Hunted Read Online Free PDF

passenger window. Clumps of gray matter that didn’t need close scrutiny clung in various places. She bit down and swallowed. Slowly, she looked away and out the window.
    Oh, my God. Chills pooled at the base of her spine. Was the next bullet for her? She’d just look out the window. Where were they? Where was she? Did she know? Think. Think. Think.
    The limo kept driving, turning after the bridge onto the waterfront in the Malá Strana, or the Lesser Quarter. This was an older but hardly ancient part of town. She remembered this part of Prague. Didn’t she?
    Slowly, she looked at her client for the night, who turned and caught her stare. The driver moved through the shadowed streets. Her client stared at her, pulling a shoulder holster from the minibar as well. Dusk wondered what other toys he had in there. Not that she really wanted to find out. Was there even alcohol? Or some other liquid? She could use a drink. Why hadn’t she taken the hit Dame had offered? Would he kill her next, pulling some other weapon from his mini arsenal?
    Oh, God.
    Would he shoot her as well? She stared at the gun and knew what it would feel like, cold against her skin, digging hard into her temple or neck. She twisted her fingers together.
    His eyes, black as obsidian, dark as hell’s heart, pierced her again.
    She didn’t speak. Didn’t look away. A shiver danced down her spine.
    “Don’t ask questions. I’ll explain everything later. Right now, time is of the essence.” His voice, male and deep, narrowed on British syllables.
    His features were chiseled. Harsh bones, unforgiving jawline, narrow lips, with those eyes and the bladed nose, made him appear almost sinister.
    But she’d lived in a world where nothing was as it appeared.
    Her client had just killed her jailer. The devil or the demon? Oh, God. Mikhail would be pissed. Angry at her. He’d beat her, trip her if he didn’t kill her. The devil or the demon? At least this man seemed the lesser of two evils. Didn’t he? She really should have taken Dame’s offer of a sedative. The doors were locked. Could she . . . Shit! Maybe she could get away, get back to Mikhail and beg him . . . Tell him she had nothing to do with it?
    Her hands shook.
    “Don’t think we’d let you get away,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “We mean you no harm.”
    “Right,” she muttered, then stilled, waited for him to strike.
    He only sighed. “I know it’s hard to believe.”
    She licked her lips. “If you’re going to kill me—just do it. Please. Stop playing with me,” she whispered, not looking away from his intense stare.
    Something shifted in his dark narrowed eyes. “Ah, luv, no one’s going to kill you. We’re here to help you. We’ll explain. Just not now.”
    Help you . . .
    But what if . . . Hope slithered through the fear. Was he lying to her? Was this a trick? Her gaze shifted for a moment to the gruesome scene in the front of the limo. Peter was dead. He’d killed her guard.
    Why?
    Was he serious? Could he help her?
    Hope fluttered in her chest. She tilted her head and watched as he dropped his gaze from her and checked his watch, then over his shoulder said to the driver, “We’re a bit behind schedule. The car there?”
    “Far as I know, boss man.”
    The driver caught her eyes in the mirror. He smiled and nodded at her. From this distance he appeared to have light eyes, maybe gray or green, blue? Who knew. Who cared.
    The smell of blood metalisized the air. She tried to ignore it. Not that she really could. It brought back memories that she’d just as soon forget. The dingy apartment in Prague with Simon, the screams for mercy that never came . . . The abandoned churchyard, the yawning grave, Ebony . . .
    The other guard who’d been with them in the club quietly studied her. When he’d spoken earlier, she noticed he, too, was British. A dark plum jacket did little to hide his bulging muscles and toned torso. His skin was the color of straight black coffee,