“Jazz…”
“Not him.” She was pleading again.
“Give me Jasmine!” Drake yelled.
Saxon’s foot slammed down onto the gas pedal and they lurched forward.
She glanced back once more at Drake. He was running after them. Bleeding from a cut high on his cheek. This would be her last sight of him.
“Thank you,” she told Saxon.
“Don’t thank me.” His voice was hard. “Because you’re going to die.”
***
Drake ran after the SUV. “Give her back to me!”
The SUV was flying fast, and Jasmine was vanishing. “No!” Drake roared.
The SUV didn’t stop.
Neither did he. He ran back to the wrecked SUV. Shoved the two limp bastards out of the vehicle, got that piece of shit working, then gave chase.
There was no way that he’d just let Jasmine go back to Maxwell. He knew what the man would do to her. Jasmine would suffer. She’d hurt. Jasmine should never hurt.
He drove as fast as the beat-up SUV could travel, but it just wasn’t fast enough. When he hit the main road, there was no sign of Jasmine.
Drake glanced to the left. To the right.
He turned right. Tried to floor the SUV, but that was then the thing died on him. “Sonofabitch!” Smoke billowed from under the hood. Drake got out. Started running.
He was still running when Trace and Noah found him. Only they weren’t alone. Detective Taggert was with them.
Their vehicle pulled to a stop right in front of Drake. He stood there, chest heaving, the gun still in his hands.
Trace was the one who approached him first. “Drake…want to tell us what the hell is happening?”
Drake’s gaze slid to Noah. Her brother. “They took her.” The words were like knives in his own chest. “I’m sorry…so sorry…they took her.”
Slowly, Taggert advanced. “I need you to lower that gun.”
And he needed Jasmine. “I’ll get her back,” he promised Noah, frantic. “I swear, I’ll get her back.” His gaze shifted to the long, twisting expanse of road. I’ll get her back.
He’d destroy anyone who tried to stop him.
Chapter Twelve
Her arms were tied to the chair behind her. The rope was rough and thick, and it had made her wrists bleed. Jasmine could smell the river, and when she strained really hard, she could even hear the faintest sound of music. Jazz music.
“I expected more from you,” Maxwell said as he walked around her, moving in a slow circle. The guy reminded her of a tiger, closing in on his prey.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Jasmine managed. But she wasn’t sorry. Not at all.
“It was a simple job. Get close to Archer. Use him. Help me to wreck him.”
She hadn’t looked Maxwell in the eyes. “You-you shouldn’t have set those bombs at the Arrow. Innocent people could’ve died—”
He lunged toward her. Maxwell grabbed the arms of the chair and put his face right in front of hers. “Do you think I give a shit about those people?”
She had to meet his white-hot gaze then. Jasmine shook her head. “I don’t think you care about anyone.”
“You screwed that up for me. The Arrow should’ve burned—the place was meant to blow—”
“Because of you.” Jasmine wouldn’t let him see her fear.
He smirked at her. “Because of me.”
“How many others have you attacked?” Jasmine wanted to know, even though she feared the answer. “With your bombs…with fire?”
Laughter was his answer. “Oh, Jazz, I don’t always need those tactics. Destroying a man’s life is easy these days. A matter of business.” His right hand lifted and picked up a lock of her hair. “I use tools. Tools like you. I hack into accounts. I learn secrets. I use them.”
She hated his touch. Her gaze slid away from him. Saxon was in the room with them, and he watched impassively from his position near the door. There was no expression on his face. Not even pity.
And pity had been there before, when he’d tied her up.
“Why did you betray me?” Maxwell asked her. “I was paying you well.”
“There’s more to life than money,” she murmured.
He stopped stroking her hair. Instead, he yanked it, twisting it in his hold as he jerked her head back. “Why?”
Tears stung her eyes. “Why did you want to go after Drake? Because of some dead ex-lover—”
The blow took her by surprise. The pain was fast and hot, just as fast as his punch had been.
Not a slap. A punch.
Fury bubbled inside of her because she could taste blood in her mouth. Jasmine lifted her head up. She saw that Saxon had lunged away from the wall.
She shook her head.
“He told you about Anna Jean,” Maxwell said, his voice as sharp as a knife. “Did Drake confess to you? Did he tell you how he killed her?”
She had to be so careful what she revealed. “He told me that she’d betrayed his unit and that she came after Trace Weston’s wife—that Anna Jean was crazy and had to be stopped—”
His fist came at her again and Jasmine tensed.
But the blow didn’t land. Saxon had caught Maxwell’s fist before it could make contact with her again.
***
“We need to be out there!” Drake snarled as he paced the small confines of the interrogation room at the NOPD. “This is bullshit.” He stopped to glare at Trace and Noah. “If it were Claire or Skye, you two bastards would be ripping apart the town.” Instead, they were standing in his way.
And they were in the police station of all places.
“You shouldn’t have told Taggert anything.” Drake wanted to punch and destroy. Maxwell could be hurting Jasmine right then. “You shouldn’t—”