Page 5
The words hit like ice water, not even the words themselves, but the pure venom behind them. My pulse spikes, and I take a step back.
“I-It’s not coming off. I mean it.”
Faster than I can dodge, his gloved hand shoots out and locks around my upper arm. He yanks hard, dragging me down the hall. Pain flares where his fingers dig in, but I twist and fight anyway.
“Let go of me, you bastard!” My combat boot connects with his thigh, missing his balls by a mere few inches.
Dammit. Rusty aim. I would’ve loved to kick him where the sun doesn’t shine.
Except that was a big mistake, because he snarls and drives his fist straight into my stomach. Then again.
Air explodes out of me, a white-hot fire bursting through my abdomen. A strangled scream rips from the depths of my throat as I double over, gasping, vision blurring.
Fuck on a duck, that hurt.
Heavy footsteps thunder toward us, and another man appears in the hallway, also wearing a mask, but his is… different.
One half is black, the other bone white, with veins of molten gold spidering through both sides. A pair of weathered horns jut upward, eerily reminiscent of the devil’s, although they look like they’ve been ripped from the skull of some long-dead beast.
The second he enters, the white-masked asshole goes rigid, his grip still locked on my arm.
“A screamer, huh?” the new man muses, and I can hear the smirk in his tone.
What I also hear is that his voice is low, smooth, and completely natural—no voice changer. The raw timbre of it slides over my skin like smoke.
“This bitch is number seven,” white mask spits. “Doesn’t want to take her watch off. I’m taking her to Archon to deal with her.”
At his words, devil horn looks my way. He watches me for what is, in reality, only a second, but feels like years. “Let her go,” he finally says. “I’ll handle it.”
“But she kicked m—”
He snaps his head toward him, and the bastard immediately backs down, swallowing any protests. Asswipe.
“Yes, commander,” white mask forces out through clenched teeth.
I don’t even have time to soak in his defeat when he shoves me hard, and I stumble forward, crashing straight into the devil’s chest.
Jesus Christ.
He’s pure solid muscle. Tall as hell, too. The scent of him hits my nose deliciously—dark sandalwood, smoke, and some kind of earthy luxury cologne. Up close, I catch the edge of a black tattoo snaking up the side of his neck. Strands of thick, wavy jet-black hair have escaped, disappearing beneath the mask.
I squeak and try to push back, but his hands are already on my waist, steadying me.
“Clumsy, are we?” he chuckles.
I can’t stop noticing how good he smells. How strong his grip is.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Swallowing hard, I force myself to meet the void of his mask. This man isn’t just another helper like white mask. He’s something far worse. More powerful. I can feel it.
And the worst part is the traitorous little shiver that runs down my spine when he grabs hold of my neck, murmuring, “Let’s try this again, number seven. Watch.”
“Please,” I blurt out, closing my eyes. “I-I don’t want to risk losing it. It’s the only thing left of my grandfather.”
He hums low in his throat. “Okay,” he says slowly. “You can keep it on…”
I exhale so hard my shoulders sag.
