocking the wind, Evie trained her weapon on the space behind him.

“Clear,” she said.

He removed her mask for her and set it aside for the return trip. “Fresh air is being fed into the vents by an outside source.” He wondered who owned the building. Because although the entire structure looked ready to collapse, that was reinforced steel on the walls. The place was probably strong enough to withstand any kind of storm, natural or artificial.

“Blue, you bloody wanker!” she suddenly belted out.

He blinked in surprise. “What?”

“You lied!” She dug through her bag, withdrew a bundle of wet wipes, and cleaned the curve under his eye.

He let her, caught up in the blood-heating, gut-wrenching pleasure of her touch.

“I didn’t lie. I said I’d be fine, and I am. I’m already healing,” he muttered gruffly.

“Well, I’m still ticked.”

“Do you want to rip out my kidneys and stomp on them like you’re making wine?”

“For starters.”

Fighting a grin, he led her through a maze of empty halls and rooms. As expected, none of Star’s men were here. However, in the far room, they came across a hooded man strapped to a chair. Beside him was a table littered with bloodstained weapons and syringes.

Not Solo. Too small.

Disappointment struck.

“Who are you?” Evie demanded, giving the guy’s chair a little kick.

His body jolted in surprise. “Evangeline Black?”

Her shocked gaze landed on Blue. “Agent Gutierrez?”

No way.

Blue stalked forward and tore away the crimson-soaked hood to reveal an equally crimson-soaked man.

Swollen ocean-blue eyes took zero time to adjust to the sudden flood of light, lasering in on Blue, then Evie, then back to Blue. “Free me. Now.”

“Uh, I don’t think we will,” Evie said. “Not until you’ve answered a few questions.”

“Free me,” he insisted, “or I’ll hurt you in ways you can’t even imagine.”

Fury wound around Blue as surely as a rope, dragging him into a hissing, snapping pit of malevolence. “Don’t threaten the girl. You do, and I won’t bother with threats of my own. I’ll just start cutting.”

Looking at the agent, Evie leaned down and said in a stage whisper, “My partner is very good with a knife.”

Dallas ignored her. Focused on Blue, he grinned an evil grin; there was blood on his teeth. “Well, well. If it isn’t the football star that once dated my partner’s girl, Noelle Tremain. Funny seeing you here.”

“Yeah. Real hilarious. Now, who tied you up and tortured you?”