Her hip hit first, the pain muted by the carpet. She caught herself on her elbow and instinctually kicked his leg with all her might. Her bare foot glanced off his shin.

“Cunt.” He stomped his boot down on her left thigh.

As pain blasted through her leg, she tried to scream. His hand covered her face, covered her mouth and nose. No air. She panicked, flailing at him.

When black filled her vision, he laughed and let her go.

As he rose, he casually kicked her in the belly. Her whole body jerked at the impact. Curling into a ball, she gasped for air—and cried. Her arm burned, her leg and hip throbbed, every shuddering wheeze stabbed into her ribs and stomach. Oh, God, help me.

“What? Yeah, at her place.” The New Yorker was talking on the phone. Vision blurring with tears, she tried to focus. If she was going to die here, she wanted to see who’d kill her.

He was shorter than the Greek and burly with muscles. Blond buzz cut. Nose thickened—had been broken. Front tooth half-broken off.

The New Yorker shoved his phone into his pocket with a scowl. “Hey, Spyros, the Xeno boss says a cop showed up at the lab.”

Audrey tried to even her voice. “You’d better run. The police and FBI will be here soon.”

The Greek hissed a laugh. “Nah. I got men in both places. I’d know. Why do you think I’m still free?”

He had his own people in the police and FBI.

And his name was Spyros. A tremor shook her. He didn’t care that she’d heard his name—because she’d never identify him. She was going to die.

“Why’re the cops looking for Quentin Dane at the lab?” the New Yorker asked. “The Xeno dude was pissed.”

“Dane said he didn’t call them. He wasn’t lying—not at the end.” The certainty in the Greek’s voice was terrifying. “I bet this cunt sent the cops after him.” He looked down at her with black eyes. “What else did she tell them?”

The air was so thick with her fear she felt as if she was drowning in it.

“Dunno, but we been here too long already.” The New Yorker slapped the doorframe. “Time to go.”

“Yeah, I know.” The Greek reached down and gripped her upper arms, his thumb digging cruelly into the knife wound on her biceps.

Hurts, hurts, hurts. Her stomach heaved as she tried to choke back her sobs.

“Bring the car around,” Spyros said. “Park at the side exit. I’ll clean up our package.”

“Fuck, you’re bringing her?”

“I want to take my time. It’ll get bloody.”

“Your call.” The apartment door opened and clicked shut.

Spyros lifted her and set her on the bed, then fondled her breast through the camisole.

No! When she shoved at his arm, he carelessly backhanded her.