The bastard hit her back.
Cain roared his fury.
Then he heard the thunder of. . . gunshots.
“Dumbass, I figured you’d show tonight. I knew you’d want my blood.” Jimmy scrambled back against the cage wall. “But guess what? They want yours, too. And you’re not escapin’ tonight. Wyatt’s getting you and you won’t ever escape again.”
The thunder of more bullets. Exploding. Firing.
Cain leaped to the side as those bullets tore through the cage.
He’d hit her so hard that her head snapped back. Everything went dim for a moment and then Eve could have sworn she heard fireworks popping.
“Sonofabitch.”
A familiar snarl. Trace. Hadn’t she told him to leave? Twice? She dug her nails into the giant’s arms and got ready to head butt him.
But the giant dropped her. Mostly because Trace had just clawed the guy’s side open.
“You should”—Trace snarled as he sliced again—“treat women with more respect.”
The giant scrambled back, tripped in his own blood, and—
And a bullet tore into the guy’s head.
Eve screamed. That hadn’t been fireworks. That sound had been the thunder of bullets. Her gaze flew around the area. Armed men were storming in. Men who wore all black and were covered with heavy, bulletproof vests. Men who were shooting at the paranormals. Taking them out with cold precision.
“Time to go,” Trace said, voice flat.
“Not without Cain! I—”
A barrage of bullets slammed into the cage.
“No!”
The bullets didn’t hit Cain. They thudded into a smiling Vance . . . who stopped smiling once his blood splattered around him. When he hit the floor, his face had locked in lines of stunned horror.
Cain . . . wasn’t in the cage. The left side of the cage hung open. He’d burned his way out.
He was attacking the armed men. Using his fire. Fighting back.
Heading for her with eyes that blazed.
“Before that crazy hoss gets here, we’re leaving,” Trace snapped. Sprinklers burst on from overhead and the water soaked them. A shrill alarm cut through the room. “Come on!”
With the bullets and the blood and the growing fire around her, Eve went with him.
She couldn’t afford to be caught again. And Cain—she knew the armed men wouldn’t catch him. He was too strong for them.
Already, the fire was thickening. The sprinklers and the gushing water couldn’t stop Cain’s fire. It was hard to see through the smoke and flames. But Trace knew the way out—through some back door that took them up a narrow flight of stairs and spit them out into the waning night.
Trace sucked in a deep, heaving breath, his hold on her never loosening. Her gaze swept to the left, and—
The building was surrounded. Police cruisers with blazing blue lights had circled the warehouse.
“Put your hands up!” a voice blared from behind the line of cruisers. “Step away from the woman!”
Trace swore and stepped in front of her. Figured he’d do something like that. He stepped in front of her and lifted his hands. No claws sprang from his fingers, not yet. Eve knew they could appear in an instant.
Did the cops know who they were dealing with? The armed guys inside had known, but these local cops—Eve wasn’t so sure.
“I’m a reporter,” Eve called out, trying to defuse the situation. “People are being hurt inside and—”
A bullet blasted from a policeman’s gun and slammed into Trace’s shoulder.
People are being hurt out here, too.
“Screw this,” Trace growled. He turned, grabbed Eve, and tossed her over his shoulder. Her head slammed into his back and before she could suck in a strong breath, he was running. That shifter could run fast. She bounced along his shoulder, holding on as best she could. Bullets were flying, and the white-hot burn of one grazed the skin of her leg.
Then they were leaping through the air, clearing one of the parked police cars in one jump—because yeah, some shifters could do that.
And some could run freakishly fast, even in human form. Trace had always been one of the strongest shifters Eve had ever met, and the guy certainly wasn’t disappointing her.
She held tight to Trace and managed to glance back one final time . . . just as the warehouse exploded and all the cops scrambled away, screaming.
“Do you think he’s dead?”
Eve glanced up at Trace’s voice. They’d made it back to his house easily enough. The blaze had stopped the cops dead in their tracks.
Why had cops been attacking? Jeez, she’d thought the cops had vowed to protect and serve everyone. Not just the humans.
“Subject Thirteen,” Trace said as he walked into the bedroom he’d given her for the night. “Do you think he made it out?”
“Fire wouldn’t hurt him.” She’d changed into an old T-shirt and a pair of loose jeans. Trace had bandaged her leg, and she’d dug the bullet out of his shoulder.
Just like old times. Almost.
The wooden floor creaked beneath his footsteps. “You didn’t mention that the new boyfriend was a serious pyro.”
New boyfriend. She glanced up from the story she’d been working on. A story that included tortured paranormals, rogue scientists, and crooked cops. The sooner she got this story to a media outlet, the better. She had a great connection at the Atlanta Daily. The paper could have this story on their Web edition first thing, then it could hit print and—
“Before anything else happens, I think you might need to back up a bit and tell me a little more about Thirteen.” Trace leaned his hip against the desk and stared down at her.
Eve lifted one brow. “Did you crack the password for me?”
“Uh, yeah. In about two seconds.”
Perfect—that was the proof she’d need to take to the editor and—
“But you’re not getting that laptop, not until you answer a few questions for me.”
Seriously? Did she look like she needed this hard time right then?
“Want to tell me why Thirteen seemed like he was ready to rip my head off?”
Um, she’d missed that part. She’d been a bit distracted by other things. “The guy has some anger issues.” Understatement. From what she’d seen, Cain had more than a few issues. In the interest of keeping Trace unscathed, she added, “If you see him, you’d be safer if you didn’t get within touching distance.”
His shoulders straightened. “I’m not exactly easy prey here.”