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He didn’t wait for an answer, just led the way out. His truck was parked next to Monty’s borrowed car.
“I think it best if we all park out on the street and use the front door—there’s not much maneuvering room in the café’s back hallway if things immediately go to hell,” he added. “Is Aiden going to meet us there?”
“Yes. I’ve just got to send him a text.”
Which I did once I’d climbed into Monty’s borrowed wagon. It didn’t take us long to get back to the café, where we were once again greeted by the shattered remnants of our protection spells floating on the breeze.
“Well, fuck,” Monty said. “So much for thinking my alarm spell would give us advance warning.”
“You’re dealing with two of the strongest witches in Canberra,” I said. “Don’t feel bad.”
“I don’t. I’m just pissed off—I was assured that spell would work no matter how strong the witch it was warding against.”
“It doesn’t really matter now.” My gaze was on the open front door. It was an invitation to enter—one we couldn’t really refuse. “Park up the road. We’ll walk down.”
As Monty obeyed and Ashworth stopped behind us, Aiden appeared. He opened my door and offered me his hand. I gripped it tightly and let him help me out. But as much as I wanted to hang on to him, I couldn’t. I had no doubt Clayton and my father were watching us, and I wasn’t about to give them any more ammunition than they’d already collected when it came to my private life.
“What’s the plan?” His gaze swept the four of us. “Where’s Belle?”
“Safe with the auditor.”
“Ah. Good.”
“Let’s go, lass,” Ashworth said softly. “Better to get this all over with sooner rather than later.”
“I’m not entirely sure I agree with that statement.”
But I nevertheless activated the listening device, then slung the pack over my shoulder and strode down toward the café.
The four men followed me, their steps echoing with purpose and strength. It should have comforted me. It didn’t.
I neared the door but didn’t alter my pace; if I faltered now—in any way—I’d end up running. The time for that was over.
The café’s lights were all on, and in their warm glow the shattered remnants of our protection spells were very visible. The threads that contained the wild magic did at least remain intact, and I wondered why, given they’d probably had plenty of time to utterly strip all protections from the café. It did at least mean that with those strands still active, we still had some protection against any move my father and Clayton might make.
The two of them were sitting at a table in the middle of the room. They were both tall and somewhat slender, with silver eyes that gleamed coldly even under the warmth of the lights. Both could be termed handsome men, though Clayton’s face was deeply etched with lines that hadn’t been there twelve years ago. The sheer force of their joint power oozed through the room and snatched my breath.
But only Clayton’s aura ran with black and purple.
He was deeply, disturbingly furious.
My steps faltered.
Not because of what I saw in him, but rather what I felt in me. I’d expected fear. I’d expected panic. I’d expected that the mere sight of him would have me reverting to the frightened sixteen-year-old who had no means of fighting the man tearing at her clothes and bruising her flesh.
What I hadn’t expected was the deep and utter rage.
Only it wasn’t aimed at Clayton.
It was aimed at my father.
Chapter Seven
That rage rolled over me, a red wave so strong I couldn’t have combatted it even if I’d wanted to. It fueled me, strengthened me, swept away thought and fear and common sense.
As the two men rose to their feet, I took several quick steps forward, drew back my fist, and punched my father so damn hard, his head snapped back. He crashed backward, blood spurting from his mashed nose.
I stood over his prone form, my right fist aching but both clenched against the pulsing need to punch him again and again while he was down. But as strong as the rage was, awareness lingered deeper down. One punch might be forgiven in court; two or more would play into his favor.
