Page 78 of Blood Money

So what else could she give them? She had no precinct access cards on her, Gray made sure of that, so the Pyramid would have no easy access to infiltrate—

Dammit. Alex worked at the precinct for ten months, plenty of time to acquire knowledge about access and egress doors, security, magnetometers, all part of One PP’s security system. There was no way she would give them that information willingly.

Unless they tortured her.

Gray clamped his hands around the steering wheel to keep from bashing in the window. Horrific visions of Alex in pain at the hands of these psychos lit up his blood. If anything happened to her—if she was no longer in his life—he’d be a shell of a human being. Hell, since the moment she’d been kidnapped he was already spiraling headfirst into the gutter, and he knew why.

He wasn’t just crazy about her…he was falling in love with her.

Gray gunned the car up the street, silently swearing to hunt down every last member of the Pyramid all the way to whoever called the shots. There would be no place in the world they could hide.

Not when he was on a death hunt.

Chapter Eighteen

“Do not doubt that I will shoot you if you try to run.” Fatima pressed the barrel of the gun against Alex’s forehead. She flinched, but Fatima only jammed the gun harder against her skull. Alex squeezed her eyes shut and wondered if she would feel the bullet entering her brain, or if she would feel nothing at all. “Look at these blueprints.”

Alex shook her head. Her insides screamed in agony.

She loved Nicky more than anything in the world, but giving the Pyramid information that would undoubtedly result in the deaths of countless others was not something she could do.

I’ll die before helping these assholes.

“Look at them!” Fatima shoved the handgun into the waistband beneath her sweater. “Pick up that pencil and mark down every entrance to the precinct where armed officers are stationed, and every magnetometer for public access. Make note of how many officers are present at all times and where.”

Again, Alex shook her head. Fatima grabbed the pencil resting on the blueprints and shoved it into Alex’s hands. When she refused to grip the pencil, Fatima clenched Alex’s fingers around it so hard they hurt. “Do it or you will pay the price. The decision is yours.”

Alex clenched her jaw. She wanted nothing more than to tackle Fatima again. Instead, she threw the pencil across the room. For a moment, Fatima stared at her. Then a slow, evil smile turned up her lips. She pulled a cell phone from her pocket and began typing. When she was finished she put the phone back into her pocket. “There, it is done.”

Alex narrowed her eyes. “What’s done?”

Dull thumping from a helicopter flying low over the building filtered through the steady hum of the gas heater. Fatima turned to Abdullah, who was already wiping dirt off a windowpane with the heel of his hand.

“Well?” Fatima shouted.

“A helicopter is hovering near the building.” Abdullah paused as the sound of the chopper grew louder, closer. “It is a police helicopter.”

Fatima said something under her breath in Farsi that Alex couldn’t understand, then began to pace the room, glancing occasionally at the window. “How could they have found—?” She stopped short, staring at Alex, then sized her up from head to toe. Her lips pressed together and her nostrils flared. She stalked over then grabbed Alex’s shirt and ripped it open. She yanked the locator from Alex’s bra and threw it to the floor, stomping it with her boot heel. “You idiot!” She advanced on Abdullah and smacked him on the face with the back of her hand.

The bitch sure likes hitting people.

Even beneath his dark skin tone, Abdullah’s face turned red. He clenched his fists at his sides, not seeing what Alex saw—Fatima reaching behind her sweater where she’d stashed the gun. Before Abdullah could react, Fatima whipped out the gun and fired. Alex flinched at the loud crack that reverberated inside the barn. A small hole in Abdullah’s forehead oozed blood. His eyes were wide, shocked, as he crumpled to the floor.

Fatima turned and walked calmly toward Alex, the gun pointed at the floor. She stopped in front of Alex’s chair. The woman’s face was a blank mask. She began tapping the weapon against her thigh. Then she raised her arm and cracked Alex in the side of the head with the butt of the gun.

Pain splintered in every direction from the blow.

Alex fell off the chair and slammed into the floor. Her shoulder hit first, then her head. She clenched her teeth, willing the pain to dissipate. It didn’t.

Her skull was on fire. Her teeth hurt. Her jaw hurt. When she opened her eyes, all she saw were flashes of light.

The next thing she heard was a tearing sound. Duct tape. Then Fatima gripped her ankles, pulling her legs together. Alex tried kicking out, but Fatima easily bound her legs together with the tape.

“A bullet in the brain is too good for you,” Fatima spat. “Of all my marks, you have been the biggest pain in the ass. You deserve to suffer.”

Through the haze of pain blurring her vision, Alex watched in horror as Fatima grabbed one of the red metal cans and began dousing the wooden boxes and bales of hay lined against the wall. The pungent smell of gasoline burned her nose and throat.

She tried pulling her wrists apart, struggling to free herself from the binding tape, yet knew it was useless.