Burke fought for breath in short, tremulous gasps. He didn't have the strength in him even to fill his lungs fully, let alone try to renew the battle.
The fingers left his throat and fumbled at his wrists; then his ankles.
Burke began to get better control of his breathing. Forcing himself to ignore his aching head and battered body, he pried his eyes open.
Bull-necked Theseus squatted by his side, leering down at him. The Greek gripped the Smith & Wesson in one hand, and every line of his face and stance mirrored gloating triumph.
Cold with rage—or was it partly panic?—Burke stared up at his captor. But when he tried to move his arms to lift himself, he found that they were bound together.
Beside him, the Athenian chuckled unpleasantly. "That Minos is smart, isn't he?"
Burke stared. "Minos—?"
"Sure. He told me I'd catch you if I just played drunk long enough." The other's smirk broadened. "That's how much he hates you, see? He said he'd let me and the others go, forget all that crazy stuff with the Minotaur. All I had to do was grab you before you could sneak away someplace with Ariadne."
It was all Burke could do to keep from groaning.
If Theseus noticed, he ignored it. "Me, I've got a better idea. Something really clever. You'll love it."