Kelley Armstrong - Stolen

He didn't move. His gaze flicked down. I whacked his head against the tree.

"Thinking of knocking my legs out from under me? Don't bother. You do and we both fall. Now, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not trying to kill you. In fact, I haven't laid an unprovoked hand on you, have I?"

A glimmer of cunning lit his eyes. "You want to negotiate."

"Maybe."

"Fifteen million."

"I thought we were up to twenty-five?"

"Twenty then."

"Oh, so that's how it works? Once I show some interest, the offer goes down. A true businessman."

His mouth tightened. "Fine. Twenty-five."

I pretended to consider it. "You know, Clay was right. We don't need money. We have enough. Wanting more would be greedy."

"Thirty million."

I grabbed him by the shirt collar and swung him over the side. His feet scrambled for purchase, finding only air. I shifted sideways and rested my back against the tree. When he clawed at me, I thrust him out to arm's length.

"Offer me more," I said.

His mouth tightened. I let him slip to my fingertips. He flailed, all four limbs jerking, convulsing, lashing out. I started to release my grip.

"Fifty million," he said.

"Not enough." I let him slip another half-inch. "Offer me everything."

"What?!"

I released one hand from his shirtfront.

"Okay, okay! Fine!"

I grabbed and steadied him. He gulped air, then cast a surreptitious glance at the ground and shuddered.

"Let's clarify that," I said. "What exactly are you offering?"

"My estate. All of it."

"Your personal estate? Not good enough. I want your business holdings, too. Every dollar, every share, every last thing you own. Offer me that."

"Wh-what would I live on?"

"Start over. You're a smart guy. You could make a living. At least you'll be alive. That's more than we can say for Lake and Bryce, isn't it?"

"I'll give you my holdings in everything but Promethean Fire."

I let go. He shrieked, arms windmilling. Before he fell, I grabbed him by the shirtfront, hauled him up, and bent over him.

"Wanna try again?" I said.

His shirt tore, just an inch, but the sound ripped through the silence like a chainsaw.

"All of it," he said. "Goddamn you. Take it all."

"'Cause nothing's worse than dying, right? Tell me, Ty, what would you have done if Armen Haig had made you the same offer? Promised you everything he had? Would you have let him live?"

Winsloe's shirt tore another inch. He stared at me, wild-eyed, lips moving soundlessly.

"Let me answer that for you, Ty. It's 'no.' He could have offered you millions and you still would have killed him. Why? Because his death was worth more than all the money he could give. The few seconds of amusement his death offered was worth more."

"Please," he said. "Please, I'm going to-"

"Fall? Hah. Too easy. You fall. Clay rips your throat out. Game over."

"It's not a fucking game!"

I cupped my hand behind my ear. "What's that, Ty? I think I misheard you."

"I said this isn't a fucking game. It's my life!"

"No, it's your death. Hey, there's an idea. Not a game, but a game show. This Is Your Death. Now, I've got to admit, I'm a bit young to have seen This Is Your Life. I only know the title, so I'll have to improvise. Cross it with something I do remember watching as a kid. Let's Make a Deal. "

I pulled him back onto the branch and helped him get his balance, keeping my hands wrapped in his shirtfront.

"You-you want to negotiate." He wiped sweat from his face and swallowed loudly. "Okay. Good. Let's negotiate."

"Negotiate? Hell, no. I'm making a deal regarding the method of your execution, Ty. You're going to die. That's a given. The only question is how ?"

"N-no. No. Wait. Let's talk-"

"About what? You've already offered me everything you own. You have nothing else to offer, do you?"

He stared, mouth working soundlessly.

"You've offered everything. I rejected that offer. So you're going to die. Why? Because I finally see your point of view. You've convinced me. Watching someone die can be worth more than all the money in the world."

His face drained of blood, mouth opening and closing like a fish on land.

"Behind door number one we have the most obvious choice. You fall from this tree. Only I'll make sure Clay doesn't kill you. And I won't drop you, I'll throw you. Hard enough to break every limb, but not hard enough to kill you. Then we'll gag you and leave you to die, slowly and painfully.

"Behind door number two-"

"No," he said, his voice nearly inaudible. "No. Don't-"

"Hey, I'm just getting warmed up. You know what I admire most about you, Ty? Your creativity. Your ingenuity. Like giving me the choice between killing Armen or being gang-raped. You've inspired me to new heights of creativity, so shut up and listen.

"Option two. Remember that video you saw of me fighting Lake? The one where I change my hand into a claw? Cool trick, huh? Well, here's my idea. I change my hand and slice open your guts. Not a lot, maybe pull out a bit of intestine, start a steady blood drip. You know what they say about gunshot wounds? That the gut shot is the absolute worst. Takes forever to die and hurts like the fires of Hell. Which, if you ask me, would be a good precursor to what you can expect from your eternity. I kind of like that one. Very appropriate. To hell with the game, I'm going for this one."

I pressed my hand against his stomach. He convulsed and a strong, acrid scent wafted up. I looked down to see a wet stain spreading down his pant leg.

"Shit, Ty. I was only kidding." I waved my hand in front of him.

"Stop it," he whispered. "Just stop-"

"Can't. You remember Let's Make a Deal , don't you? You're about my age, so you must have seen it as a kid. There's a door number three left. And behind this one we have… hmmm." I looked around, then caught a glimpse of something overhead. "There. See that bird flying to the east? Know what that is? A turkey vulture. Also known as a buzzard. A scavenger. That will be the last choice. Death by scavenger. I take you down from this tree and stake you out on the ground. Then I slice you up. Lots of little, nonlethal slices, just enough to draw blood. Before long, you'll get a firsthand view of every scavenger in these woods. Oh, and I'll need to cut out your tongue so you can't scream. A definite sadistic improvement over gagging, don't you think? You should be proud of me, Ty. I'm your star pupil. Oh, speaking of pupils, I won't blindfold you. That way you can see the vultures and stray dogs as they feed on you. Well, until the vultures take your eyes-"

"Stop!" His voice rose, nearly shrill. "I know what you're doing. You want me to beg for my life. To offer you more."

"What more? You've offered everything, Ty. And I said no."

His eyes rolled, rabid with fear and denial. "No. You won't kill me. I'm worth too much."

"You're worth nothing. Only your death is worth something to me."

"No! You won't do it, Elena. I know you won't. You want to scare me, but you'd never-"

"Never?"

"You don't have it in you."

"Option one, two, or three. Pick now."

"You're torturing me. That's all. You only want to see me squirm. You don't have it-"

I grabbed him by the throat and hauled him off his feet. Then I pressed my face against his.

"Don't tell me what I don't have in me."

I growled. Saw the terror in his eyes and drank it in. Then I let him go. Clay ripped out his throat before his body hit the ground.

After killing Winsloe, Clay Changed, and we returned to our clothing. No time for lingering. There was still work to be done at the compound. Every bit of evidence had to be found and destroyed. Then we had to remove all traces of our presence. Eventually someone would find the compound and the bodies within. To decrease the likelihood of a large-scale police investigation, Paige had hacked into the computer system early this morning and transferred the property deed to a Colombian drug cartel. Don't ask me how she even knew the name of a South American dope lord. Some questions are better left unanswered. As for Winsloe, we'd disposed of his body in a way that ensured he'd never be found. How? Well, that's another one of those questions. The point was that no one would ever find Winsloe or link him to the compound, which would avoid the media blitz that would surround his death.