Page 100 of Wrongfully Magicked
We park directly in front of the palatal staircase and barely have time to throw the vehicle into park before the doors are wrenched open by the guards. My basilisk hisses at the intrusion, and I barely resist the urge to lunge forward and sink my fangs into the fucker’s neck.
Porter isn’t much better, lifting his gun and taking aim at the first dumb schmuck who tries to get close. The guard gulps and carefully backpedals. Soren launches out of the truck, flames licking up his arms, a blazing figure in the night air, and no one else dares approach.
Stepping out of the truck, I haul Anita higher in my arms, my hold tightening to stop some eager asshole from trying to snatch her from me. The guys fall into formation around us, and I know they have our backs covered.
I smile at the guard who nears, allowing my fangs to show. “If you think I’m going to hand my bounty over without collecting my fee, then you deserve your death.”
Instead of showing fear, this man scowls. He’s older than the others, clearly in charge, and pissed that I won’t just turn over Anita. When his gaze slips to the girl in my arms, the disdain on his face is so full of vitriol that hatred blazes in his eyes.
Possibly because she escaped on his watch?
From the malicious glee twisting his expression, however, I suspect it’s something more.
The commander keeps his distance, smart enough not to endanger Anita in any way, but I suspect his restraint is purelyfrom orders alone. He doesn’t lower his gun as he reaches up and speaks into a hidden mic.
Before he even finishes talking, the double doors to the house swing open, and a man comes to a stop on the landing, preening like a damn pegasus. He stands with his hands on his hips, his chest puffed up with arrogance as he surveys his domain.
Stuart—Anita’s cousin, and the man who made her life hell.
Venom fills my mouth, and it takes everything in me not to leap the distance between us and smash his face to a pulp.
Anita is the only child of the Kerrington dynasty, a child born late to the couple, and the rest of the family hated her for it. She was the sole heir, set to inherit everything, only she disappeared before she could take controlling interest.
Anita filled in the gaps and explained what really happened behind closed doors.
Her family never had any intention of allowing her to inherit. To the media, she was a figurehead, the spoiled princess and black sheep of the family.
It couldn’t have been further from the truth.
The rest of the family took over everything. As a member of one of the twelve founding families, her father is away most of the time on council business, while her mother remains at home to run the family company, and Stuart is their eager lapdog, doing everything in his power to break her.
Now we know why—the demon contract.
They contacted a demon and gave birth to a child with every intention of sacrificing her in exchange for wealth and power.
Sick fuckers.
Even knowing I would never survive, it’s all I can do not to charge up the steps and rip out Stuart’s fucking throat. I must have telegraphed my thoughts, because Anita jams her tiny little nails into my ribs hard enough that I grunt.
Vicious little thing.
I fucking love it.
Stuart’s gaze lands on us, and his nose wrinkles in distaste at being forced to deal with bottom-feeders. When his attention drops to the bundle in my arms, avarice lights up his face.
If the man had a soul, it was burned out a long time ago.
His nose twitches, and his beady eyes gleam, giving him a weaselly expression. He practically rubs his hands together in glee. “Dump her on the steps and leave. I’ll make sure you get paid for services rendered.”
My grip instinctively tightens around Anita at the thought of just tossing her away like trash. I meet his arrogance with my own and lift a cocky brow. “My touch is keeping her sedated. The instant I release her, she will wake, and she will be pissed. Are you sure you can handle that?”
Porter shoves his way forward and crosses his arms. “We won’t be leaving until the money hits our account. As a businessman yourself, you understand.”
Stuart narrows his eyes, possibly debating if he could get away with killing us in a shower of bullets. Porter senses the shift in mood as well and quickly improvises. “MID would have my hide if I left without payment.”
Stuart pauses at the unspoken threat, calculation swirling in his shit-colored eyes, as if he’s debating if he could get away with murdering three MID agents on his front lawn. Then, with an aggravated sigh, he steps back and gestures to the house. “But of course. Let’s finish this so you can be on your way.”
Approaching the house feels too much like entering a redcap’s den, and I have to force my muscles to unlock to even move. My basilisk hunkers down warily, and I can’t get over the premonition that things are about to go to shit.
