Page 65 of Runaway Magic
“How… how do I know you aren’t lying to get me to let you go?”
Fourteen narrowed his eyes. “Do you really think I’m worried about you taking me in?” He considered giving Harper a detailedanalysis of the odds on it, but didn’t think humiliating the man would get him to help.
Harper rolled his eyes and didn’t take the bait.
Fourteen decided to stop being an asshole. Harper had completely abandoned looking for escape routes and seemed like he was moments from succumbing to his own greed. All he needed was one more push, and Fourteen was happy to oblige.
Fourteen pulled out his phone, opened his security app, and found the video he wanted. “This was taken two hours ago.”
Harper watched the security feed of the fight inside the warehouse. There was a lot of distortion, but the footage showed Stella creatingsomethingin her hands and throwing it at Fourteen and Cym. It also showed thesomethingbouncing away at the last second and pulverizing the wall beside them. It was more than Fourteen wanted The Company to know about Cym, but his face was small and fuzzy in the shot, so it was an acceptable risk.
Fourteen pulled his phone away from Harper’s grabby hands, though, because he refused to give Harper the chance to see enough of Cym to be able to recognize him in the future. If he played it right, Harper would never even see Cym, but he’d rather not tempt fate.
“This could be faked.”
“True. But if it isn’t, you’ll be kicking yourself for not taking the chance. Come with me, and I’ll prove it. If I’m lying, you can abandon the mission. All I need is a distraction. Once it’s done, we can part ways and pretend we never saw one another.”
“If anyone finds out about this, I’m a dead man.” Harper’s words didn’t match the excitement on his face.
“I wouldn’t be asking you to help if I didn’t think you were good enough to keep this a secret.” Fourteen wasn’t lying—he’d known Harper long enough to respect him as an agent, and he knew he was lucky Harper was the one who found him. He hadthe skills necessary to get the job done, and unlike most of the other agents, he’d never treated Fourteen as an object.
A shadow crossed Harper’s face. “You really didn’t know how old you are?”
“No,” Fourteen said shortly, making sure his voice didn’t invite further conversation on the subject.
“Well, I reckon a man has the right to decide his own fate,” Harper drawled irritatingly. “As much as I have the right to take a chance on helping you.”
“You’re a true humanitarian.”
“Soon to be a very rich one, I hope.”
Fourteen nodded. It was possible Fourteen’s spare set of armor would help Harper climb the ladder in The Company. Even if the magical community didn’t clash with The Company in the future, his armor was still better than anything any of the other operatives had.
He just had to hope they could evade Company detection long enough to retrieve his armor from the warehouse. They were going to have to try. His plan wouldn’t work without it.
Chapter 16
Cym
Being trapped inside a dog crate wouldn’t have been as bad if it hadn’t smelled so horrible. The odor of paint thinner and motor oil wafting from the corner of the garage they’d stuck him in couldn’t hope to compete with the reeking dog bed he was sitting on.
Cym was tempted to try and cram the disgusting thing through the narrow bars of his cage to get away from the smell but thought better of it. He had no idea how long he was going to be stuck inside the thing, and the idea of sleeping on a cold concrete floor in an unheated garage was more unappealing than the smell.
Cym shivered in his thin tank top. He should have taken the time to steal a shirt from Fourteen before they tried to make a run for it. But then they probably would have died, and it would have been stupid to kick the bucket over an item of clothing that would likely have fallen off him the first time he shrugged.
Speaking of dying… waking up alive had been a novel experience. He’d been certain his family had decided to wash their hands of him, though if they were planning on sending him back to his gilded prison, he’d prefer death. It sounded less boring.
He held tight to the memory of Fourteen plowing through the mercenaries to safety and hoped the man was far away from anything even remotely connected to the Other. If Fourteen could stay away from The Company, it was possible he could find his way to a normal life—get a job somewhere in security, meet someone…
Cym’s heart twisted, and he kicked at the bars of the crate in irritation. It was selfish of Cym to wish to have a life with Fourteen, and he needed to get used to being alone. It wasn’t like they’d even spent much time together. It was ridiculous of him to feel so attached.
A snippet of memory chose that moment to interrupt the scolding he was giving himself, and suddenly he was drowning in the sensation of Fourteen’s hard body pressed against his own. Cym remembered the way Fourteen had looked at him when they’d woken up together. Like if Fourteen had to choose between being with Cym and breathing, he’d see how long he could hold his breath before he died.
It couldn’t have just been the conditioning. It felt too real.
A loud clattering shook him from his thoughts as the door rolled open to the garage. His mother sailed through the opening, looking like a socialite arriving at a press conference.
Her blonde hair was piled artfully on top of her head, and a large pair of sunglasses perched on top. The linen dress she wore was incongruous with the chilly weather, but witches didn’t make a habit of worrying about the cold. If they didn’t like the weather, it was a small matter of changing their own body temperatures. If she wanted, Elanor could have saunteredin wearing only her underwear and been perfectly comfortable. Cym shivered and chafed his bare arms with his hands, wishing he’d learned that trick before his confinement.
