Téya blinked and found herself in a small, dimly lit room. Fire licked through her veins, through every tendril of her flesh. Every hair follicle. Confused, disoriented, she tried to remember how she’d gotten here. In a flash, she remembered the claws of the Taser grabbing her in the chest and pumping voltage through her body. Her heart had seized. Her lungs squeezed, forbidding a breath.
She dragged herself upright and looked around.
Nesim stood against the wall, arms folded and one leg crossed over the other at the ankle. As if this were a casual day and meeting.
“I knew you’d try to kill me,” she gritted, rubbing the spot on her chest that still tingled from the tiny charges. “Why not just put a sniper bullet through my gray matter? It would have saved us both some time.” She held her palm to her forehead, begging for a breath and heartbeat that didn’t hurt.
He came closer. “I was not trying to kill you,” he said as he reached for the black hood.
Téya shoved to her feet. Used her palm and struck upward, aiming for his nose.
Skilled and swift, he caught her hand. Jerked it behind her back, then dropped to the floor, forcing her down. Her cheek hit hard. “Try that again, and I will kill you.”
“What do you want with me?”
“That is my concern. Your concern is compliance.” He released her and hopped up, standing over her.
Téya pulled her throbbing head and wounded pride off the floor.
Lowering his head, Nesim reached for the top of his hood again. He pulled it off and scrubbed his still-wet hair. Only then did she realize, he didn’t have Nesim’s jet-black hair.
He lifted his gaze.
Mentally, Téya threw herself backward, screaming. But a split-second defiance zipped through her. She went perfectly still. However, she could not fend off the terror clawing her courage. She tried to make sense of what she saw. The tattoo on his left cheekbone.
He said he hadn’t come to kill her. This time. Then. . .what? Was she to be a captive? His prisoner? Even as she locked gazes with him, she let herself take in her periphery. It sure looked like a cell. Gray cement walls. A lone bed.
He held out his hand, something small in his palm—the device she’d tucked in her ear before making the climb with him. “You were bugged, and that was expressly forbidden.”
Téya said nothing. She stared at him. Hard.
“You are smart not to tempt my anger further. I could’ve used this”—he showed her a Glock—“instead of the Taser.”
“But killing me would’ve defeated the reason you brought me here.” She hoped it’d induce him to tell her what that reason was.
He almost seemed to smile, the star-crescent dancing. “Still, you do not remember.”
Téya frowned. What was she supposed to remember? “What, that you tried to kill me in Paris? Or are you talking about Greece?” She held up the brand.
“Come.” The almost light tenor of his voice and his amusement vanished. “On your feet.”
“What? I thought I was to be your prisoner.”
“Do you remember what Nesim told you about this place?” He stood at the door, gripping the handle.
She did not want to cooperate. But what choice did she have? She couldn’t fight him. He was stronger. Faster.
“You may believe me to be the biggest threat to your safety here, but you could not be more wrong.” He cocked his head toward the door. “Ready?”
“What are we doing here?”
Light flicked into the room. “Quiet,” he hissed at her, grabbing her arm.
Téya flinched at his tight hold. She was about to cry out when she saw two men in black tactical gear stalking down the hall ahead of them. Heavily armed. Intent on something. Had they discovered the fan where she and Nesim—The Turk—had entered?
The realization that she was with The Turk made her head spin. What if he planned to kill someone and frame her for it? It was the only thought that made sense. Why he’d drag her through this facility and not tell her where they were going.
Téya jerked back, planting a foot hard so she could break free of him.
The Turk, again, had lightning fast reflexes. Before her hand could even come up, he held her in a strangle hold from behind. “Stop!” he hissed as he manhandled her over into a shadowed alcove.
“Why? Why me? What do you want with me here?” she squeezed out, her pulse whooshing in her ears.
“There are cameras here. Security officers more than double the staff. Do you want to alert them to your presence?”
Téya considered that. Would it be so bad if she were caught? That would mean he was caught, too, right?
No, he’d escape. If he could outmaneuver her so easily, he’d be gone in a heartbeat.
“You want to know why? I will show you why,” he said, loosening his hold, then nudging her into the corner, his forearm against her throat. “You must do exactly as I say, or the guards will see you. And they will not hesitate to give you that bullet you asked about earlier.” His eyes bored into her, but the tattoo was peculiarly distracting. “Clear?”
Téya swallowed around the pressure of his arm then nodded.
Slowly, he released her. “Come.” Again, he took her by the arm. Led her hurriedly down a series of doors and passages.
As they navigated the facility, Téya realized something. It was terrifying and yet reassuring at the same time—he knew where he was going. Which meant he didn’t need her to lead him in the back door.
What is going on?
They rounded a corner, and a single door stared back. It was marked Security. It was the same door she’d been herded into the night they’d caught her.
“Wait,” she hissed.
But the Turk rushed into the room. In the time it took her to shut the door, he had incapacitated the two security officers sitting at the monitors.
“What—”
“Quiet,” he hissed and leaned over the keyboard. He took control of a security camera. Made a few clicks. “Come.”
She hated the way he commanded her. The way he assumed she’d do what he said. She toyed with grabbing one of the weapons from the guards.
“Reiker,” he growled.
And something twisted sideways in Téya. A chill raced up her spine. She joined him at the desk, feeling unsettled. Unnerved. Her mind struggling to catch up with whatever had triggered the weird feeling.
“Look,” he said, one hand on the desk, the other pointing to the monitor.
“That’s Red Wing.”
Téya’s breath caught. “I thought it was an organization. Nesim said it belonged to Red Wing.”
“Red Wing is a man, that man.”
The man stood with his back to the camera, poised as he spoke with a group of guards. Several other guards ran in. Red Wing’s body language changed from composed to enraged. Arms flailing. Pointing.
“Why didn’t you just tell us where he was? Why bring me—”
Red Wing turned, exposing his face to the camera. To Téya.
Téya went ice cold. No. “Not possible,” she whispered, tears blurring her vision. Her heart went from dangerously slow to a rapid-fire beat that made it feel like it’d climb out of her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. “He—that can’t be. . .he’s. . .he’s dead.”