Page 29 of Discovered Magic
“Let’s go.” Jonas led the way, not hurrying, though everything inside was screaming he should.
When he tried the handle, the door was locked, but it didn’t deter him. The shock on Harlan’s cronies’ faces was worth the price of admission.
Harlan, the sneaky bastard, was already on the move, grabbing Mary and putting a gun under her chin. “Just turn back ’round now, Sheriff. Ain’t nothin’ here for you to see.”
White-hot rage burned Jonas from a cellular level, and containing his fury wasn’t easy. This was on him for developing a soft spot for Gus and not wanting to hurt the boy. But he should’ve ended Harlan much sooner, right about the time the sonofabitch cornered Mary the night she snuck out.
With Draven and him as her champions, he’d expected the bounder to back off. But it seemed as if Harlan viewed hurting her as a challenge. Which meant she wouldn’t get off scot-free today. Not unless he was put down for good.
“Can’t do that, Harlan. Too many people rely on their pay to survive.” He shrugged, casting the man a wry smile. “You’d know something about that if you ever worked an honest day in your life.”
Draven leaned against a nearby column, struck a match, and lit his cheroot. After a deep inhale, he blew smoke Os, scaling them down to fit one inside the other. The trick caught the attention of Harlan’s two partners in crime. As distractions went, Draven’s was expert-level.
“I thought you’d understood. Touchin’ ma dame est a sentence of death,” he said, squinting through the haze he’d created. “Let her go, Green, and it will be painless.”
Mary’s eyes widened, and like a wild animal scenting a mountain lion, her nostrils flared with the panicked glance she cast around the room. Why her standard electrical force field wasn’t working was in question, but magic, especially a wounded person’s, wasn’t always reliable. Other than randomly electrocuting a threat, she hadn’t learned the standard arts of survival: conjuring food, shelter, or warming her cells against the cold.
Jonas maintained an air of calm, hoping to reassure her.
“You say that, but I’m holdin’ all the cards this time, Masters,” Harlan sneered, pressing the gun barrel harder against her jaw, forcing her head at an awkward angle. “Unless you’re wantin’ to see your scarred woman’s face made uglier, you’ll back off.”
With a resigned sigh, Draven threw down his cheroot and crushed it under his boot. Casting Mary a half smile, he asked, “Why is it always to be hard with stupid people, ma chère?”
She registered his intent a second before Harlan and sagged, straining her captor’s hold. His gun shifted as he scrambled to lift her. But what none of them expected was for the weapon to fire.
The bullet tore up the side of her face, exiting her frontal lobe and lodging into the wall above Jonas’s head.
“Fuck!” Harlan paled as her dead weight became a useless shield.
Four rounds were fired.
Two from Draven, taking out Harlan and the closest outlaw to him.
One from Jonas, taking out the last standing bandit.
The fourth was a mystery until one registered the shattered glass and saw the smoking rifle held by the man above the mercantile store.
Harlan’s body rested beside Mary’s, one bullet in his chest, and the other in the center of his forehead. Until Jonas questioned Draven, he wouldn’t know which was his and which belonged to Gus.
Diving to his knees, Draven felt for Mary’s pulse. From the flash of relief, he found one. Without a backward glance, he swept her away, stalking for the rear exit.
Jonas had to trust him to save her because he couldn’t leave the crime scene with all the traumatized onlookers and staff.
“Why the hell can’t we seem to heal her?” Jonas ran his hands through his hair and exhaled heavily. “Three months in stasis, and no signs of life.”
Seraphina Valentine observed her lover from the vanity mirror, feeling a sense of sadness for his plight. Had she been anything other than a whorehouse madame and business owner, she might’ve felt a tinge of jealousy over Jonas’s obsessive need to save Mary.
But she didn’t.
Her not-so-illustrious career as Roxanne “Red” Vale and a murderous past refused to allow the finer emotions associated with being the sheriff’s mate. Not that she considered herself anything more than his passing fancy piece. If she did, it was a sure bet the Fates would come knocking, prepared to destroy the only good thing in her life.
Speaking of the Fates…
“Perhaps you’re not meant to, Jonas.” She never allowed herself to call him by anything but his given name. Pet names were for lovers without secrets. Those who were at liberty to spend their lives together.
He glanced up from his pacing.
What a sight he made! Shirtless, with the top of his britches unbuttoned, displaying his flat, muscle-ridged abdomen and the fine hairs leading to an impressive member. With his blond hair mussed and a day’s growth of facial hair, he looked rough, like she preferred her men.
