Page 11 of Son of a Witch

He’d already pre-warned us of that. Thrown damn Raze out because of it. Pre-empting shit might hit the fan. By the stress in his features, his fidgety motions, he was about to deliver his predicted shitstorm.

Bracing for it, my body tensed instinctively, and I squeezed Astra’s hand so tightly, she jolted beside me. I stroked my thumb over her hand to communicate my apology.

“This is Vancor Gibbons.” Vartros pointed to the suit. “The Guild Council has appointed him as new warden while an investigation on the invasion is conducted. Meanwhile, I’m going on stress leave and rest.”

New warden? What the fuck? No. We needed Vartros. He looked out for us. Protected and freed Raze. Kept my ass out of max security for attempting to sneak antivenom into the prison to save Raze.

“I’ll hand it over to Vancor.” Vartros stepped aside, attacking his tie, jerking it off, wrapping it around his hand and tugging, cutting off the circulation.

He wasn’t happy about this. Higher-ups had forced him out. Punished him for releasing almost two hundred deadly prisoners wielding magick.

Not his fault. Someone was behind this. Just like they were behind all the shit that went down with my team. The same fuckwits who sourced the vamps Guardian guns.

Vancor gave a stiff nod. Stiff, like his whole persona. Hard, gray gaze. Severe brows that came down like two swords over his eyes. Sharp mouth scored with deep grooves. Posture rigid like a dog about to attack. I didn’t like this guy’s vibe. He spelled trouble for us. A pain in our asses.

“Guardians.” His voice rang like a vibrating blade slammed into wood. “Our first priority is repairing this facility and returning it to a stronghold to prevent further invasion. I’ve assigned you to teams to assist the members of the Guild of Sorcerers to clear debris, repair walls, repaint sigils, and get this facility operational again.”

Tension blanketed the room like a bomb about to explode, glances exchanged between the prisoners. We were hunters and magicians, not fucking clean-up crews.

Tor swore under his breath, prompting Astra to tighten her grip on his shoulder. Pascal tapped a faster, furious beat on his thigh, seeking relief in his music. I crushed my woman’s hand harder.

“Once that step is complete.” Vancor’s harsh gaze swept over the prisoners. “I’ll be sending the teams out to track down escaped prisoners, apprehend them, and return them to this facility.”

“What the fuck?” Loco threw up his tattooed, scarred hands. “That’s the duty of the sentries.”

Loco. Another fucking complication. Astra’s father. Reunited after eighteen years apart. Imprisoned in maximum security after he snapped and went crazy. Hence the name.

Vartros had let the pyscho out to take care of the crooked inmates and guards. Loco had saved our ass when we were attacked and almost killed. Vicious, ruthless, and efficient killer. Not someone I wanted near my girl, but I couldn’t keep her away from her dad. Decision was hers.

The full weight of Vancor’s glare came down on Loco, but the slight man, a head taller than Astra, didn’t shrink. Loco didn’t fear anyone. I saw where my girl got her fire and spirit from.

“Many of our sentries were killed or injured.” Vancor’s voice rang like a steel hammer hitting an anvil. “The rest are being investigated for corruption.” He leveled Vartros with a hard look.

The warden wasn’t responsible for this. We were. We brought the goddamn vamps into the Guardians. Somehow, they defied the prison’s magick, broke out, ruthlessly killing sentries and inmates with the help of someone on the inside.

Half the guards in this place were on Burt’s, Slash’s or Edwardo’s payroll. Dirty fuckers deserved scrutiny and suspension after they beat me twice and attacked my woman and team.

“We can’t have convicted Guild criminals with dangerous magical abilities out on the streets, can we?” Vancor’s question was aimed at Loco, one of the facility’s most notorious and insane inmates.

Several days earlier, he’d beaten the guards and inmates who attacked us to a pulp, and stomped on their heads. A bloodlust I’d never seen before. Thinking about it made my stomach churn. And he was Astra’s fucking father!

I gripped my groin, imagining what he wanted to do to my, Pascal’s or Tor’s cocks for sleeping with his daughter. God, never let him find out. After that little violent display, I’d wear a box or set my spare hand in front of my man parts at all times.

“Ben, here, will read out a list of the teams assembled to apprehend the escapees.” Vancor gave another stiff nod, concluded his broadcast, and stole away, barking orders at Vartros and the sentries.

Vartros followed behind like a scolded little bitch.

“Fuck.” I wiped my palm from my forehead to my chin. Just what we needed. This guy spelled trouble for us. He was going to be worse than an anal cavity search from a sentry.

We waited while Ben read out the teams. Prisoners grunted as they were assigned completely new teams, new members, or forced to work with their enemies. This was going to be a fucking nightmare.

When he called out Loco’s name for my team, my body went numb and Tor and Pascal’s gaze shot to me.

Loco rubbed his hands together and strutted up to us like a crazy-eyed lunatic. “Father and daughter team.” The maniacal gleam in his eyes made my balls ache.

Astra groaned at his comment. He was as welcome as a hole in the fucking head.

Ben read out the name of our new team leader. “Serena Mathieson.”

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