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Two more men pour out of the SUV.
“This is Dragon and Ares.” My brother makes fast introductions. Handshakes go around. They are just as jacked as my men with deep scowls as permanent fixtures on their faces. It must be a mob thing because there is no other job description men like them would have. Except for mercenaries. They could be that, too.
But the skull swallowing fire on the back of their leather vests is a clue they might be the biker gang my men talked about earlier this morning.
The one with long black hair looks more prepared for what is about to happen than the cops and firefighters not fifty feet from us. I’ve never seen a man with so many weapons on his person before.
“Army of one?” I quip and he gives me a toothy grin. “Rely on yourself, baby, and you will never be sorry.”
Good advice. “Nyx.”
“Dragon.” He takes my hand in his leather-covered one and pumps it once.
A uniformed man with a shiny badge pinned to his chest and a Glock on his side tells his partner something and then starts walking our way.
Oh shit.
Marco spots him and stands there with a challenging look on his face.
My heart thumps wildly.
Lawmen against mobsters. I’ve seen how this turns out in the movies. I guess we are about to find out how it goes down in real life.
Marco pushes me toward my brother and says, “Protect her.” And then he’s off. When I think a shootout is about to happen, the cop only reaches out and shakes Marco’s hand. It dawns on me in that instant. How can I be so damn blind? The fact the police are doing nothing but looking our way once before turning their backs tells me if I’d gone to the cops with my video and stolen SD card I would have been knocking on closed doors. The Lords of Chaos own this side of town and its cops.
“Where are Alaric and Ryth?”
I look over at my brother just in time to see my men walking out of the side exit over the edge of his shoulder, a small child tucked into Alaric’s arms. I don’t wait for them to come to me. My feet are moving in their direction on their own accord so quickly that I don’t notice the black van until it’s blocking my path.
The door is thrown open and a sneering man with spiked blond hair and coffee-stained teeth growls down at me. I’ve seen evil in the flesh before, but this man is made of something far worse. I stumble back to keep my feet from being run over. Arms windmill. I reach out to grab onto something, but it’s no use. Hard asphalt grinds into the backs of my legs and palms.
I rethink my exit plan. But a tight fist grips the top of my head before I can put all my energy into backtracking. Pain shoots through me and I clamp my hands around the arm holding onto a fistful of my hair.
“Get her in here and fast!” someone from the front of the van yells.
A raging fire inside me explodes and I shoot to my feet to keep the man from pulling off my head.
“No, you don’t!” A surge of strength feeds into my fight and I tug and pull but the man is larger than me. I spot Alaric and Ryth through the windshield. Chills erupt over my skin. They look on in horror but are unable to move through the crowd. I scan their appearance desperate to latch on to what might be the last time I see them. Soot covered, coughing, but alive.
That’s three miracles today and I swear I will gladly pay each one with kind deeds for the rest of my life. Without thinking, I throw my palm out and it connects with bone, but it’s not enough. Fiercely strong fingers tangle in my hair and I am hauled inside the windowless metal box.
Soulless eyes bore into me and the fucking hand in my hair finally releases, but it’s too late. “We’re in! We’re in!” he bellows and the momentum of the van going from zero to sixty pushes me back and through an opened metal door.
Sheets of bullets ping off the front of the van and the driver swerves as he does a full U-turn. That’s when I notice it—a Celtic knot tattoo on the back of his hand.
The sudden jolt to the right sends me flying to the left. The door I just fell through clanks behind me, the sound reverberating through every cell in my body.
A grimy face comes into view and the flat-lipped sneer on the man’s face is familiar. With a cry of rage, I bang my open palm against the side of the cage as I see the twisted faces of my men speed by.
I cast about for some kind of weapon the second my assailant pulls back to climb into the passenger seat.
Nothing.
Oh, God.
I hit the side panel again. “You’re going to be sorry you ever touched me!”
Fear slashes through me. My body locks with panic.
