Stay the Night Read Online Free Page B

people, thought he was foolish. And he was . He’d let Rob stop him, hadn’t he? With nothing more than a bow and arrow.
    DeLuca wasn’t walking out of here with anything. The Italian would never pay him for showing up empty-handed at the rendezvous. No three million dollars. No easy life in Miami. No revenge.
    Tears soaked the wool covering DeLuca’s nose and mouth, making it harder to breathe but a little easier to think. He’d screwed up, but he could turn things around. He just had to get his head straight, figure out what went wrong. He didn’t have to stand here and wait to be arrested . . . so why was he doing that?
    What had this snotty English asshole done to him?
    DeLuca scanned the faces of the hostages. Two minutes ago he’d put the fear of God into these people; they’d been under his complete control. He’d terrified them into submission. Now they were happy and grinning and chatting as if nothing had happened.
    As if DeLuca weren’t even there.
    The sweet, smothering smell of orange and chocolate had been thinning along with the haze of confusion clouding DeLuca’s mind, and he looked down at the floor. The gun the arrow had knocked out of his hand lay only four feet away.
    Jesus, he’d forgotten about dropping the gun.
    White lights flashing outside the window illuminated the handsome symmetry of Rob’s face. “The medics are here now.” He went over to help the old lady up.
    With some effort, DeLuca shuffled over and picked up his weapon. “Look over here, you rat bastard.” When Rob turned toward him, he fired three rounds into the center of the ivory sweater. The silencer muffled the shots, the impact of which knocked Rob flat on his back.
    â€œNow who’s the fool?” DeLuca turned and sneered at the brunette teller. “Not so pretty anymore, is he?” She didn’t answer. “You deaf?”
    â€œNo, I heard you.” Her sleepy gaze shifted past his face. “Sir, are you all right?”
    â€œMy sweater wants mending.” Rob stood there, his head bent. Long, pale fingers, crosshatched with innumerable thin white scars, plucked a distorted slug from the torn wool of his sweater and tossed it away.
    DeLuca looked at the man he’d just killed and mechanically raised the nine to fire again, but chocolate wafted in his face, and a broad, muscular hand snatched it away and tossed it to Rob.
    â€œThis is why we never gave them the right to bear arms,” Will said to Rob, his brawler’s face twisting into a scowl of disgust.
    DeLuca lunged, but the shorter man seized him by the throat with a hand so hard it felt like a stone vise.
    â€œNo need to send him to Morpheus just yet,” Rob said as he flipped on the safety and pocketed the nine. “Did you find the other male?”
    â€œNot yet.” Will made a casual gesture with his free hand. “He’s concealed himself somewhere.”
    DeLuca groped at the back of his belt until he felt his throwaway piece. He thought about jamming it into the Brit’s belly, but the other man moved too fast, and this was the only gun he had left. “Leggo,” he wheezed.
    â€œMy pleasure.” Will shoved DeLuca away.
    â€œHow the hell did . . .” DeLuca trailed off as he clearly saw the three holes in Rob’s sweater. No blood stained the knit, and through the holes only pale, unmarked flesh showed. His eyes shifted to the other distorted slugs scattered on the lobby floor before he met Rob’s gaze. “What the hell are you?”
    â€œRather more than a rat or a bastard.” Rob stepped between DeLuca and the hostages. His eyes began to change, the centers shrinking to thin slivers of black while the purple turned darker and became bright, shiny rings of copper. “Where is your accomplice hiding?”
    A small vent dropped from the ceiling and landed on one of the teller’s windows with a loud clatter.