Mine to Crave (Mine 4)

“Only she’s not with the cops now. She just left with an asshole I think you know…Special Agent Victor Monroe.”

His temples were about to burst. “Monroe has been trying to nail me for years.”

“Yeah, well, he’s got Jazz. And now I’m wondering…is he going to get her to turn on you?”

“She won’t have the chance,” Maxwell vowed. And it was also time that he eliminated Monroe. That bastard had been a thorn in his side for far too long. “Follow them, and wait for orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

Saxon had been friends with Jazz, but there was no hesitation in his voice now. Maxwell knew the man realized that Jazz couldn’t be given the chance to turn on them.

Death was her only option.

***

“So how much longer do I have to wear the cuffs?” Jasmine asked Victor as they rolled through the city. The traffic seemed to pass her in a blur. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. Being led out in handcuffs was a nice touch.”

“I thought so,” Victor said, voice a bit amused as he kept his eyes on the road. He was taking them away from the busier streets. The traffic around them began to thin. “Made us look all official.”

She looked down at the handcuffs around her wrists. “They’re a little tight.”

“Well, they aren’t supposed to be fashion bracelets.” He braked at a red light and reached for her wrist. A quick turn of his key, and the handcuffs popped off. His fingers slid over her wrists, massaging quickly right before the light changed to green.

The SUV shot forward. This time, they were the only car on the road. Victor knew how to find all the forgotten streets in a city—that was his talent.

We have to vanish, and he’s making that happen.

“How’s your jaw?” she asked him quietly.

“Throbbing like a bitch,” was his immediate reply. “Archer has a killer punch.”

“He boxes,” she heard herself whisper. Her lips quirked at that. “Or at least, he said he did.” Would Drake be surprised to know just how much she knew about boxing? Maybe she’d tell him. Maybe—

He’ll never know. Jasmine swallowed and tried to push the lump in her throat far, far down.

“Jasmine?”

She straightened in her seat. “Th-thanks for not having him arrested.”

“I might be able to use him later. Figured it was to my advantage to have the guy owing me.”

Yes, Victor did like to use people. Use or be used…that was his motto. Always had been. “I’d…prefer that you didn’t.”

His gaze slid to her when he braked at another deserted light. The buildings around them were all old, boarded up. A street that had been forgotten after the hurricane.

“Let him have his life,” Jasmine said. “Just leave him alone.”

Victor laughed at that. “Ah, Jazz, don’t go soft for him. He told me you were little better than trash and that he wanted you out of his life.” He accelerated once more.

Her chest burned. “It doesn’t matter what he said about me. I want you to leave him alone.”

“A little late for you to be making demands, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not because I’m the one here with all of the—”

Gunfire erupted.

The SUV’s front windshield shattered. Jasmine screamed. Victor swore and jerked the wheel to the left, and as the vehicle lurched, a hail of gunfire slammed into Jasmine’s side of the SUV.

“Get down!” Victor yelled.

She was already in the floorboard. “Get us out of here!” Jasmine yelled right back at him.

The SUV’s engine revved and—

Then the vehicle lurched once more. Harder this time.

“Tires,” he snarled. “They shot at—”

The SUV twisted, turned, and Jasmine clamped her lips shut to hold back her screams as they flew toward a tall, metal lamp post.

Then more gunfire erupted…

***

Drake’s foot shoved down the gas pedal as he raced through the back streets of New Orleans. Jasmine and that FBI Agent didn’t have much of a lead time on him. He sure as hell hadn’t planned to stay at the station with Taggert and calm down.

Jasmine had looked so hurt. Victor was a prick, and Drake wanted to do more than just drive his fist into the guy’s face.

Jasmine had been cuffed. Helpless. He’d just wanted to take her away. To protect her.

He turned another corner, his gaze scanning the empty streets. They were gone. Dammit. Finding them now was going to be nearly impossible.

Rat-a-tat.

When he heard the sound of gunfire, Drake didn’t slow down. He sped up even more as his heart thundered in his chest. He cleared the next set of red lights, and then his heart nearly stopped.

The FBI Agent’s SUV was on its side. Glass littered the narrow street, and two armed men—wearing black ski masks—were pulling someone from the wreckage.

Jasmine.

She was fighting them. Kicking, twisting her body, but they were dragging her toward a gray van that waited just a few feet away.

He slammed on his brakes. Grabbed for his own weapon—good thing he’d brought it from the Masquerade—and rushed out of his car. “Let her go!”

One of the men turned at his shout. The guy lifted his weapon and took aim at Drake.

The other masked asshole heaved Jasmine back against him and nearly succeeded in tossing her into the van.

“Drake!” Her scream chilled him.

Drake dove to the ground, and the bullet missed him. But in the next instant he was firing, and Drake found his target. The jerk who’d shot at him grunted and staggered back.

Then Drake was moving again. Staying low and going in fast, he raced right toward Jasmine. Her hands had locked around the side of the van and she was kicking out at her captor.

The guy was so busy keeping her in check that he didn’t turn to face Drake, not until it was too late. Then Drake hit him hard and fast, and the guy’s head slammed into the side of the van.

“Drake,” now her voice was a stunned whisper.

He grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. She was shaking and there were scratches on her hands, but she seemed okay.

He locked his hand with hers and rushed back to his car. He pushed her into the passenger seat.

“Victor!” She grabbed for Drake, holding on tightly. “You have to make sure he’s okay. He-he wasn’t moving when they took me.”

She was worried about the FBI agent?