Not needing another warning, Pain slipped in between the two of them and pushed Chad to the door. His eyes stayed on Doc as she pulled him outside, the green of his irises swallowed up by the dilated pupils.

  She knew he could be hotheaded, but she’d expected better from Doc. So when he went to close the door, she turned her head and mouthed, “What the hell?”

  He responded by slamming the door in her face, so she turned to Chad. “What was that about?”

  “You asking me that?” His eyes locked with hers at last, and he shook off her hand for the second time. “I wake up and you’re not there. Ty said he saw you running to the infirmary, and I find you in Doc’s room instead. You scared the shit out of me!”

  “So what, you decided to pick a fight with Doc? You can’t treat him like that. He’s not one of the boys, for God’s sake!”

  Chad stepped closer, towering over her, and she cringed at the fire raging in his eyes. “You expect me to be okay with this?” He pointed at Doc’s door, his angry whisper turning into a hoarse growl. “He had you up against the wall! No one fucking touches you like that!”

  She shrank back, trying to put some distance between them. When someone’s head peeked out from down the hall, she pulled Chad to the elevator. The rest of the building could live without witnessing their ugly fight.

  He stomped ahead, and she hurried to catch up, cold stone chilling her feet. “I’m not saying you should be okay with this. All I’m saying is you gotta give me a minute to explain before you—”

  “Before I what?” he snapped, slamming his palm into the buttons inside the elevator. “What did I do wrong?”

  She tapped Cancel and the fourth floor button with a grimace. “You’re missing the point,” she said in a calmer voice. “I came to talk to him. Sure, we got into an argument, but it wasn’t his fault. I shouldn’t have bothered him so early to begin with.”

  Before Chad could reply, the elevator lurched and stopped, going dark.

  Her hands flew up. “Oh, for God’s sake! I just came back to life yesterday, could my luck be any worse?”

  “We gotta get out of here,” Chad muttered, stepping away from her. She heard the metal groan as he grabbed the doors.

  “Leave it. Peter will have your head if you damage the elevator. It’s Monday, a lockdown drill. We’ll be out in twenty minutes.”

  She put a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense. With a sigh, he turned around just as the red emergency light flickered on. His jaws locked stubbornly before he looked at her, more tired than angry. She couldn’t get used to how skinny he looked.

  “We were just talking,” she said, pulling him closer, until his hands found their place on her waist.

  “About what? What’s so important that you leave our bed and run to him at six o’clock?”

  “It’s nothing. I overreacted. I just had this dream, and I remembered that…” She trailed off, realizing how she’d painted herself into a corner with the whole promise thing.

  Suddenly, she was just as angry with Doc as Chad had been a minute ago.

  “Oh, you bastard,” she grumbled, making Chad blink in confusion.

  “What did you remember, Pain?”

  “I can’t tell you. I promised Doc no one would find out about this.”

  “So now you two keep secrets from me?”

  She could hear the hurt in his voice, and tightened her grip on him. “Not secrets—a secret. And not just from you—from everyone.”

  “That supposed to make me feel better?” His face turned into a grimace.

  “Yes, because it’s for Dave’s safety. If anyone finds out what I’ve found out, he’ll be in danger. But as long as no one but me and Doc knows about it, he’ll be perfectly fine.”

  His frown deepened. “So there’s something wrong with Dave?”

  “No, he’s all right. There’s just something that people must never, ever find out about. Don’t worry about it.” She forced out a smile, wrapping her arms tighter around him.

  Chad’s frown lingered for a minute, while his hands traveled down her body and over her hips. “Never thought it could feel so good,” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “To be mad at you. Just yesterday, all was lost. And now you’re here, and we’re wasting time fighting.”

  “So don’t.”

  She sucked in a breath when his hand wrapped around her thigh, his body pushing her into the wall.

  “Twenty minutes, you say?” he whispered against her lips.

  She held her breath. His touch was scorching. “About sixteen now.”

  His lips curled in a wicked grin. “Sixteen minutes it is.”

  Chapter 40

  The weather couldn’t have been worse for a night like this. Or maybe it could have, if the heavens had opened up and started spewing fire. At least then Peter’s ears wouldn’t have fallen off about ten minutes ago.

  It was going to be a long, hard night.

  He tugged on his shield and pulled his head deeper into the hood, feeling like a turtle under all the layers. At least they had some cover, the ledge tall enough to protect their backs from the nasty wind as they crouched on a rooftop five stories above ground.

  The radio clicked, Rob shifting at his side.

  “Heading down West now,” a quacking voice informed them.

  “Copy that,” Rob said. His shield flickered, and Peter spread his to cover them both, if only for a few minutes. “Thanks,” his second said with a grateful nod.

  “Men must be frozen out there,” Peter muttered.

  “They are. I rotate them as often as I can.”

  “They’ll stay at HQ. Warm up, then take over the perimeter.” Peter turned, finding Rob’s sharp, dark eyes watching him. “You’re coming with us though. We’ll need someone to watch the perimeter there.”

  “That’s a whole lotta men—and perimeters.”

  Peter suppressed a sigh, brushing snow from his shoulders and hood.

  “Turning onto Milton,” the voice from the radio said.

  “Roger,” Rob replied. “Red, how’s the signal?”

  It took a few seconds for Rooney to reply, “Everything’s good.”

  “Come on, come on,” Peter muttered under his breath. He turned around, peering over the ledge. Headlights pierced the dark a few blocks over. “Rob—”

  “They’re heading toward Greenpoint Ave,” Rob said into the radio, having noticed the Jeeps already. “Gamma, they’re yours.”

  “Roger that.” The radio’s hissing ceased, leaving them to wait in tense silence. There was nothing more to do. The rest depended on how well Peter had planned this.

  A gust of wind sent a cloud of snowflakes in the air, obscuring his view. But still, he saw it nice and clear when the jeeps crossed one of the spots they’d chosen to plant their harpoons.

  His heart gave a hopeful jolt.

  “Gotcha,” Rob muttered, flicking a button on the radio.

  “Red, tell me you got one of them,” Peter said into it.

  “No, boss,” Rooney answered, making Peter blink in confusion as the pause stretched a second too long. “We got them both.”

  Peter clasped Rob’s shoulder, then jumped to his feet, his body seemingly too light without that goddamned weight on his shoulders. They were tracking not one but two vehicles, in case one of the harpoons didn’t make it all the way to the Commandos’ base.

  “Good job, everyone,” Rob said into the radio. “Wrap it up and go home.”

  He stood up and stretched, that big white grin back on his face for the first time in what seemed like forever. “We got those fuckers. They got nowhere to run now.”

  * * *

  “I think I cracked a rib.” Chad bent down to pick up his practice sword for the tenth time, grunting at the shooting pain in his midsection.

  He used to spend Friday nights sipping whiskey in a bar—or at Dave’s place after yet another crazy drag race or party—but now it was the coppery taste of blood that coated his tongue. He swallowed, grimacing, and glared at Skull.

  The giant held his stare as he reached for a water bottle on a lone table in a corner. “Good. Now you’ll have a chance to practice your healing. You got five seconds.” He dropped his practice sword on the table to unscrew the cap, then guzzled down half the bottle.

  Chad used the respite to restore his breath, walking the small space of the second training hall. The door was locked to keep out any interruptions—not that anyone wanted in at this time of night. Nine to ten PM was for liquor and gossip, Chad had quickly figured out.

  Skull picked up his sword, the thing ridiculously small compared to his machete, and stepped toward Chad. While Chad’s t-shirt was already sticking to his body, Skull hadn’t even broken a sweat whooping his ass. The training hall was the only place Chad ever saw him not in all black. His gray t-shirt and loose pants were a reflection of Chad’s clothes tonight.

  “You need a kick or somethin’?” Skull grumbled.

  Chad lunged at him. Their swords clashed, the air abuzz with their shields, and Chad jumped to the side before the pressure could become too much. He feinted, then brought his sword up in an arc, but Skull’s sword was already there to meet his. Chad told himself it would’ve been different with his real sword, wanted to believe that—it had been Michael’s blade, after all. But the truth was, were they using real weapons, Skull probably would’ve cut him in half a million times by now.

  Their swords clashed again, and with a simple flick, Skull knocked the weapon out of Chad’s hand. Chad’s eyes went wide as the dull point of Skull’s sword dug into his chest.

  “What was your mistake just now?” Skull said, pushing it in.

  “I… I loosened my grip. And I don’t know how to do what you just did.”

  “Wrong.” The pressure lifted. Skull circled him as he spoke, “You were thinking about something else.”

  Chad frowned but stayed silent, watching Skull pick up his sword for him.

  “It’s always the same problem.”

  Catching the sword, Chad took a stance. He had a different opinion on what the real problem was—the fact that his opponent was a whole foot taller and about a half-ton heavier—but chose not to say anything. He’d asked for this, and he wasn’t going to back down now.

  He might never be good enough by Skull’s standards, but he was already better than most.

  This time, Skull attacked first.

  He aimed at Chad’s stomach, Chad pulling back and parrying with his sword, already looking for an opening in Skull’s defense. The giant hadn’t even put up a shield this time, testing—or taunting—him. Chad hit back, his hands gripping the hilt hard enough to crush it, his blade slamming into Skull’s again and again.

  He was just about to feint, when Skull twisted his sword and knocked the weapon out of his hand once again. Chad cursed but didn’t stop, lunging after it with his left arm outstretched. He whirled and brought it up just in time, propping himself on the floor with his right arm as Skull’s blade crashed into his.

  Skull pressed down, but Chad didn’t budge. He allowed himself a small smile. “Lefty, remember?”

  “I know,” Skull said—and swung his other arm, smacking his open palm into Chad’s forehead.

  Chad ricocheted off it like a tennis ball, barely putting up a shield in time. Still, his head spun, and his pride tingled.

  “Dammit! What did I do wrong now?” he demanded, sprawled on the floor.

  “It was a good move. Stupid but good. Better than nothing.” Skull paused to drink some more water. “Staying in that defenseless position, that’s the problem. A move is only as good as the one after it. And your move was to sit on your ass and grin like an idiot.”

  Chad suppressed a growl, dragging his hands down his face. He wasn’t going to argue with that. He’d gotten sloppy ever since the accident with Pain. Out of practice.

  “Get up. I ain’t got all night,” Skull ordered.

  Chad pulled himself up to a sitting position just as both of their phones began to ring. Skull frowned, picking his up. “What is it?” he said by way of greeting, the phone swallowed by his big mitt. “Uh-huh. Be there in five.”

  Chad’s phone stopped ringing by the time he’d reached the table, but when he tried to call Pain back, Skull stopped him with a raised hand.

  “No need. They got the Commandos. We’re moving out in twenty.”

  “Me too?” Chad’s heart beat faster at the news.

  Skull shrugged, grabbing their swords and tossing them into a bin in a corner. “If you’re not gonna be as stupid as the last time,” he said, ducking out the door.

  “Thanks!” Chad called after him, making a face. “Very encouraging, trainer.”

  Chapter 41

  Dave sat on his bed, staring at the photo on his laptop screen. He didn’t know how much time had passed, and didn’t care. He’d found the man. He’d found the fucker, and that was all that mattered.

  He’d quickly dismissed the other two Recorp Holdings shareholders. One of them was a woman with a big family and a long list of philanthropic endeavors he never knew one person was capable of pursuing. Looking at her pictures, seeing how busy and content and driven she seemed, he doubted she’d have any interest in what the Commandos were doing.

  The other was a divorced middle-aged man currently on a trip around the world, according to his Instagram page. He’d been away for months, and besides, someone clearly suffering from a midlife crisis wouldn’t be capable of putting together something as shady and elaborate as the Commandos’ operation.

  That left the third one. Philip Delamere. A dark-haired, stocky creature with haunted eyes, millions of dollars and too many lines on his face for his forty-five years, he seemed to be exactly what Dave was looking for.

  It had taken Dave a few days to dig up enough info on Philip to know almost for sure.

  The man’s only child had died—a girl of ten, the circumstances of her death vague—and his wife had suffered a serious injury and had been paralyzed for seven years. The fact that she still lived was a miracle, even with Philip’s money. If Dave ignored the “ski resort accident” explanation her husband had used in one of his interviews, he couldn’t help but wonder if what happened to Delamere’s daughter and wife was connected somehow.

  He’d need Rooney’s resources to find out the date of the girl’s death without wasting too much time—or he could just go straight to Philip. His mansion’s address hadn’t been hard to find. That’s what Dave couldn’t decide, what got him locked in place, staring at the man’s photo.

  One thing he knew for sure—all this seemed like a hell of a motive, and the skyfolk could easily be mixed up in it.

  Dave stared at the photograph, the image before his eyes fading away, twisting, turning into Elena’s face. Her eyes, her smiling lips, her laugh and voice and scent—

  He flinched, snapping out of his thoughts. The room had gotten dark, and the sounds were all muffled. He ripped the headphones off his head, realizing the playlist had ended long ago. Only then did he hear the commotion behind the door.

  Dave frowned, locking his laptop, and got off the bed.

  Outside, men were milling in the hall. The waiting room doors swung open, and Peter stepped out wearing gear and a distracted frown. He caught Dave’s confused gaze and waved him into the office, his other hand clasping his gear jacket.

  Dave’s thoughts tripped over themselves as he left his room and hurried after the others. Just then, the elevator opened and spat out Chad, the girls, Ryan, and Marco.

  “What happened?” Dave asked his friend right away.

  “They found our masked friends,” Chad said, slapping a hand onto Dave’s shoulder as he walked. “We’re gonna get them this time, Dave.”

  We? Or you? Dave thought as they walked into the office but didn’t say anything. He’d waited for this moment, he’d begged and prayed and hoped they’d find the person responsible for all this suffering, and now that they had, all he could think was, Too soon. I’m not ready.

  Pushing his panicked inner voice to the back, he tried to focus on the scene before him. The office was full, over twenty people inside, most of them too agitated to sit down, so he and Chad quickly grabbed two chairs. The girls followed them, their eyes on Peter as he walked to the head of the table and cleared his throat.

  The small groups of men hushed and broke up, some turning to the boss, others taking the few remaining chairs around the table.

  Peter spoke up, “In case some of you don’t know yet, we’ve managed to harpoon two jeeps and follow them to what we suspect is the Commandos’ lab and base of operation.”

  He turned to look at the big screen behind him, where Rooney had brought up a satellite map with a big gray building and a scattering of small ones in the distance.

  “It’s in the same direction they were going last time we followed them.” Peter shot a dark glance in Pain’s direction. “Only, this time they didn’t know about us, so they went all the way. This here,” he pointed at the lone building, “is an abandoned hospital just outside Jackson Heights—they could be hiding in there. There’s also a storage facility four miles north—could be used as a base of operation, too, hard to say now. The tracker’s not one hundred percent accurate, but there’s gotta be something there. We’ve got two objectives here: taking their base and rescuing everyone they’ve abducted. So let’s go get the bastards. Questions?”

  Everyone just shook their heads. Pain raised her hand, as usual. “Is anyone here from around that place? Maybe they know something about it?”

  “No time to ask two hundred people,” Peter said with a shake of his head. “Besides, if they knew about anything suspicious, they would’ve brought it up earlier, and we’ve already got all the general info. Rough terrain around the building, a couple hills here and here.” He pointed at the map with one of his sheathed swords, not bothering to look for his laser pointer. “A single road, goes ’round here and straight to the storage. We’ll leave the cars here, by the highway, go way far so they don’t detect us as they do in the city, then split up and close in from both sides.” He looked over the gathering. “No killing, if possible. We need to get to the bottom of this, and that means someone to question.”