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“Not here yet, sir.”
“Thanks. As you were.”
Legion tugs my hand, and we continue past the confused guard through a side door that Legion unlocks with his hand print.
“Sir, is she?—”
The guard’s voice is lost as the door closes behind us, sealing us inside a low-lit hallway. The doors are all equipped with scanners for entry, but Legion bypasses the first few.
“Where are we?” I ask as he stops in front of a door halfway down and presses his palm to the scanner.
The lock disengages, and Legion motions for me to enter.
I have no idea what I was expecting, but a large room containing wall-to-wall weapons is not it. I stare open-mouthed at the rows of daggers, short-swords, and various other uniquely deadly items.
“Is this the entire army’s weapons cache?” I ask.
“This?” Legion turns back from where he’s crossed to a small keypad. He frowns at me. “No. This is just for the officers.”
“Damn.” I whistle. “I guess joining organized crime has its perks.”
His mouth quirks. “Crime, huh? I thought the army was for defending its leaders.”
I lift a brow. “Isn’t Tartarus a prison world?”
He goes back to punching in some code. A second later, a click sounds, and another display wall is revealed. This one isn’t full of weapons though, and I immediately take a step back.
“No fucking way.”
Legion grabs an armored breastplate off the wall. When he swings his gaze back to mine, there’s a full fire blazing in his eyes. “No fucking way you’re going without it.”
He takes a step toward me.
I take a step back.
“I’m not wearing that.”
“You’re wearing this and this,” he says, pausing again to snatch a thigh plate off the wall as he comes for me. “Or you’re not going.”
My back hits the closed door, and I glare up at him. “You planned this,” I accuse. “Bringing me here and forcing me to wear this crap. It’s why you agreed to let me come so easily.”
“The fact that you thought I’d let you just walk right into what I have planned for those monsters, without so much as a steel plate of protection strapped to your body, is remarkably naïve, little assassin.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Assassin. I’m scary. And dangerous. I don’t need all this showy shit. It’ll only slow me down.”
“Hold this,” he growls.
He shoves the breastplate at me. When I don’t take it, he bares his teeth and says, “Just fucking hold it.”
I snatch the breastplate, letting it dangle in my hands. He grasps the edges and lifts it so that the breastplate is held flat against my torso. Then he backs away five paces and snatches a bow off the wall.
Before I realize what he intends, he’s taken an arrow out of the quiver, notched it, and let it fly. It slams into the breastplate hard enough to vibrate my wrists painfully before the steel-tipped arrow clatters to the ground at my feet.
In the silence, I stare at Legion, not sure whether to scream or fight or just walk out. “You just shot me.”
“It’s not for show,” he says simply.
“You just shot me,” I repeat through clenched teeth. My temper is like molten lava poured through my veins. How did I ever think this asshole was nice?
