Swane walked over and, with his foot, he shoved the woman onto her back. Hands and feet tied, she blinked blankly as froth trickled from her toothless mouth. “Another goner.” Swane nudged her with his boot.

“Get rid of her.”

“Will do.” Swane’s mouth pulled into a twisted smile as he set his boot on the woman’s throat.

Before Vic could move, she heard the crunch of breaking cartilage, and then it was too late. Sucking air through her teeth, she tried to stay motionless against the fury rising inside.

Expressionless, Swane watched the old woman’s strangling efforts to breathe, her death spasms. When her body finally stilled, pleasure shone in his eyes, and his filthy jeans showed his erection.

Sick bastard. Vic clenched her jaw. She should have done something, created a diversion. I didn’t save a helpless woman. Her war-torn past stretched out behind her, littered with bodies-testaments to the times she hadn’t moved fast enough, discovered enough information, or pushed herself hard enough. The ones she’d failed.

“You were clever to test this first, boss.” Swane glanced at the body. “You could have ended up like her.”

“Why are they dying, dammit? Why the fuck don’t they change?” The suit hit the table with his fist, then stared at the dead woman. “They’ve all been druggies, alcoholics. Maybe they’re too unhealthy to survive being bit.” When his gaze lit on Vic, he walked toward her.

She closed her eyes completely.

“Didn’t kill her, Swane?” His voice held a thinly concealed taunt. “The bitch looks healthy enough. Let’s give her a try.”

“No. She’s mine. I kept this piece of ass for me, not you.”

Vic’s skin crawled at the thick lust in his voice. Icy fear punched past the tight grip she’d maintained on her emotions.