Page 61 of The Hunted
Sam sported one of his downright irritating yet cheeky smirks, causing my belly to twist in a delicious way.
Roman chuckled. “Sleeping with the enemy is the only way to get information.”
Maybe with a moron, but Sam was far from a moron, and no matter how much I flirted with him or fucked him, he wouldn’t spill his deepest secrets to me. I sure wouldn’t if the tables were turned.
“I want to talk to Jordyn.” I infused as much sweetness in my tone as I could. I always believed everyone had a soft side. Maybe I shouldn’t lump vampires in with “everyone.”
“Vera is having a great time with Jordyn.” Roman had too much giddiness in his voice for me.
I fisted my free hand. “I swear, I—”
“Now, now,” he said innocently. “Careful. Your threats will only seal your sister’s demise.”
I captured a nail between my teeth. “If your sources are right, then what?”
Sam glared daggers at the phone in my hand, or maybe his hard look was directed at me.
“Then I’ll take it from here,” Roman said. “You have twenty-four hours to bring me information, or say goodbye to your sister.” Then he was gone.
I threw my phone against the wall, narrowly missing Sam’s head. I was at my wit’s end. “I don’t know howonejob turned into a nightmare.”
I was waiting for him to volley back a retort or something snarky. Instead, he picked up my phone and handed me the irritating piece of technology that now had a cracked screen.
A tattooed hulk of a vampire breezed in with a goofy smile. “Sam, you got a fighter on your hands.” His dark mahogany eyes swept over me as he beelined for Wyman. “All right, Wyman. Up on your feet.”
Wyman leaned away from him. “Where are you taking me?”
The hulking vampire grasped his arm. “To the Taj Mahal.”
“No!” Wyman’s voice rose in pitch. “Mason, I can help you.”
Sam tipped his chin at the hulking vampire. “Kraft, get him out of here.”
Kraft started to haul a squirming Wyman across the room.
I jumped up. “Wait. Let him speak.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” Wyman said to Sam.
“We don’t make deals with humans,” Kraft fired back. “Not ones who want to turn us over to the CIA.”
“That was just a threat,” Wyman squeaked out.
I inched closer to Wyman, who was about three inches taller than me, and I remembered something that gave me hope. “You followed me here. You have been following my sisters and me.” It wasn’t a question. “Does that mean you know where Roman is holding Jordyn?”
“I know where they went, but I’m not sure if they’re still there,” he said.
“On the Indian Reservation?” Sam asked, eagerness dripping in his question.
Wyman shrugged out of Kraft’s hold, or rather Kraft let him go. Wyman rubbed his arm. “They’re at the house next door to Layla’s.”
My jaw hit the floor. “No way. Which neighbor?” I didn’t have to ask but needed confirmation.
“His name is Gerald Becker,” Wyman said. “Single, thirty-five, family died in a fire when he was fifteen, and he’s employed by the port authority. Oh, and he’s human. I saw Roman pull the car around the back of Gerald’s property, behind a shed.”
I continued to chomp on a nail. “The man gives me the willies.”
“Did he try something with you?” Sam’s nostrils flared as though he was ready to tear off Gerald’s head.
