Penthouse.
Son of a bitch. That had to be where Willow was being held. Every instinct he had lit with cold, murderous certainty.
He jabbed the button but it did nothing. Protected by some kind of access code. Razor hit the panel with a mental command, blasting through the feeble electronic security system with the power of his mind.
Shoving the dead guard out of the elevator car with his boot, he stood back and waited for the doors to close and the lift to begin ascending to the top floor.
He sensed the presence of more armed security personnel even before the elevator opened into the foyer of a lavish penthouse. Two hulking guards gaped with shock as they spotted him.
Like their comrade, they grabbed for their weapons as if bullets would stop him. The fact that he was Breed was enough to render the pair walking dead men; his determination to reach Willow made Razor something far worse than lethal.
With fangs bared and talons out, he took down both guards in less than seconds. His boots moved silently over the polished wood and tile of the penthouse. Whoever it belonged to must have felt he was secure enough with just a handful of heavily armed men to safeguard him in his massive private office and living space at the top of the corporate tower.
It would have taken more than a full-scale army to keep Razor from Willow.
He was so close to her location now, his veins throbbed.
Rounding a corner in the art-lined corridor of the sprawling residence, he came upon a closed steel door at the far end of the hallway. He stalked toward it, rage building like an inferno inside him.
A state-of-the-art retina scanner lock was mounted into the thick concrete wall outside the door. Razor didn’t even bother to short-circuit the panel. Seizing the door handle, he tore the reinforced steel panel from its hinges with his bare hands and tossed it behind him.
A man stood inside what appeared to be a private hospital examination room. He was wearing a blood-spattered white lab coat, a look of utter disbelief on his face as Razor took a step through the gaping hole.
But for all the man’s shock, he was still managing to hold a scalpel against Willow’s neck as she lay semiconscious on a hospital bed near where he stood.
“Don’t come any closer,” the middle-aged human warned. The sharp edge of his blade gleamed under the cold white light shining down on Willow’s diminished form.
Razor growled, flexing his talon-tipped fingers. He could move faster than any man, but one slip of that scalpel and Willow’s throat would be slashed wide open.
She must have sensed he was near. Her eyelids lifted lethargically, and those beautiful green eyes of hers locked on him through her obviously drugged haze. “Razor . . .”
With horror, he realized it wasn’t only sedatives sapping her strength. All the medical tubes and beeping monitors hooked up to her—all the lines carrying her blood from her body to the collection machines situated around her bedside—the sick bastard standing next to her had nearly drained her dry.
Willow was dying right before his eyes.
“You son of a bitch,” Razor snarled, his voice low, utterly inhuman. “You’re killing her.”
He started to lunge forward, but her captor pushed the scalpel even tighter against her throat. So tight, beads of blood began to gather against the glittering steel.
The man holding the blade shook his head. “I said, stay back. You may have stormed your way in here, but this is my domain. You and your kind have had your reign for long enough. Tonight, I’ve taken back the control that has always, rightfully, belonged to us. To mankind. What my father was prevented from completing, finally, I have finished.”
Insanity crackled in the man’s gaze, but his words started fitting together like a jigsaw puzzle in Razor’s mind. “Your father was Henry Lewis.”
“Dr. Henry Lewis,” he corrected with a jut of his bearded chin. “He was a great man. A brilliant physician whose work would’ve changed this world for the better—”
“Your father was a genocidal piece of shit who deserved to die. So are you.”
He laughed at the threat. “Even if you kill me, you can’t stop my work. UWSI—”
“UWSI is finished,” Razor informed him. “Your labs downstairs, your computers, all of your research and formulas. It’s all gone now. You’ve lost control of your entire operation tonight. Serenicure will never see the light of day. Neither will you.”
Finally, a crack in the man’s veneer of confidence. He flinched, and the momentary inattention to the scalpel he held was all the opportunity Razor needed.
Moving so fast he was nothing but a blur of motion, he pounced on Willow’s captor. Talons flashing like black blades, he tore the human apart and flung his shredded corpse to the other side of the room, as far away from Willow as possible.
Going her bedside, all his focus—all his concern—was centered on her. Retracting his talons, he tenderly stroked her clammy brow. “Love, can you hear me? You’re safe now, Willow.”
He wasn’t sure he believed that, though he desperately wanted to.
