Reece put his hands up automatically. “I can explain!”Lie. He raised his eyes skyward.
“Take off the glasses,” Smith ordered. “And the hat. Slowly.”
Reece’s stomach plummeted. Moving carefully, he pulled off the hat and tossed it to the ground, then dropped Liam’s glasses to the floor on top of the hat.
Fear crossed Smith’s face. “Itisyou.” He pointed at Reece with the baton. “I threw you out. How did you get back in?”
“My magical mind control,” Reece’s mouth decided to say.
He instantly regretted it as the solid end of Smith’s baton slammed into his stomach. Reece doubled over, his breath knocked out, pain surging at the spot of impact and radiating through his core.
“Did you hear him admit he used his powers?” Smith said.
Reece tried to draw in enough air to speak, to explain in small words what sarcasm was. “I was—”
Smith jabbed him again, just as hard, this time in the shoulder. Reece went down, arm momentarily numb and unable to cushion or slow his fall. He winced as the same shoulder hit the ground, followed by the side of his face.
Before he could stand, Smith put the baton on Reece’s cheek. “I barely have to tap you. What are you made of, glass?”
“Don’t you wish,” Reece bit out. “You’d hate to face someone who could fight back.”
Smith’s face darkened. “Are you reading me?”
“You couldn’tpayme to read that cocktail of hate.”
Smith’s nostrils flared and he raised the baton. But one of the other guards put a hand on his arm. “He’s baiting you. He needs touch for the mind-raping thing, remember?”
Smith seemed to consider this. Then he crouched, pressing the baton into Reece’s cheekbone again, this time hard enough to make pain blossom across his face.
“I could shatter your whole mouth with one easy swing,” Smith said lowly. “So how about you shut up?” He pointed at the emergency stairs with the baton. “Down the stairs. Hands where we can see them, the whole time. You make one funny move and I’ll see how many of those fragile empath bones I can break.”
None of Smith’s threats were lies. He took a step back, and Reece managed to get to his feet.
He stepped toward the stairs, but Smith jabbed him in the back with the nightstick and it sent him stumbling. Reece bit back a noise of pain and looked over his shoulder. “You want me to walk or not?”
“I want you toshut up.” Smith was still brandishing the nightstick. “We’ve got lots of things that don’t require touch. I would love an excuse to use a Taser on you.”
Also not a lie. Reece opened his mouth, but the sight of the three faces arrested him. They were all angry, yes, but they were also afraid.
Of him.
Shame, hot and sour, flooded Reece’s stomach. He clamped his teeth into his lip to keep in his words and went to the stairs without fighting.
The twenty-one flights down were endless, and anytime he slowed, Smith’s baton jabbed him again. He was panting by the fifteenth floor, sweating by ten, and ready to drop by the time they reached the ground floor.
One of the guards held open the door. Stone’s projected voice was still droning on, somewhere beyond the open door, filling all of the first floor.
Reece hesitated, trying to make out Stone’s words, when a hard jab of the baton between his shoulder blades sent him flying forward through the doorway.
He stumbled across the narrow hall and smashed into the opposite wall, barely managing to catch himself before he fell again.
“Hey!”
Chest heaving, he rested his sweaty temple on the wall as he turned his head at the sound of Gretel Macy’s familiar voice. And there she was, at the end of the hall, phone in hand but eyes on him.
He groaned. “Ofcourseyou’re filming this.”
Through his half-lidded eyes, he saw her look at Smith. “Did youhithim?”
