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“That’s the one.” Darien watched as Gaven’s men disappeared through the revolving glass doors. These two had been in the warehouse with Darien that time Gaven had killed several of his own men and threatened the rest. The day Darien had held his men aloft and nearly strangled them to death with his magic. “He and I have…a score to settle.”
Jack explained, “He burned down Darien’s restaurant.”
“My mom’s restaurant,” Darien clarified. He opened his door. “Kylar, wait here. Jack, come with me.”
Jack left the truck running and unbuckled his seatbelt. “We’re going to kill them in broad daylight?”
“We’re going to watch them,” Darien said. “I want to see where they’re going, who they’re with.” Gaven—he wanted to see if they were with Gaven. He wasn’t so stupid as to think he could kill them in a city that wasn’t his, and with so many people around, but if he found out Gaven was hiding out here, in this fancy as shit hotel…
Then the man was fucking dead.
There was a plus side to Yveswich being so cold; no one questioned hoods, heavy jackets, or gloves. Darien pulled on the hood of his sweatshirt, Jack doing the same at his side as they crossed the road. It was still raining, the wind pelting their faces with half-frozen drops.
They had just made it across the road and were nearing the sidewalk when the hotel exploded.
36
The Financial District
YVESWICH, STATE OF KER
Darien and Jack were thrown backward by the blast.
The first and second floors of the hotel exploded, an eruption of fire, brick, broken glass, and burning wood tearing down the street, slicing telephone poles clean in half and overturning cars.
Darien struck the ground in the middle of the road, bricks shattering into red dust all around him, and rolled. The moment he stopped spinning, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Pain lanced through every bone, but he shook it off, flexing his jaw to pop the pressure in his ringing ears.
Fuck, he couldn’t stand up. His vision was spinning, blood dripping out of his ears and nose. The impact had torn his clothes and filled them with mud and gravel.
Traffic screeched to a stop. In the distance, beyond the bubble of destruction, people got out of their vehicles to stare. Several feet away, Jack was recovering where he’d slammed into a parked car. He was bleeding from the side of his head, and there was a bunch of glass and mud on his clothes. He’d set off the car alarm, headlights flashing, horn blaring.
Darien spat out a mouthful of blood and pushed to his feet just as a fleet of cop cars, ambulances, and fire trucks came flying around the corner.
He caught sight of Kylar getting out of the truck—
“Stay there!” Darien barked, knuckling away the blood leaking from his nose. He waved for Kylar to get back inside. He did, moving to the driver’s seat instead. The spells and tinted windows hid every trace of him from view.
Good.
Several cops and detectives got out of their cars and stormed this way, hands on their guns, while paramedics and firefighters headed toward the building. The warlock detective at the head of the group had a shaved head, a scar by his mouth. He was tall—almost taller than Darien, but with less muscle on him. He was dressed in typical MPU getup—suit jacket and pants, badge engraved with the symbol of the YMPU glinting on his hip.
“Turn around!” the detective bellowed. “You’re under arrest.”
Jack said, “What the fuck for?”
A cold smile pulled at Darien’s mouth as he watched the dickhead detective advance on him. “For being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Darien said, breath fogging before him.
The detective gestured to one of the cops, who stepped forward and cuffed them, Darien first and then Jack.
Jack fought against their hold. “We didn’t do anything!”
“Jack,” Darien warned.
The detective came within three inches of Darien, a condescending sneer on his face. “Then I’m sure you wouldn’t mind answering some questions down at the station,” he clipped, eyes cold as the air, “Darien Cassel.”
“I’m going to ask you one more time.”
Darien sat in a chair in one of several interrogation rooms at Yveswich Law Enforcement Headquarters. His hands rested on the table, the long chains of his cuffs threaded through an opening in the middle of the wood, where they looped through a ring bolted to the underside.
