Page 138 of Played By Design

After another check of the cameras to make sure the coast is clear, I cross to the door.

The lock disengages with a soft click, and I push it open far enough to slip through. I ignore the destruction in my office as I walk barefoot into the dark hallway, the emergency lighting from the safe room throwing a thin red stripe across the floorboards.

I step out and pull the door shut behind me.

From the living room comes the murmur of voices, too distant to understand.

Every instinct in my body pulls me toward where Kain is being held with a knife at his throat, but the basement stairs come first.

I reach the top of the stairs and freeze.

The second intruder is already at the bottom, one hand on the rail, flashlight beam bouncing off the concrete wall. In another dozen feet, he’ll be inside Kain’s office.

Without hesitation, I raise the gun and aim. But Rowan’s warning fills my head, and I adjust at the last second.

Target: Thigh. Nonlethal.

I squeeze the trigger.

A soft wump splits the air, and the gun jumps in my hand. The man jerks, his leg buckling, and he goes down hard into the stair rail with a grunt that turns into a choked cry. The flashlight clatters down the steps and rolls, throwing wild shadows across the walls.

Before the echo fades, I’m on him, the butt of my gun cracking into his skull. The man crashes to the floor. A zip tie comes from my pocket, and his wrists go behind his back, then his ankles, each tie yanked until the plastic bites into skin.

Blood pools beneath him on the floor, dark and glossy in the beam from the flashlight. Leaving him to bleed would be faster, but I might not be able to take the other guy down without killing him.

Precious seconds disappear as I strip off his belt and use it as a tourniquet around his thigh. The knife clipped to his belt goes into my pocket.

Then I’m moving again, taking the stairs two at a time back upstairs.

The living room is twenty feet from the kitchen. I approach from the dining room, keeping to the wall, and peer around the doorframe.

The lead intruder crouches in front of Kain, one hand fisted in his hair, pulling his head back. The knife is gone. In its place, the man holds a phone close to Kain’s face, recording.

“I’m asking one more time,” the man says. “Where is the stored data from Lantern Key?”

Kain’s eyes are open, blood crusted along his jaw, but his mouth stays shut.

The man backhands him across the mouth, and Kain’s head snaps to the side. Fresh blood wells from his split lip.

Fury reds out my vision, and I shoot the intruder’s hand.

With a scream of pain, he whips toward me just as I take out his knee, sending him to the ground.

I stride forward, aiming for his head.

“Bunny, stop,” Kain commands.

I freeze with a yard still between us. “He hurt you.”

“And you hurt him. You did well,” Kain soothes.

I meet the man’s pain-filled stare. “I want to delete him.”

“We need him alive,” Kain says.

An annoyed huff escapes me. “I secured the one in the basement. We don’t need two.”

The man lets the knife fall. “I’m unarmed.”