Page 107 of Witch Unexpected
Fashion with Passion.
Oh fuck. I’d been wondering how the traitor knew we were back, and it made sense now. Pen must have seen us stop off at the takeout place last night. She must have alerted The Order we were back. It was the only explanation.
The roar of an engine drew my gaze to a beige Mini a few meters ahead of us. I locked gazes with the driver, and my heart leaped into my throat.
Pen.
Her eyes widened, then her mouth flattened in determination, her eyes narrowing to angry slits.
The car shot forward, headed right for us.
She meant to run us over!
Jasper shoved me out of the way, his hand coming up as the vehicle bore down on him.
“Jasper!”
I launched myself at him, arms wrapping around his waist, full weight behind the tackle.
He didn’t budge, but the engine stalled and died.
He looked down at me, confusion coloring his features. My arms were still around him, heart thundering in my chest.
Yeah, I’d tried to save him.
My cheeks heated as his eyes narrowed speculatively, then I was clutching air.
Jasper was gone.
Shit.
Three figures ran toward the car.
Sloane, Poppy, and Brie.
Sloane yanked open the driver's side door and reached for Pen, who screamed and scrambled to get away, but The Elite grabbed hold of her sweater and hauled her out.
Several passersby had stopped to watch the spectacle. Cell phones were being drawn from bags like weapons.
Jessie strode out from the store, hands raised as she drew a runic pattern in the air. One by one, the people turned away and went about their business. It had to be some kind of lookaway spell.
Sloane had Pen. She had her with her arm twisted behind her back. Pen screamed and wriggled, desperate to be free, then, as if realizing there was no point, she went limp, all life bleeding from her expression.
Sloane looked over at me and locked gazes with me, expression grim.
It was over.
I just wished it felt better.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Leif
Ishove Tor away from the door. “You can’t do this. Stop and think, dammit.”
Tor grits his teeth, a red ring appearing around his gunmetal gray irises. “I have a right to retribution.” His jaw ticks. “Wehave a right.”
Fuck, he’s evoking the ancient clause embedded in the contract we have with the witches.
