It felt like hours had passed before the door opened again, startling her awake.

Her heart raced, eyes wide as she momentarily forgot where she was, but it came back quickly enough when the man walking toward her yanked her up off the floor with little care.

She’d dozed despite her best attempts to stay awake, making her delirious as he dragged her from the room, fat fingers digging into the flesh of her arm.

This time, a hood wasn’t thrown over her head, and she could clearly see the stone walls and rusted fixtures.

What was up with bad guys and fucking warehouses?

She could understand they were remote and usually big enough to dispose of a body without drawing too much attention, but was it too much to ask that if she would die, she go out in style?

Then again, she wasn’t planning on dying today.

She would get the hell out of here—as soon as she figured out how.

This time, when she was brought to James, she didn’t feel the same level of trepidation. He wouldn’t hurt her, not when he needed her to get the information he sought, and she was the only one who could get their hands on it.

So long as he needed her, she wasn’t expendable.

He sat behind another oak desk, his gaze following her until she sat across from him again.

“The story you shared with me about how you and your associates came across the file gave me a thought. Why limit myself when I can have it all?”

Winter didn’t try to decipher whatever the fuck that meant. Instead, she asked, “Where is Tessa?”

“Somewhere safe so I can ensure your cooperation.”

“Yeah, see, that’s the quickest way not to get it.”

He chose to ignore that. “You’re going to do something for me.”

“And if I don’t, what? You’ll kill me?”

“Your friend, Tessa, will learn in the worst of ways what a pig feels before it’s slaughtered.”

Winter ground her teeth, trying to find a comeback but failing. There was no one she hated more than this fucking guy.

“What exactly is it that you want me to do?”

“I have it on good authority that The Kingmaker has information on a woman by the name of Ada Edgar. I want everything he has on her.”

Yeah, he was insane.

One didn’t steal from The Kingmaker, even when you worked for him.

Despite her lack of response, James kept going, “And call your associate. I want the file he has.” When she didn’t respond, James continued. “Should you attempt to communicate anything other than what’s been explicitly instructed, I will not only torture your friend, but I will also put a bullet in your head. Do you understand?”

He didn’t blink as he spoke, only indicated the gun he held in his right hand. She didn’t doubt he would do exactly as he ordered, but that didn’t mean she intended to listen.

He held a phone up. “Make the call.”

Once he’d dropped it into her hand, she stroked the keys with her thumb a moment, making a split decision.

James Greystone would kill her whether or not she got the information for him or he got it himself.

But she could make sure he didn’t get away with it.

More than anything, she wanted to call Răzvan—he was probably already out looking for her when she’d missed their date—but with his inability to speak, it wouldn’t be long before he got suspicious.

She had to take the chance.

One benefit of coding was that she was very good with numbers. It only took a second of mental recollection to dial a number she’d never thought she would actually have to use.

Before the call could even ring, James plucked the phone from her hand and put it on speaker, placing it on the table between them.

Not a minute later, Fang’s voice rang out in the room. “Speak.”

“Ollie?” she called, trying not to stress the name too much. “Where are you?”

A second passed then another. “Better question is where are you? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Winter glanced across the table. “Yeah, listen. I need the file.”

She really hoped he didn’t question it any further than that. Considering it was Ollie who’d called James in the first place, he should have already known the file she meant.

“I’m not at a screen at the moment,” he said, just a hint of uncertainty coloring the ends of his words.

James tapped the edge of the table with a skinny finger, shaking his head.

“It can’t wait.”

“Fine, fine,” he said. “Just needed a little time.”

Her fingers flexed involuntarily. If he meant what she thought he did, he was tracing this call and needed more time to do it.

Bless him.

She laughed, trying to sound carefree, for both of their benefits. “I think I’m all out of that.”

“What do you want with the file anyway?”

James shook his head.

“Just get what I need.”

“Yeah, all right. Give me half an hour, and I’ll see it done.”

“Thanks, Ollie,” she whispered, rattling off the email James had written on a scrap of paper, wishing so much that she could thank him, and Răzvan, if he were listening.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be taken care of.”

The call ended before she could say anything more.

James watched her, skepticism playing in his eyes. “Take her back to the room.”

Winter watched him from the moment she was pulled from the chair until he disappeared out of view once she was dragged around the corner and back into her makeshift cell.

She didn’t know how long she sat there trying to figure out what to do next. She didn’t doubt Fang had her location or was at least very close to getting it.

But once they were here, James might have one of his men hurt Tessa or worse.

She couldn’t let that happen.

One good thing about having a lot of hair meant it was easy to conceal things within it—like the pocketknife so tiny she could hide it within one of the buns she wore.

Calavera had gotten it for her as a joke considering her love of knives, but at that moment, Winter was thankful she still had it.

Carefully, she reached up with bound hands, pulling at the rubber band in her hair until it snapped and shook out her hair, the pocket knife clattering to the floor.

Her breaths labored as she tried to get a proper grip on it, but once she had it, relief coursed through her.

The blade snapped out as she pressed the button along the side of it, maneuvering it beneath the zip tie binding her wrists.

Every time the blade nicked her skin, the sharp pain made her wince, but she didn’t stop until the hardened plastic finally snapped free.

Step one done.

The thing about old buildings? Their locks weren’t just ancient—they were easy to pick.

At least she hoped.

The mercenaries always made it look so easy, and now she wished she had paid better attention when Celt had tried to show her how it was done, but she would struggle her way through this.

A little pressure and maneuvering, then turning, and …

The lock clicked.

She didn’t have time to appreciate getting it open. Instead, she slipped out the door and moved down the hallway quietly, checking all the rooms.

Tessa was gone, though, and as a gunshot rang out, she knew she was out of time.

Grabbing one of the metal pipes from the floor, she wasn’t taking any chances.

Her back to the wall, she waited, hoping that whoever was shooting outside the room wouldn’t open the door.

One breath.

Two.

Before she could take a third, the door splintered open, and she didn’t think before swinging, slamming it into the back of the man’s shoulders, but besides a brief, unbalanced step forward, he didn’t react at all.

She was going to die.

She was really going to die.

Until the man in the mask turned, and her shoulders slumped in relief.

“Răz.”

She would know that mask anywhere.

He slung his rifle back over his shoulder then cupped her cheek, his touch conveying everything she needed without words.

He would get her out of here.

She took his hand, letting him lead her from the room and down the darkened hallway. Blood spatter painted the walls, men slumped on the floor.

If she were a better person, she would have felt disgusted at the number of lives lost, all in a bid to save her own.

But she didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for any of them.

If given the chance, they would have hurt her or killed her if given the order.

It took minutes to exit the building, but once they were out and she could feel the sunlight on her face and the wind in her hair, Winter wanted to sob in relief.

The rest of The Wild Bunch were waiting for them, all in masks with guns in their hands, but Tessa wasn’t among them—neither was James Greystone.

“Did you find a girl while you were looking for me? Brown curly hair?”

It was Răzvan that answered her. —Besides these guards, no one else is here.—

That couldn’t be right.

James was—

Unless he had figured out what she had done.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

—Later.—

Hopefully, they would still have time then.

“We need to go. I think—”

Later, Winter wouldn’t remember what she meant to say at that moment. Not when Răzvan lurched, the harsh thud of something slamming into his vest making her scream.

A second shot sent him back several steps.

Another sent him to his knees.

The last put him on his back.

Chaos erupted around her—Thanatos and Invictus firing blindly in the direction the shots had come from. She was too busy screaming, rushing toward Răzvan to notice Fang a second before he grabbed her, yanking her back behind him.

He cursed loud enough to be heard behind his mask, the one word letting her know that something was terribly wrong.

They never spoke when they wore the masks—it was a rule. The fact he was doing so now worried her more.

Fang shuffled her backward while Invictus grabbed Răzvan and dragged him across the ground until he was out of the line of sight.

“Give the girl to me, and I won’t take your heads.”

The voice carrying across the distance didn’t make her blood run cold out of fear—at least not out of fear for herself.

Fang didn’t budge from his position in front of her, and she knew he would give his life to protect her, just as Răzvan would give his to protect Mariya.

But that wasn’t a chance she was willing to take.

“Wait!”

Fang tried to snatch her back as she moved forward, but she slipped around him, holding her hands wide.

“Syn, don’t.”

Standing several feet away, the last person she wanted to see stood with a gun in each hand, his eyes void of any emotion.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Fang snapped, reaching out to grab her again, but the second he did, Syn fired off another shot.

“Syn. They’re not going to hurt me. They’re friends.”

Syn’s expression was blank, and beyond that, his hair was darker now, no longer blond with the braid in the front. He’d shaved it much, much shorter, and dyed it a dark brown.

For a job, she assumed.

But now wasn’t the time to ask him about it.

“You should go,” Winter told Fang, hardly sparing him a glance as she took a step toward Syn.

“That’s not—”

“He’s one of the mercenaries,” she said quickly, knowing he wouldn’t let her go if she didn’t explain. “My … handler. Just go, and take care of Răzvan.”

She couldn’t wait for his response, not if she wanted him to stay unharmed.

For the longest time, she was Syn’s trigger, the one thing who could make him react without thought or consequence, and if she didn’t reel him back in, he wouldn’t stop until The Wild Bunch were dead.