Taken by Midnight (Midnight Breed 8)

Another snarled oath from Dragos, more savage than before. "All right," he said in a low, even tone. "Then abort. Kill the bitch and get out of there. Dump her corpse off the docks or into the street, I could give a fuck.

But don't let that goddamn vampire get near either one of you. Understood?"

Green and Cho exchanged a brief look of acknowledgment. "Yes, Master," Green replied, ending the call.

Cho steered into a sharp left turn off the road and into a parking lot at the water. Large freight trailers and assorted box trucks dotted the ice-spotted, cracked pavement. And nearer to the river's edge were several warehouse buildings, which is where Cho seemed to be heading at breakneck speed.

Green leveled the gun on her, until she was staring down the barrel at the chambered bullet that would soon be unloaded into her head. She felt a surge of power flow into her veins--something far more intense than adrenaline--as the moment began to play out in slow motion.

Green's finger tightened on the trigger. There was a soft scrape of responding steel, mechanisms in the firearm clicking into action as though in the thick fog of a dream.

Jenna heard the bullet begin to explode from the chamber. She smelled the sharp tang of gunpowder and smoke. And she saw the quiver of energy rippling in the air as the weapon fired on her.

She ducked out of its way. She didn't know how she managed it, nor how it was possible for her to know just how to dodge the bullet as Green sent it blasting toward her. She knew only to listen to her instincts, preternatural as they seemed.

She came up behind Green's seat and wrenched his arm, snapping the bone in her bare hands. He screamed in agony. The gun went off again, this time a flailing, wild shot.

It struck Cho in the side of his skull, killing him instantly.

The sedan veered and rocked, accelerating with the dead weight of Cho's foot resting on the gas. They hit the corner of a rusted freight container, knocking the Crown Vic into a vicious sideways roll across the snow and ice.

Jenna hit the roof of the car as it flipped ass over teakettle, windows shattering, airbags deploying. Her whole world tumbled violently, over and over, before finally coming to a jarring halt upside down on the pavement.

Holy bloody hell.

Brock pulled in to the industrial lot and slammed on the brakes, watching with a mix of horror and rage as the Crown Victoria hit the side of a cargo trailer and pitched into a steel-crushing roll on the frozen pavement.

"Jenna!" he shouted, throwing the Rover into park and vaulting out the door.

The daylight had been a bitch to deal with inside the vehicle; outside it was beyond hellish. He could hardly see through the haze of blinding white light as he raced across ice and cracked asphalt to the overturned sedan. The car's wheels were still spinning, the engine whining, spewing smoke and steam into the frigid air.

As he neared, he heard Jenna grunting, struggling inside. Brock's first instinct was to grab hold of the vehicle and right it, but he couldn't be sure if flipping the car would cause more harm to her, and it was a chance he wasn't willing to take.

"Jenna, I'm here," he said, then reached out and tore the upside-down driver's-side door clean off its hinges. He tossed it to the ground and dropped to his haunches to look into the crushed interior.

Ah, Christ.

Blood and gore were everywhere, the stench of dead red cells combining with the sharp fumes of leaking oil and gasoline to pierce through the sun-scorched fog of his senses. He looked past the corpse of the driver, whose head was blown open by a close-range gunshot wound. All of Brock's focus was trained on Jenna.

The roof of the sedan was buckled and smashed, creating only a small amount of room for her and the other human male, who was struggling to get a grip on her legs. She was fighting him off with one foot while attempting to claw her way out of the nearest window. The human gave up as soon as his flat gaze slid to Brock. Releasing Jenna's ankle, he ducked back to scramble ass-first through the gaping windshield.

"Minion," Brock snarled, hatred for the soulless mind slave making his blood boil even hotter with fury.

These two men were definitely Dragos's loyal hounds. Bled by him to within an inch of their lives, they would serve Dragos in whatever capacity he required, obedient to their dying breath. Brock wanted to speed the escaping human to that final moment personally. Kill him with his bare hands.

He damn well would, but not until he made sure Jenna was safe.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, stripping off his leather gloves with his teeth and tossing them aside so he could touch her. He smoothed his fingers over her pale, pretty face, then reached down to catch her under the arms.

"Come on, let's get you out of here."

She shook her head vigorously. "I'm fine, but my leg is pinned between the seats. Go after him, Brock. That man is working with Dragos!"

"I know," he said. "He's a Minion, and he doesn't matter. But you do.

Hold on to me, baby. I'm gonna get you free now."

Something metallic popped outside the car. The loud ping echoed sharply, then another one sounded, and still another.