Rules in Blackmail

by Nichole Severn

  Convulsed breaths echoed throughout the alleyway.

  “Where is she? Where is Jane?” The words left his mouth as a growl. The urge to tear, to rip—to protect what was his—surged through his blood. And the man pinned beneath him looked a lot like prey. Sullivan clenched the man’s ski mask and ripped it over his head. Pulling his attacker into the circle of light from the streetlamp, he swayed on his feet. He breathed through his nose, slowing down his heart rate to keep his head on straight. His fingers went numb for a moment as he studied the man in his grasp. A hard exhale rushed from him, but he tightened his grip on his attacker. “You’re not Christopher Menas. Who the hell are you?”

  Bubbling laughter filled the alleyway. An older, darker face, nowhere close to Menas’s thirty-four years of age, contorted in pain as the man in his grip fought to look up at Sullivan, a crooked smile spreading across his face. “I don’t kill and tell.”

  “A contract killer. Great.” He should’ve known. No way Menas would’ve been able to defend himself like that. Jane’s stalker was a tow truck operator. No military experience. But none of this made sense. How did Menas even get in contact with a mercenary? Shoving the blade under the man’s throat, Sullivan leaned in close. “Where is Jane?”

  A sniper’s laser sight slipped over the mercenary’s shoulder, and Sullivan reacted by instinct. He dropped the knife and swung the man in his grip around. Two bullets ripped through his attacker’s back, the shots rocking Sullivan with two strong thumps.

  A glint of moonlight reflected back toward him from the roof of the warehouse across the street, but disappeared a split second later. Another slow exhale worked to bring his heart rate under control. A scope. Had to be another contracted mercenary cleaning up the loose ends. But where did that leave Jane?

  Sullivan discarded the man he’d used as a human shield and stepped over the body. Sweeping his weapon into his hand, he stalked toward the factory at the north end of the alleyway. With a single tap on the device lodged in his ear, he had his weapons expert on the other line. “We’ve got new players. One of them just took a shot at me. Warehouse north of Jane’s town house. Bring the shooter to me.”

  “Done.” Anthony hung up. No time to waste.

  Loud pops cracked in Sullivan’s neck as he wrenched his head from side to side. Didn’t matter how many mercenaries Menas had hired to protect himself. The bastard could have an entire army behind him for all Sullivan cared. It wouldn’t stop him from getting to Jane.

  * * *

  JANE THREW HER elbow back with as much force as she could but hit solid muscle and Kevlar. Digging her fingernails into her attacker’s wrist, she swung her legs wide and threw her weight forward in an attempt to unbalance him. Didn’t work. The man squeezing the air from her chest was so much bigger and so much stronger than she was. No amount of escape attempts seemed to faze him as he pulled her across the wide expanse of the factory.

  “Did you think you could get away from me that easily? I’m not the man you claimed you loved back in college anymore, Jane. I’ve changed. Traveled. Killed people. Made some new friends.” The eerily familiar voice closed in on her right ear and sent a shiver down her spine. Christopher Menas. “Besides, I’ve been waiting too long for this chance.”

  “Christopher, please. It doesn’t have to be like this.” Her bare heels caught on chunks of broken cement as she struggled to loosen his forearm grip around her collarbone. The sour scent of cigarettes dived deep into her lungs with every panicked inhale. He’d already dragged her halfway through the sheet metal factory, weaving between large pieces of machinery she’d never seen before. Any deeper and Sullivan wouldn’t be able to track her. Because he was coming for her. She had to believe that. Stall. Get Christopher to slow down. Give Sullivan a chance.

  “Sure it does, Janey.” Her insides flipped at the nickname he’d used for her all throughout their relationship, but not in the way it used to. He didn’t sound the same, didn’t feel the same as she remembered. Christopher pulled up short and swung her around to face him.

  His dark brown eyes flashed as a stream of molten metal poured into a base a few feet away. It was late. Usually only a few factory workers kept an eye on operations overnight, but the unhinged mania in Christopher’s gaze said it all. He’d kill anyone who got in his way. She couldn’t risk dragging innocent lives into this. Sweat glistened down his stern features as he stared at her. He was right. He wasn’t the same man she’d given her heart to all those years ago. Familiar angles and planes of his face were still there, but he’d filled out. A lot. The Kevlar vest he’d strapped on struggled to rein in the muscle underneath and intensified the in-depth story of tattoos covering every inch of his now-massive arms. Scars interrupted the thick five-o’clock shadow across his jaw, as well as his eyebrows, and his hair had receded several inches. The man staring her down with hell in his gaze was dangerous. Perhaps psychotic. Definitely not the tow truck operator she’d had in mind when she and Sullivan had pinned him as her stalker less than twelve hours ago. “And don’t worry about your bodyguard. My friends certainly know how to show a guy like him a good time.”

  Friends? Her heart sank. Sullivan.

  “What did you do?” She ripped out of his grasp and, surprisingly, Christopher let her go. No point in running. He’d wound them through a maze of machinery she had no idea how to escape. Probably for that reason alone. He’d catch her without trying, and she’d have wasted precious time in getting to Sullivan.

  At least four knives and just as many handguns peeked out from under his jacket and from the pockets of his cargo pants. What had her ex turned himself into? A mercenary? Flipping his wrist over, he read his watch. Christopher reached for her again and hauled her into his chest. Her sternum hit his Kevlar with a thud. “We’ve got such plans for you.”

  We?

  “Are you going to kill me?” Keep him talking. Keep him distracted. Jane snaked her hand around to his closest pocket. Loud hissing sounds from the nearest machine drew Christopher’s attention to his left and he reached for one of the many sidearms haphazardly packed into his gear. Not in control. Too easy to scare. Dangerous. Her fingertips scraped over the butt of a large blade in his pants, but Jane couldn’t wrap her hand around the grip without tipping Christopher off. Her throat tightened, his cigarette breath fanning across her cheek.

  “Not yet.” He slid back from her. Jane let his own movements draw the knife into her hand. “First—” wrapping his bruising strength around her arm again, he shoved her ahead of him “—we’ve got a chopper to catch.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Jane swung fast, arcing the blade straight across Christopher’s face. He doubled over to the side as she hit her target, his scream nearly bursting her eardrums. Fleeing, Jane pumped her legs hard, exhaustion from the insufferable heat around her already pulling at her muscles. Grip tight around the knife, she mentally ticked off the different machines Christopher had dragged her past on the way in. There had to be a way out of this maze.

  The factory’s windows had been blacked out. No sign of an exit. No idea which way they’d come in. She couldn’t just run from a crazed maniac until she lucked out with an exit. She needed a plan. The aggressive hissing and movements of the machines covered any sounds Christopher might’ve made from following her. Jane checked over her shoulder. She couldn’t see him but ducked behind one of the larger machines for cover. Air dragged through her windpipe as her heart fought to keep up with the rest of her body. She’d kept in shape over the years, but running on pure adrenaline would only take her so far.

  Okay, luring Christopher to her town house hadn’t been the best idea. But then again, she hadn’t expected him to be a mercenary either. None of Sullivan’s or his team’s research into her ex had hinted as much. Although, now that she thought about it, there was a piece of her that always believed she’d see his name on the FBI’s Most Wanted List someday.


  “Janey...” he said, taunting. Her name on his lips pooled dread in her stomach. “That wasn’t very nice.” He sounded close all of a sudden—too close.

  Her spine straightened, and she pressed her back into the machine behind her. Heat seared her skin, but Jane clamped her mouth shut. She couldn’t call out, couldn’t give away her position. If she had to guess, she’d ended up at the south end of the building. She studied the blade in her hand, the edge tinted red. There wasn’t an exit on the south end. At least, not one she’d noted mapping out her neighborhood when she’d first moved in.

  Where was Sullivan? She had no doubt the former SEAL could take care of himself, but neither of them had calculated the addition of Christopher’s “friends.”

  Footsteps echoed nearby, and her surroundings came into a sharp focus. She breathed deeply, evenly, as a deadly calm descended over the factory floor. Sweat dripped from her eyebrows. The blade’s handle grew slick in her hand. She needed to get to the exit, needed to find Sullivan.

  “Janey.” A shadow passed in front of her faster than she thought possible. Christopher knocked the knife from her hand and clamped his grip around her throat. Shoving her hard against the machine at her back, he let the skin across her shoulder blades sizzle from the blistering heat for a few seconds. Searing pain lightninged throughout her upper body, but Jane couldn’t scream with her air supply cut off.

  She fought for breath, vision blurry, but this close, she realized she’d slashed a deep cut into his right cheekbone. And the look in his near-black eyes along with the hand still around her throat said he intended to make her pay. But the second she gave in would be the end of her. She wasn’t getting on whatever chopper he had waiting for her. No matter what. Mentally checking off all the ways to counter an attack, Jane unclamped her hands from around his wrist and went for his eyes. She dug the fingernails of her thumbs into his eye sockets, then kneed him in the groin.

  Christopher’s grip lightened but didn’t let go as another scream ripped up his throat. And before she knew what was coming, his other hand slammed into her jawline. “You shouldn’t have done that. I promised to bring you in alive. Not untouched.”

  She hit the heated cement floor—hard—sparks and hot metal brightening up the dark edges of her vision. His rough exhales drowned out the overwhelming pounding in her head. A single kick to her rib cage pushed the air from her lungs and shut down any other ideas of her fighting back. Jane rolled into the fetal position to prevent another hit, but the damage had already been done. Pain unlike anything she’d experienced washed over her, her vision going white for a few seconds. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

  “You’ve got a lot more spunk in you than I remember.” Christopher crouched over her, slipping the blade she’d stolen from his pants back to its rightful place. “Where was this girl when we were dating? I might not have had to go after your roommates if you’d shown me a little bit of a challenge.”

  Her lungs spasmed out of paralysis from the kick to her midsection, gulping down heated air. She couldn’t stop fighting, couldn’t let him take her. Because, from the deadly look in his expression, the chances of her getting out alive were not in her favor. A single name crossed her mind as tears welled in her eyes. Where was he? Was he alive? “Sullivan...”

  “Dead,” he said.

  No, no, no, no. Not Sullivan. “No.”

  “Yes.” Christopher’s scarred features closed in on her as he slipped a strand of her hair behind her ear. Her mouth filled with bile at the intimate gesture. The world spun as he wrapped his calloused hands around her arms and hiked her over his shoulder. He straightened, locking her knees against him and her hands in his grasp. “Nobody’s coming for you, Janey. You’re finally mine.”

  Chapter Eight

  When Sullivan finally reached the factory, Jane was slumped over a heavily armed man’s shoulder. He’d found her.

  Tearing across the slick cement factory floor, Sullivan sprinted harder than he had in years. The navy had trained him for any kind of combat, taught him how to successfully shoot his Glock and hit the target from two hundred yards, but risking Jane’s life in the process wasn’t an option. Unbearable heat dived deep into his lungs, and he inhaled fast to keep oxygen pumping to his extremities. “Jane!”

  Thick doors slammed behind the man with Jane in his arms as they disappeared out the west exit. Sullivan pushed himself harder, sweat dripping into his eyes and down his neck. The longer he lost sight of them, the smaller chance he had of recovering her unharmed. He rammed his left shoulder into the steel, slamming the door open into the concrete wall behind him. His heart pounded behind his ears as his lungs devoured the cold, fresh air.

  No sign of Jane.

  “Jane!” Sullivan ran a hand across his forehead to dispel the sweat now freezing to his skin. No response. Damn it. He couldn’t have lost her already. It was impossible. The factory’s brightly lit parking lot didn’t offer anything in the way of cover. Whoever had Jane couldn’t have disappeared with a 120-pound woman that fast on foot. Unless...

  Headlights drifted over the right side of his face a split second before a black Audi Q7 barreled straight toward him. Sullivan dived for cover, swinging his gun up and over. He squeezed off four rounds, none of which penetrated the SUV’s windows. Bulletproof. The SUV sped across the parking lot, heading for the main road.

  He tapped the earpiece connected to the most combat-experienced asset on his team and vaulted after the vehicle on foot. He wouldn’t get far on his own, but he wasn’t about to give up on Jane either. “Forget the shooter. The package is in a black Audi Q7 heading east toward Seward Highway. License plate is—”

  A Blackhawk Security GMC screeched to a halt in front of him, and Sullivan lunged inside. Anthony Harris, his resident weapons expert, slammed on the accelerator, not waiting for Sullivan to shut the passenger-side door. He twisted the steering wheel, flipping around. “Your shooter is in that vehicle. Hold on to something.”

  Momentum pinned Sullivan to the back of his seat, and he braced himself against the roof of the SUV as they raced over the speed bumps set throughout the parking lot. Red taillights flashed at least a quarter mile ahead as the Audi spun onto the highway. “Faster, damn it. We can’t lose them.”

  Anthony didn’t answer. Always one for taking orders without question. The GMC’s engine growled as he pushed it harder, and within seconds they were approaching the highway. They skidded into oncoming traffic, horns and headlights penetrating through the thick cloud of pressure inside the SUV.

  “There.” Sullivan pointed at the Audi weaving in and out of both lanes of cars. He leaned forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jane’s outline through the dark tinted windows. No such luck. Majestic snow-covered mountains edged up against the freeway, but it was too dark to see much of anything else. Something wet and sticky tickled the underside of his arm as they maneuvered through traffic. Blood glistened across his skin with the help of the headlights of other cars.

  “There’s a first-aid kit under your seat,” Anthony said, eyes never leaving the road.

  Sullivan put pressure on the wound across his arm with his gun hand. “I’m fine. Just find a way to get me closer to the SUV.” He would jump on the car’s hood if he had to. Although, shooting out the tires should be enough, as long as they weren’t armored, as well.

  The Audi cut through two lanes of cars. Motorists swerved to avoid hitting others, effectively causing all traffic to skid to a halt. Anthony slammed on the brakes. Bracing himself for impact, Sullivan kept his focus on the SUV now turning onto International Airport Road, one of the only roads leading to Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport. If her stalker got Jane onto a plane, Sullivan would never see her again. And that wasn’t an option. Not today. Not ever.

  Screeching tires filled his ears as the GMC skidded at a twenty-degree angle until his weapons expert veered off-road and cut w
est.

  “They’re headed for the airport.” Sullivan pushed the button to release his seat belt and then climbed into the back seat and unearthed the heavy-duty case of ammunition that traveled anywhere Anthony went. Dropping the magazine out of his Glock, he replaced the expended 9 mm rounds he’d wasted on the bulletproof SUV and slammed the magazine back into place. He flipped open another case that stored three black Kevlar vests and geared up. Two more knives and an extra magazine of rounds fitted into the vest. “I’m not going to even ask if you’re armed.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Anthony said. “Get ready. We’re going in hard.”

  Through the windshield, Sullivan watched the distance between the two vehicles shrink fast. Anthony closed in on the Audi’s bumper, slamming the back driver’s-side quarter panel. The hit rocked through the vehicle, and Sullivan pitched forward between the two front seats. “Hit them again.”

  The GMC lurched forward and cut off any maneuvering the driver of the Audi had in mind. This was it. No way would that SUV reach the airport. Anthony spun the steering wheel and slammed into the Audi. The SUV fishtailed until the vehicle hit the GMC perpendicular. The tires caught on the pavement and the Audi flipped, two times, three. Air rushed from Sullivan’s lungs.

  Anthony slammed on the brakes to keep from ramming into the underside of the SUV, but Sullivan was out of the vehicle before the GMC came to a full stop.

  Boots heavy on the pavement, he palmed the Glock in his right hand and unsheathed a knife with his left. The sounds of broken glass and heavy breathing consumed his attention, as someone fought to leave the vehicle. Jane was strong, a survivor like him, but the hand clawing its way through the debris wasn’t hers. He couldn’t think about that right now. Mercs were known to shoot first and ask questions later, and he had to do the same. Neutralize the threat. Then get to her.