As Isaac bent down, so did the other man. And it wasn’t until they’d both righted themselves that Isaac realized his first gun, the one with the silencer, had been picked up by a black-gloved hand.

“So yeah,” the second in command drawled, “Matthias has enjoyed the little convos you two have been having and he wants me to keep you in holding until he gets here.” The shark-eyed bastard drew up close. “But here’s the thing, Isaac. There are larger issues at play and this is one situation that your boss is not in charge of.”

What was with the “your boss” thing, Isaac wondered.

And then he frowned as he realized that the guy’s arm, the one that had been broken just a day and a half ago, seemed to be fully healed.

And that grin was wrong . . . there was something wrong about that grin, too.

“Things are taking a different course,” the second in command said. “Surprise.”

With that, he put Isaac’s gun muzzle to his own chin and pulled the trigger, blowing his head clean off.

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 39

Jim came out of his coma with the nape of his neck on fire. He had no clue how long he’d been out, but Ad had clearly moved him back to the bed: The softness under his head was definitely a pillow and not the cold, hard tile by the shower.

As he sat up in the darkness, he was shocked: He felt curiously strong, miraculously steady. It was as if whatever state he had been in for . . . well, hours, assuming he was reading the clock right . . . had rebooted him inside and out.

Which was all good news.

The tightness at the tippy top of his spine, however, was anything but: Isaac.

Isaac was in trouble.

Swinging his legs off the bed and bolting upright, he felt no dizziness, no nausea, no aches or pains. Except for the ants at the base of his skull, he was not just ready to go, but roaring.

“Adrian!” he called out as he went to his duffel and yanked out a pair of jeans.

Where the hell was Dog?

Through the open connector, he could see that the lights were on in the other room, so the angel had to be in there.

“Adrian!” He went commando and jerked on his pants; then grabbed for a shirt. “We’ve got to go!”

He snatched his crystal gun and dagger along with his coat. “Yo, Ad—”

Adrian all but skidded into the room with Dog under his arm. “Eddie’s in trouble.”

Well, didn’t that just make that nape of his feel soooo much better. “What?”

Adrian undid Dog’s leash and let him scamper over to say hello. “He’s not answering his phone. I just called. And called again. And called a third time. Never happens.”

“Fuck.”