Warrior Betrayed: The Sons of the Zodiac 3 (4 page)

“Don’t move.”

Quinn opened the door on the driver’s side, crouching down along the body of the car as he inched toward the front to check on the driver. Although he wasn’t sure exactly where they were, the lack of traffic made it clear they were on a side street instead of a main thoroughfare.

Which meant the driver had just turned off of Fifth onto the side street that ran the length of her building, headed toward the underground garage he would use to deliver her home.

But what happened to him?

With swift movements, Quinn had the front door open and saw the driver slumped forward over the wheel. A quick check of the man’s carotid artery indicated a faint, but steady pulse and he settled the slab of driver-slash-bodyguard back against his seat. As he closed the door, Quinn finally understood what felled the large man. The car window was halfway down, leaving Tony open to the threat of an air attack.

Quinn backed away from the car, opening his senses to find the threat.

Natural or supernatural?

Holding still, Quinn listened to cold night air rush around him. Montana had already been the victim of a Destroyer attack tonight. Seeing as how the assholes traveled in pairs, was the second one lying in wait to grab her outside the ballroom if the inside job failed?

His gaze took in the quiet street. The large building on the opposite block still had several windows lit with those who hadn’t yet gone to bed. About two hundred yards away, the traffic heading up Fifth was visible at the end of the street and a glance the other direction indicated the flow of traffic down Madison. From behind him, the heavy creaking of the garage entrance to Montana’s building had silenced, the bright lights of the garage waiting to welcome them in.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

So why had they stopped?

Quinn reached down and unsheathed the Xiphos strapped to his calf. Although modern-day warfare had become heavily dependent on guns, Quinn felt an incredible sense of comfort from the wickedly sharp knife each Warrior had been awarded upon his turning.

The solid hilt, gripped firmly in his palm, ensured any enemy who dared to get in his way wouldn’t leave the encounter unscathed.

Movements slow and steady, Quinn walked the perimeter of the car. Nothing stirred except a light evening breeze tinged with the bite of late fall.

Quinn had just cleared the front of the car when Montana leaped from the backseat, rushing toward Tony’s door. “Can I see him now?”

“I told you to stay in the car.”

“I watched you walk all the way around. Nothing’s here and I’m worried he’s hurt. Maybe he had a heart attack.”

Anger had him gripping the hilt of the Xiphos even harder as Quinn reached for the handle on Tony’s door. Of course she wasn’t someone used to taking orders, even something as simple as—

Before Quinn could even register an attack, a fireball slammed into his spinal cord, and waves of liquid fire raced down his back like demonic fingers on a keyboard. Reflexes slowed by the hit, Quinn fell on top of Montana, then shifted to look for the source of the attack as another flare of electricity barely missed his shoulder before it smashed into the body of the car.

“Stay down!”

As Quinn looked in the direction the hits had come, he immediately saw where he’d been in error. Saw the point he’d overlooked.

The Destroyer had been lying in wait, just inside the doorway of the now-open garage door to Montana’s building. With measured movements, the man began to close the one-hundred-foot gap between the car and the garage. As he sauntered toward them, sparks flared off of him in the darkened evening. Although the light bathed him from behind, making his features hard to read, Quinn didn’t need to see his face.

He was here to eliminate them.

The hard, reassuring strength of Quinn’s body wrapped around her and Montana wondered—not for the first time—what the
hell
was going on with her life. The frantic thought was followed with swift speed by another one.

What had she possibly done to make someone mad enough to want to kill her?

Despite Quinn’s earlier questions, this wasn’t one of the run-of-the-mill crazies who resented her bank account or the high-profile nature of her family’s company. Something had changed in the last few weeks.

This was more pointed, somehow.

Targeted.

This felt
personal
.

She twisted to get a better view, but his large chest blocked all the drama. The only thing she could take in was Quinn’s heavy breathing in her ear and the increasing sound of steady footfalls as their pursuer moved toward them.

Although he was supporting his weight on his forearms, Quinn also wasn’t moving off of her. “Quinn? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I need you to listen to me. We need to get you out of here.”

“I can’t leave you here.”

“You will leave me here and get inside.”

The helplessness she’d felt her entire life chose that moment to reach up and grab her by the throat. She was a good person. Strived to treat others well and with respect. She wasn’t better than anyone else and wealth and position didn’t change that.

So why was her life more important than his?

“Did you hear me, Montana? Inside.”

On a sigh, she nodded. “Yes.”

“I can’t let you get in his line of sight. When I lift off of you, I want you to crawl as fast as you can toward the back of the car. Use it as a shield, then head for the front of your building and get inside.”

On a last plea, she whispered, “I don’t want to leave you here.”

His voice was tough as he spat the words at her. “I want you inside. You can’t help me out here.”

“I’ll call for help.”

“Fine. Just get out of the line of fire.”

She knew that’s what he did for a living. Knew he protected others. So why was it so hard to process his orders and think of leaving him there to face this monster?

“Now!”

Quinn’s voice brooked no argument as his body lifted off of hers. She felt him tense, then heard a muffled curse emitted on a grunt of pain against the side of her head. Just as before, in the ballroom, her hair suddenly crackled with static and those odd tingles that reminded her of when her arm or foot fell asleep ran through her body.

What
was
that?

And then there was no time to think about it as her fierce protector urged her on. “Go!”

She scrambled out from underneath the shield of Quinn’s body, unsure of what had caused his muffled curse but innately understanding he wouldn’t want her to stay and find out.

The footfalls of their pursuer grew louder, but the other man was still too far away to touch them. Did he have a gun? Was that what had made Quinn curse?

And then there were no more questions as Quinn’s deep voice urged her on. “Remember what I said. Keep moving toward the front door and get inside. Don’t stop.”

As her heeled feet slapped against the hard sidewalk, her breath coming in deep, heavy pants, Montana couldn’t stop herself from looking back. Nor could she do anything to stop what came next as the large man bent down toward Quinn.

Feet firmly planted, Montana watched as a large ball of light flared from between their two bodies.

A gunshot?

On a muffled scream, she ran into her apartment building, desperate for help.

Quinn pushed at the large body of the Destroyer, the asshole’s fetid breath nearly dropping him to his knees. Damn, did these guys ever bathe? This one smelled like he’d spent a month down in the subway tunnels.

With tactics honed over millennia of battle, Quinn slammed his body upward, dislodging the Destroyer’s hold with practiced skill. The tattoo of a bull—his signature marking as a Warrior of Themis—twitched from its place on the back of his shoulder, desperate to get out and join the fight.

Although he wouldn’t have minded the help, it hadn’t completely escaped Quinn’s conscience that the driver was still in the car behind him, likely to come to at any moment, so he held the tattoo in check.

Somehow, Quinn imagined, the image of him and a large animal fighting right alongside him might freak Tony out.

Go figure.

The Xiphos stayed firm in his grip as Quinn battered the Destroyer’s head with the open palm of his other hand. If he could only get him into position. Get the neck exposed…

Another fireball exploded in front of him, slamming through Quinn’s solar plexus with the speed and impact of a Mac truck. Damn, but this fucker was primed. He had to be one of the older ones if he had this much energy to draw on.

The Destroyer had thrown at least six fireballs by Quinn’s estimation and each one had more power than the last. As he struggled to make sense of the fact the strikes were increasing in strength instead of diminishing, the asshole charged again and Quinn barely managed to sidestep him.

Pain rang through his body in great, echoing waves, like a vibrating gong, the fiery agony lighting up his nerve endings.

Despite the pain, his years of training and quick footwork served him well. Quinn spun around and caught the Destroyer by the arm, using the man’s natural momentum to slam him into the frame of the car. A few stray sparks wafted off the metal frame of the car as the Destroyer shook off the head slam and staggered a few feet to his knees.

Quinn leaped, arm outstretched to defuse the static. The last thing he needed was the spark getting close enough to hit the gas tank. It caused him precious seconds of the battle, but Quinn knew it was a necessary precaution if he wanted to get Tony out of this alive.

Satisfied he’d eliminated any threat, Quinn refocused on his opponent. The Destroyer had regained his feet, but he staggered with drunken steps as he put some additional distance between himself and the car, presumably to get his second wind.

Fat fucking chance.

Quinn leaped, slashing the Xiphos in large, sweeping arcs, the gleaming blade reflecting moonlight as he went for his enemy’s throat. The Destroyer backpedaled and Quinn saw the first hint of fear in the soulless eyes that maintained a steady focus on the slashing sword.

His bull’s tail flicked in anticipation as Quinn feinted, then double-timed his steps so he was on the Destroyer before the other man could react. With the pointed tip of his weapon, Quinn kept his foe unfocused, the tight jabs enough to slow his opponent. When he managed to nick the corner of the Destroyer’s rib cage—or where the ribs would be if the thing was actually human—it offered enough distraction to push the man a few more steps so the side of Montana’s building was at his back.

Quinn slashed once again—harder and faster than the sharp stabs—slicing through the skin at the top of the chest. The Destroyer let out a wail of pain, the shot of electricity he was about to fire flaring off in a wild arc that petered out as it fell to the sidewalk. Quinn gave a satisfied grunt and used the momentary diversion to his advantage. With his foot, he caught the Destroyer behind the knee, dropping him to the ground.

With a pin worthy of an Olympic wrestler, Quinn subdued the Destroyer in a tight hold. The guy struggled and writhed against the concrete but couldn’t break the pin.

“Who do you work for?”

“Fuck you.”

“Classic answer, asshole. Why don’t I make the question easier for your pea-brained intellect?” Quinn grit out between teeth clenched from the effort of holding the guy down. “Why did Enyo send you?”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me? I said fuck. You. Although—” The Destroyer broke off, a subtle purr in his voice, even in the midst of his resistance. “She’s a luscious piece. Hot enough to make me want to veer off my plans and enjoy some time with her.”

Quinn ignored the fetid breath, ignored the physical jabs, even ignored the dark desire that beat in his veins to see this jerk carved into a thousand pieces.

All he saw was a haze of red, blood rushing in his ears like the ocean in the middle of a tsunami, as he imagined this ball of slime touching Montana. Shifting, he lifted the guy by the shoulders and slammed him down into the concrete, hard enough to make a human lose consciousness.

All it did was daze this one slightly. Damn, where was he getting his strength?

The Destroyer responded with a smirk. “She’s going to get what’s coming to her, you know.”

“Why does Enyo want her?”

If there was any shred of emotion left in the soulless husk of the Destroyer’s body, it coalesced in the dead eyes. “What does that bitch want with anyone?”

What was this? Quinn tightened his hold again, repositioning his sword so that when he did lift his arm to strike, he had the shortest distance to the guy’s exposed neck.

Was it possible the Destroyer didn’t work for Enyo? But how?

“One more chance, asshole. Tell me who you’re working for.”

The smirk gave way to an evil laugh. “You’ll never guess.”

Unwilling to waste another second attempting to puzzle through the conversation, Quinn made his move. With a vicious, downward slash of the Xiphos, he sliced a clean, fine line through the neck.

No matter how many times he watched it, the process never ceased to amaze him. The Destroyer’s skin folded up on itself, first shrinking, then dissolving into a pool of grease until there was nothing left but a small puddle. What had started out as human—then turned to a completely evil being from greed, avarice or maybe just a lack of hope—was now nothing but a rancid, slick memory.

Sides heaving, Quinn watched the black, greasy pool spread into the sidewalk. Was he that far off from this existence? He might be flesh and bone—might even still have some semblance of a soul—but he was still a killer.

He still lived in the shadows, fighting a battle that had no end in sight.

But what did any of it have to do with Montana Grant?

Montana raced from the lobby toward Quinn as she saw him approach the ornate front doors. His shirt-tails hung half out of his waist and a large gash ran down the length of his tuxedo jacket, but otherwise he looked surprisingly good for having gone hand-to-hand with the scum who’d followed them.

She had to work past the lump in her throat as she reached out to touch his shoulder.

“What happened? Are you okay? Where’s that guy? And where’s Tony?”

Quinn rubbed a hand over the hard line of his jaw. “The guy got away.”

She couldn’t say why his words caught her up short, but something in them surprised her. Was it the fact that the guy who followed them got away? Or the bigger fact that Quinn Tanner didn’t look like a man who ever let his prey go once he had it in his cross-hairs?

With brisk motions, she ran a hand down the arm of his tuxedo jacket, brushing at the threads that hung loosely from the hole. “Are you hurt?”

Quinn patted her hand before turning her back in the direction of the lobby. “I’m fine. And Tony’s fine. He’s parking the car now and then will be up. Said you’ll probably want to mother him a bit.”

As her mouth dropped open, Quinn held up a hand. “He said it with a great deal of affection. And not a little bit of anticipation, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Oh.” Her jaw snapped closed on the sweet words. “What happened to him?”

“He doesn’t remember.”

“But he’s fine?”

“Fine. And mad. Which makes two of us.” With a nod toward the elevators, Quinn’s gaze was pointed. “Let me see you upstairs.”

“I called the police. Don’t we need to wait for them?”

“I’ll come back down when they get here and I’ll file a report tomorrow.”

“Oh. Does this mean you’ve taken the job?”

He shot her a wry smile that Montana felt down to her toes. “Yeah. I guess you could say that.”

The smile did a little to bolster her raw nerves as Montana walked Quinn to the private elevator that led to her two-story penthouse. Her heart beat an erratic
thump-thump-bang
and she diligently ignored it, focusing on placing one foot in front of the other in the wicked pumps she still wore.

Quinn allowed her to board the elevator first, then followed her in, the doors swishing closed sedately behind him. With a light jolt, they began ascending toward her apartment.

Her gaze zeroed in on the lights on the operations panel as she tried to focus on anything but the large, imposing man at her side. Although she’d ridden in this elevator her entire life, it had never felt so…small.

Or close.

And why was her pulse thudding so loudly? She kept taking deep breaths, but all she managed to do was make her heart speed up, the rushing of her blood rumbling through her head in pounding waves. The air around her seemed to waver and the lights dimmed, the elevator awash in grayish light. The doors slid open and she reached out and…

“Montana!”

The world went all gray and fuzzy as Quinn wrapped his large arms around her, dragging her tight against his broad, reassuring chest.

“Montana.”

Her world tilted as those strong arms lifted her off the ground. The steady beat of his heart thumped against her ear as Quinn carried her across the room.

Her housekeeper had left a few lights on as was her normal custom and the room held a soft, yellow glow as Quinn settled the two of them onto the couch. Montana still saw the room through that weird gray haze that surrounded her in the elevator, but at least her breath was calming, the tight wrap of Quinn’s arms around her body going a long way toward soothing her.

“Shhh. It’s okay now. You need to calm down. You’re just in shock. It’s gone, Montana. The threat is gone.”

One broad hand stroked her hair as the other ran down her back in large, soothing circles.

“What was that thing?”

“A bad man, nothing more.”

“Two bad men.” When he didn’t answer, she added, “At my home and at the hotel. Two. And he’s still on the loose.”

“You don’t need to worry about him. Either of them.”

The pulse that had slowed under his soothing touch flared up again at the thought there were more bad people out there. If there were two, there could be more. Biding their time. Waiting. For her. “So even if it’s not him, there’s still a threat.”

“Shhh. I’m going to find it and take care of it.”

Before she could stop them—could even think to stop them—words began tumbling from her lips. “Why do they want me? I haven’t done anything. Really, I haven’t. I’m just me. I’m just living my life.”

He continued crooning in her ear, the nonsense words a balm to her shattered nerves. “Come on, now. It’s fine. I’m going to find out what’s going on and I’m going to put a stop to it.”

“All my life, I’ve tried to do right by people. Tried to be a good person.”

“I know.” The husky timbre of his voice against her ear continued to comfort as his hands dragged over her back in warm, soothing strokes.

Even though she didn’t want to move—didn’t want to give up the comforting circle of his arms—Montana shifted away and sat up. All her life she’d had to make do without the support of anyone. A stranger certainly wasn’t going to change that.

Couldn’t change it.

With a quick motion, she slid to the end of the couch, a cushion of distance between her and Quinn. “How do you know?”

At his wide eyes and lack of response, she continued. “You don’t know me. For all you know, I’m a spoiled rich bitch who has pissed off any number of people. But I can tell you. Whatever is going on, I have no idea what it is. No idea why I’m being targeted.”

“You brought up your mother before. Tell me more.”

The hot, prickly heat of tears hit the back of her eyes as a tight constriction wrapped around her throat. With a deep breath, Montana fought for control. Fought to keep more useless tears from falling.

“She showed up rather unexpectedly about a month ago.”

“What do you mean showed up?”

A sharp stab of anger managed to burrow through the emotion. “Don’t insult me by pretending you haven’t investigated my background.”

Quinn held up his hands and she saw a brief moment of indecision flash through his dark eyes. On a nod, he admitted what she already knew. “Okay. I know your mother hasn’t been a part of your life since you were an infant.”

For some reason she couldn’t name, his ready acknowledgment was a different sort of soother. As much as his hands had comforted, so did his subtle acknowledgment of the truth. “Thank you for the honesty.”

“You’re welcome.” Satisfied he’d passed some sort of test, Quinn continued. “Your father’s been gone only six months. Maybe she felt she could approach you. Thought it might be easier to deal with you, instead of you and your father.”

Montana turned it over in her mind, his words making an odd sort of sense. “I hadn’t thought about that, but—” She stopped short. “It doesn’t
fit
.”

“Why? Talk me through it.”

“In my few interactions with her, my mother hasn’t really spoken of my dad. She just rambles on and on with these weird comments.”

“Does she seem afraid? Angry?” Quinn’s voice quieted. “I’m sorry to be harsh, but do you think there’s mental illness?”

“I’ve been through the same questions myself. Despite the odd rambling, there’s some lucidity in her comments.” She held up her hands. “Weird, I know. And likely it’s just what I want to believe. But still. I can’t explain it, but I don’t think she’s mentally ill.”

“We have instincts for a reason.”

“I do think she’s ill, though. She’s so frail and she coughs uncontrollably. I’ve tried to get her help, but—”

“She resists you? Your attempts to help her?”