“Get moving,” Kenzo said.
Malik gave a low snarl as lightning crackled from Anakin’s fingers.
“Unless you want your boyfriend fried to a crisp, do what Kenzo said.”
Indy hurried along, even though he had no clue where he was going. The bastard would do it just for fun.
Kenzo stopped in front of a house that looked like it belonged in Better Homes and Gardens. White house with green trim, wraparound porch, and there was a flowerbed running along one side of the house.
The fuck? He felt like he was in a Black Mirror version of Mayberry.
Indy was terrified of what he would find inside. Aunt Bee with a poisoned apple pie? That’s Snow White, idiot. I think. Note to self. Don’t eat anything offered to you.
“Maybe I can wait outside.” Indy tried to head to the porch swing, but Kenzo gripped his upper arm in a bruising hold. “Ow!”
Malik’s hand shot to Kenzo’s throat, his voice a dangerous pitch. “Remove your hand or lose it.”
Electricity shot from Anakin’s hand, striking Malik in his side. Malik shouted, but hadn’t let go of Kenzo. His mate was breathing hard, sweat glistening his forehead, but the look of wrath in his eyes said he would take as many hits as necessary until Kenzo released Indy.
Indy jerked his arm away, terrified Anakin would fry Malik’s brain.
“Shock him again and I’ll kick you in the nuts,” Indy snarled at Anakin.
The bastard laughed as Kenzo led them inside.
No sign of Aunt Bee, but the interior was just as cozy as the exterior. Polished floors, a lit fireplace, and bookshelves lines with books. Indy was curious to know what demons read. How to Make Tasty Entrails? Ten Ways to Darken Your Soul? Evil for Dummies?
He stopped short when they entered a dining room. Malik had gone rigid beside him, a low, menacing growl rumbling in his throat.
A guy was seated at the table, eating what looked like pot roast. He sliced into the savory-smelling meat, completely ignoring their entrance.
Then he pointed to a chair with his fork.
Indy didn’t move, unsure if the guy was talking to him or Malik.
Slowly, his mate lowered to a chair, muscles coiled tight, as he rested his forearms on the oak table. Indy did the same, stomach grumbling. Do not ask for some pot roast.
“Samir,” Malik said. “You wanted to see me?”
Setting aside his utensils, Samir placed one hand flat on the table, eyes narrowed.
Indy glanced at his mate when Malik made a small choking sound. He wasn’t moving, not even a twitch, but a bead of sweat slid down from his temple.
“I’ve been more than patient with you, cat,” Samir said in an eerily calm tone. “Yet you played me for a fool by running.” He slowly stood, the hand still pressed against the table. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you?”
“Malik?” Indy whispered, even though everyone in the room had heightened senses.
His mate didn’t look at him, didn’t even turn his head. Malik vibrated, as if he was fighting to break free from some invisible cage.
“My patience has run out,” Samir continued.
“Let him go!” Indy shouted, jumping from his seat. Was Malik in pain? Was Samir torturing him?
“And who are you, little fox?” Samir’s gaze slid to Indy, expression part curiosity, part irritation.
“Let him go!” Indy was trembling, ready to stab the asshole in his eye with his own fork. “Just because he owes you money doesn’t give you the right to torture him!”
Samir looked at him like Indy wasn’t playing with a full deck. “It gives me every right,” he said dismissively.
