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The next moment, I’m on my knees, held upright by someone’s hands, my wrists zip-tied again. I must have blacked out.
“He fucking deserved it!” Tanya’s voice is loud, full of pure red-hot anger.
I turn right, seeing her in the same position as me a few feet away. Except she’s all bloody and dusty like a goddess of war. Her always-perfect blond bob looks like a bird’s nest. The dried blood on the bottom of her face is glistening again, damp from the fresh cut on her brow.
“No one deserves to have their ear bitten off,” a familiar male voice says.
I look up and grit my teeth. Duke Hazelton. One of Lavender’s VIP douchebags.
He’s tall and bulky, with short, buzzed hair and a long, weathered face. I remember him from a few months ago, when he went into a private room with Sophie and scarred her for life. He was supposed to die with the other two owners of Crossfire Security during the operation at Hale-Bopp hospital, but Sophie’s gang failed to capture him. And now he’s here to torment us.
“He did, and you do.” Tanya continues taunting him.
Duke Hazelton pulls out a hunting knife from the back of his jeans, making me wince. He will fucking kill us and there’s nothing I can do.
He stalks toward Tanya, a disgusting grin plastered on his face. It’s like I’m invisible.
“Hey, asshole, remember me?” I say, trying to keep my voice from trembling.
With my mind clearing up, I’m getting braver. The sun hasn’t set, so our fight didn’t take long. The car is still steaming a few yards away, and all the attention is on us. I need to buy us some time. The Arcana never abandons its own and Ivo will be here any minute.
“Who the fuck are you?” Duke Hazelton spits out, turning his body and knife in my direction. Behind him, Tanya’s brows furrow, like she’s asking me what I’m doing.
I’m protecting her in my small way, of course.
I have a full bonfire tattooed across my chest. If the Duke decides to carve out a few more lines, I’ll survive. But I can’t bear the thought of Tanya being hurt when she’s vulnerable like this.
“I used to pour you drinks. Guess how many had extra stuff inside.” I try to smile, but my whole face hurts, so I only manage a pained grimace.
“Oh. I think it’s coming back to me.” He spits in his palm and rubs his hand across my face. The pounding in my head doubles and I gag, flexing my whole body in an attempt to both stop the incoming vomit and punch through his face. The strong arms of his henchmen hold me in place, so I just wriggle like a convulsing animal.
“Sorry, bro, couldn’t tell with all that dirt in your face,” he continues.
What dirt? I’ve barely questioned his words when my face is shoved in the gravel, every stone embedding itself painfully in my skin. I gasp in agony, inhaling dust and coughing desperately.
“Stop that,” Tanya shouts. “You want me, right? Do your worst because the moment I’m free, you’ll regret you were born.”
“You will never be free, sweetheart. I’ll cut you up, taste you like a peach, and then throw you away. I can’t kill you because Greg wants you for his cult.” Duke Hazelton gestures for the men to sit me up.
“Who’s Greg?” I ask through labored breaths.Stall, Ben, stall.
“Koschei,” Tanya replies, her eyes firmly on Hazelton. “I bet he hates that a disgusting shit like you knows his real name. On that point, what’s yours? Duke Hazelton is too pretentious for you.”
“As if I’ll tell you,” he retorts, getting dangerously close to her face with that knife. “You’re glaring a lot. I wonder if you can still glare with only one eye.”
If Tanya is afraid, she doesn’t show it. I’m scared that the intensity in her glare will anger him even more, so I open my mouth to taunt him, but then all hell breaks loose.
Familiar cars come from two directions, and without warning, Arcana people start shooting.
“Duck,” I yell to Tanya, my throat feeling like it rips from the strain.
She drops to the ground together with me. The men holding us are either dead or fighting for their lives. I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to look at the body next to me and its empty, glossy eyeballs.
Reaching for the calm space inside me, usually reserved for controlled explosions, I count backward from ten. Once, twice. One more time. And again. This will end.
And as I say four, someone kneels next to me, slipping a cool blade between my wrists and slicing the zip tie. I know those sneakers.
“Ivo,” I croak.
