“You mean we could work something out?” I asked, my voice breathy with fear.

A sleazy smile widened across his once-handsome face. The face of a killer and a kidnapper who sold children as slaves. Or worse. He wrapped a confident hand around my throat, dipped his head to access one corner of my mouth. I was beginning to wonder if I’d underestimated him.

Suddenly a red light on Price’s desk started flashing. He straightened in surprise as his bodyguard rushed into the room.

“Cops,” the guard said, and Price turned an astonished gaze on me.

I could have been a smart-ass and said something like, Don’t drop the soap. But the look on Price’s face convinced me to bite my tongue. For once. He seemed, I don’t know, annoyed. His face reddened within the span of a heartbeat.

Before I could warn him about the dangers of sudden acute spikes in blood pressure, he wrapped a hand around my arm with enough force to break it and pushed me back against the wall. Only it wasn’t a wall. It opened to a dark hallway lined on one side with two-way mirrors. We could see directly into his office.

As I struggled with Price, the tactical team smashed into the room and tackled the bodyguard to the ground before scanning the area for me. I took a deep breath, readying myself to scream as Price dragged me down the hall, but his large hand clamped down on my face none too gently. It cut off my scream and my air supply. Which sucked. Blue was not my best color.

Then I felt Reyes. I felt him even before I saw him. A heat wave rushed over me, and I watched as he materialized in front of us. A swirling dark mass of smoke, thick and palpable. The air was suddenly drenched in his anger, bringing the water molecules to a boiling point that prickled hotly over my skin. Panic clutched my throat. How would I explain another severed spine?

Since I could hardly scream what I was thinking—which was basically, Down boy!—I formed the command in my mind. He had read my thoughts before. Maybe he would again.

Don’t you dare, I thought. Really hard. Trying to project my sentiments past the wall of his anger and into his head.

The high-pitched ring of his blade being drawn halted, and Reyes paused. Though I couldn’t see his face, I felt him staring at me from behind the hood.

Don’t even think about it, Reyes Farrow.

He leaned over us and grumbled at me, but I held my ground. With legs flailing and lungs burning, I thought, Do it and I will kick your ass.

The mass stepped back, seemingly surprised that I would threaten him. But I didn’t have time to worry about that. Or contemplate how exactly I would go about carrying out such a threat.

Clawing at Price’s hands was getting me nowhere. Time to tap into my inner ninja. The first move of what I’d hoped would be many was to kick my assailant in the shins. Well-placed kicks could bring down the stoutest of opponents. And with heels? Forget about it.

As my mind raced to prepare for the kick and figure out my next move, I felt a sharp pain shoot from my neck down my spinal cord, saw a burst of white-hot light, and heard a loud crack echo against the walls. I turned to jelly in the blink of an eye. In the seconds before I felt consciousness slip completely away, I realized Price had broken my neck. Asshole.

* * *

I semi-expected to hear trumpets blaring, or angels singing, or even the sound of my mother’s voice welcoming me to the other side. I mean, I was a fairly good person. All things considered. Surely I would head in the general direction of up.

Instead, I heard water dripping, slow and steady like the beat of a heart that barely had the endurance to continue. I smelled dirt under my face, cement, and chemicals. And I tasted blood.

It took only seconds for me to realize Reyes was near. I could feel him. His strength. His biting anger.

I blinked my eyes open and glanced around without moving, just in case Benny Price was nearby. I didn’t want him to see that I was awake and have him try to finish what he’d started. We were in a small storage room. Shelves with equipment and cleaning supplies lined the cinder block walls. Reyes was perched on one of them, balancing himself on the balls of his feet like a bird of prey, not so much gazing out the open door as refusing to look down at me.

Yep, he was angry. Still enshrouded in the dark mass of his cloak, he had laid the hood back, his face and hair now visible. The cloak had settled around him. It was calm, waiting, as was his blade. The lethal weapon was drawn, and he held the shaft in his powerful grip as the tip rested on the cement floor. It was the first time I’d really seen it. It had a straight blade like other swords, only much longer, and its edges were curved, with vicious-looking spikes. It reminded me of two things: a medieval torture device and his tattoo.

“I’m alive,” I croaked when I realized Price wasn’t in the room with us.

“Barely,” he said, still refusing to look at me.

But how? I brought up a hand and rubbed it over my throat. “He broke my neck.”

“He tried to break your neck.”

“He felt pretty successful to me.”

Reyes finally turned toward me. The force of his gaze took my breath away. “You’re not like other humans, Dutch. It’s not that simple.”

And you’re not like anything I’ve ever met. Our eyes stayed locked a long moment as I tried unsuccessfully to fill my lungs with air. Then we were interrupted by a male voice.

“Who’s there?”

I struggled to a partially sitting, partially wobbling position and turned to see a bound man with a cloth tied over his eyes huddled in a corner of the room. He had a graying beard and thick dark hair. He also had the Roman collar of a Catholic priest.