The sound of the front door opening jerked P.J.’s attention from Nelson long enough to see that she’d been made.

A gunshot sounded and pain lashed through P.J.’s leg. Stupid motherfucker couldn’t aim for shit.

She squeezed off a shot, downing the guy who came out the door. Then she turned rapidly to Nelson, who was attempting to flee. She shot him in the back of the leg, just to slow him down, and then she turned her attention back to the front entrance.

When two more men appeared, she dove behind one of the armored cars, ignoring the screaming agony in her leg and the smell of blood.

In the distance, Nelson lay on the ground writhing in pain, shouting curses and orders for someone to give him cover.

Hoping they were temporarily distracted by Nelson’s rantings, she pushed herself upward, leaning on the car, and got three shots off. She ducked back down and then peered underneath the car toward the steps. One of the men was lying motionless, half down the steps, his leg dangling in the shrubbery.

She couldn’t see the other, which meant he was either on top of her or he’d run back inside.

She glanced down at her leg and swore as she saw all the blood soaking her pants. It was just a flesh wound. A clean through and through. Thank God the bullet hadn’t hit bone or she wouldn’t be walking.

Pain she could handle.

She picked herself up again, took a clip out and shoved another in.

“Come get me, fuckers,” she bit out.

There were six unaccounted for. A total of ten men had arrived, including Nelson and Brumley. Three were dead and Nelson was on the ground whimpering like a baby.

A loud roar sounded. P.J.’s brow wrinkled and then she realized it was a chopper starting up. Son of a bitch. Brumley was escaping.

Throwing caution straight down the toilet, she bolted from behind the car and ran for the front entrance. She passed the one dead guy on the steps and nearly tripped over the second guy who’d shot at her.

He was lying just inside the foyer, eyes wide open in death. Now there were only five unaccounted for. She was relieved to know she still had good aim.

Teeth clenched to ward off the pain, she shuffled as fast as her injured leg would allow through the house, gun up, clearing each room she hurried through.

When she got to the back enclosure, she saw the helicopter lift into the air.

“No!”

Goddamn it. She couldn’t lose him. Not when she’d been this close.

She dashed through the doorway and raised her gun, squeezing off shot after shot at the departing helicopter. Through the glass, she saw Brumley. Made eye contact with him. The bastard actually looked at her and gave her a cocky two-finger salute.

She took another shot, even knowing it was pointless. She fired until she was out of ammo and then let her arms fall to her sides. She closed her eyes in bitter disappointment.

Failed.

She turned, having to drag her leg. It was growing more numb all the time, and as the adrenaline wore off, the pain became more unbearable.

There was still Nelson to contend with.

She popped in another clip and limped through the house, delighting in the fact that she’d tracked blood all over the posh furnishings. When she walked back out the front, she saw Nelson trying to drag himself to one of the cars.

Stupid fuck.

Unlike the idiot who shot her, she’d placed her bullet so it shattered his leg. He didn’t have a prayer of walking anywhere.

She holstered her pistol and then opened the knife. The blood of the two other men she’d killed had dried on it and she hadn’t bothered to clean it. It would only get dirty again.

She came to a stop just over Nelson, and he turned his head upward, his eyes full of fear as he stared into hers.

“D-don’t k-kill me,” he stammered. “Please, I’ll do whatever you want.”

She shook her head. “You’re a pathetic piece of shit, Nelson. You’re quite the badass when you’re up against a drugged, helpless woman. Not so badass when she’s armed.”

She kicked him so he rolled to his back, and he let out another groan when it jarred his leg. Then she knelt awkwardly, grimacing as her own bullet wound protested the motion.

It should feel empowering to tower over the man who’d brutalized her and know that his fate was entirely up to her. That he was begging her for the mercy he’d been unwilling to give her.

But all she felt was paralyzing fear. Panic rose, making her shaky where she’d been rock steady just before. She stared into his eyes and remembered staring into them when he’d raped her. They were as soulless now as they’d been then, only then they’d glowed with power. A savagery that he’d enjoyed despite his grumbling that he preferred a fight.

The knife shook, and she tightened her grip, fully intending to mark him as he’d done her.

“Where can I find your boss?” she demanded.

He spit at her, and she backhanded him with the butt of the pistol. Blood streamed from his lips and nose as he turned back to glare his hatred.

“Tell me what I want to know or I’ll gut you like a pig and leave you here to die a very slow, painful death. The buzzards might not even wait for you to die before they start feasting.”

He paled and licked his lips, but he hesitated.

She flicked the blade at the fly of his pants and deftly sliced the material so it gaped open. Then she pressed the blade under his navel and carved a line from one side to the other, drawing blood.

He screamed in pain and sucked air through his nostrils. He was gasping like a fish sucking his last breath on land.

She put the tip of the blade lower until it rested right over his dick. He went completely still, his eyes so wide with fright that they bulged and looked as though they’d pop right out of their sockets.

“Okay, okay! Just take it easy. I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just put the knife down for God’s sake.”

“Tell me where to find Brumley,” she said coldly.

“He’ll be in Jakarta,” he choked out. “Three weeks. You won’t find him until then. I don’t even know where he plans to be. But there’s a big deal going down there. One of his contacts has promised him the best of the best girls. If his contact is telling the truth, this will make Brumley millions. He’s already lining up buyers based on information he’s received about the girls. Guy’s name is Dimas. He’s a big shot in Jakarta. Local businessman who’s delving into human trafficking for the first time. Word is, he’s delivering virgins and Brumley’s clientele is going nuts. He’s planning to auction them individually in an exclusive, high-security, extremely private venue on the island he owns.”

P.J.’s lips curled into a snarl and a sound of rage burned deep in her chest and bubbled outward, vibrating her throat. Red clouded her vision. She raised the knife, prepared to end it now.

“Hands up!”

She froze, fear scuttling through her stomach. She turned her head to see two armed men at the corner of the house. They carried assault rifles and they were both pointed at her.

One man jerked the barrel of the rifle in an upward motion to indicate she was to raise her hands.

Fuck. She’d acted like a goddamn rookie seeing her first live action. She’d holstered the gun instead of keeping it out because she’d assumed that the house had been vacated and that all of Brumley’s men had escaped with him. As Steele always said, people who assume are usually the ones who end up dead.

She’d forgotten her training, so eager had she been to exact justice. And now she was going to pay dearly for that mistake.

The two men started forward, their guns never lowering. P.J. kept her hands in the air, the knife still gripped in one of them.

She could probably take one of them out by throwing the blade when they got close enough, but she’d have to rely on the other guy either being distracted or missing if he shot so she’d have enough time to draw her own gun.

As if reading her thoughts, the two spread out, circling in a wide berth around her. Then one motioned for her to get down on her knees.

Her mind buzzed with possibilities. She had to think of a way out of this.

She started downward, taking her time, playing up the injury to her leg as if she were close to dying. She groaned and grunted before settling to her knees. The entire way down, she slowly lowered her empty hand, hoping the men were more fixated on the one holding the knife.

Just a little more . . .

“She’s going for her gun!” Nelson cried out.

P.J. cringed and waited for the bullet to hit her.

To her utter shock, one of the men went rigid. A hole bloomed on his forehead and blood streamed down his face as he slowly crumpled to the ground like a deflated balloon.

She went for her gun and rolled, just as the other man went down, blood splattering everywhere.

A hand grabbed her ankle and jerked. She tried to kick with her injured leg and couldn’t hold back the scream of pain. She came up with a vengeance, launching herself at Nelson. He was desperate to save his ass and she was just as determined to kill him.

She didn’t have time to wonder what the hell had just happened to the other two. If she didn’t take Nelson out, he would take her out.

She doubled her fist and punched him in the jaw. When he reeled back, she jumped on him, knife in hand. He grasped her wrist and squeezed, but she refused to let go of her weapon. She punched him with her free hand, but his grasp didn’t loosen.

Son of a bitch. She wasn’t going down to this bastard and she wasn’t going to let him break her arm.