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Legion’s dark eyes blaze with contempt. “They will pay for his life. Come on.”
I follow him out, glad for the fresh air, inhaling gulps to clear the chaos buzzing inside me. But I don’t keep going like I know he wants. When he sees I’m not following, he turns back, impatience flashing.
“He died because of me,” I say, still trying to process all of it.
The dead elf.
The calling card I know only belongs to one person.
And it’s not Em.
“No,” Legion says roughly. “He died because of evil creatures who think they can destroy without consequence.”
“This rose… it’s Uziah’s thing. He told me once it was the mark of the leader. He went on and on about it too, spouting some elitist bullshit.” Legion doesn’t answer, letting me process it. “Do you think they mistook him for me? He was in the workshop…”
“I think Uziah wanted to get your attention. To make you come looking for him.”
He’s right. I can feel it. That’s why the crimson rose was left behind. So I would know. So I would come for him.
I square my shoulders. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”
Chapter 29
Legion
The dead male in Tori’s workshop is a message. It’s also exactly why I didn’t want to bring Tori along. But she’s the only one of us who knows where this club is. And even though I can see the need for vengeance in her green eyes, I have no intention of letting her get close enough to carry it out. Uziah and his gang of monsters will burn today.
We take Tori’s car, which is uncomfortably small, forcing me to bend and bunch my knees toward my chest just to fit into the seat. It earns a snort from Tori, which I decide is worth it—right up until the moment she enters the flow of traffic on a busy road. The terror of allowing her full control behind the wheel of this contraption is unmatched in my long life.
She glances over at me, but my eyes remain glued to the path before us as if my watching it unfold can somehow prevent certain death.
“You good?” she asks, and I can hear the laughter in her voice.
“That depends,” I say as she guns it and dodges past another vehicle that is apparently going too slow for her liking. I grip the armrest. “How many times have you crashed?”
“None,” she says as if offended. “How many times have you?”
I drag my gaze from the road and glare at her. “None.”
She smirks despite the gravity of what we’re about to do. “Are you scared?”
“No.” I look back at the road.
She snorts. “Imagine how I felt when you carried me into the air that first time.”
Finally, we leave the busy streets behind. Fewer cars and even less foot traffic line the roadway here. I tell myself that means we’re less likely to accordion this hunk of metal against another.
Eventually, we pull into an empty gravel lot and park. I study the large building with blackened windows. The sign above the door says Bite Club.
I climb out of the car, glad to be done with it, and survey the surroundings. It’s quiet but not peaceful. There’s a forgotten or sinister energy to the rows of houses that line the street across from us. Several windows are boarded over. All of the lights are out.
A cloud-coated sky blots out the sun of this realm, casting a gloom over everything. Despite that, Bite Club looks to be in decent shape with newer repairs.
There’s money here.
And power.
The unspoken kind.
