Page 103 of Wrongfully Magicked
He pauses in the middle of lifting his hand, his attention sharpening as he searches my face. “So you know?” He gives me a creepy smile that is all teeth, his expression turning manic. “That will make this all the more fun! Oh, don’t worry, little cousin. As long as you’re breathing when we turn you over to your daddy dearest, we’ll still get what we deserve.”
He doesn’t even wait to finish speaking before he slaps me across the face with all his strength. My skin instantly burns, pain searing along my cheekbone, and my eye stings like a bitch. It throbs for a few heartbeats, and I grit my teeth to prevent myself from giving him any type of reaction.
I slowly lift my head, then smile at him, feeling blood spill down my chin from a split lip. “Are you sure about that? You do know why they want me, right?”
That catches his attention, and he pauses in the middle of throwing another punch. I push my point home, grabbing onto the most plausible explanation, and one he would relish the most.
“Possession,” I say succinctly, pasting on my best creepy smile. “Do you think they’ll be happy that they’ll have to waste power to heal me?”
I look him up and down, then flick my tongue against my bloody lip. “I wonder if he’ll allow me to kill you once he takes possession of me.” I flutter my lashes up at him coyly. “I mean, if I promise not to fight him, don’t you think he will give me a little boon?”
Doubt flashes across his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by frustration, then he leans down and roars in my face. Any sanityis gone, and I mentally sigh when I realize I pushed him too far. “Not if I beat you so hard, you’re unconscious when he comes to claim you.”
I snort and roll my eyes, then bluff out my ass. “You really are a fool, aren’t you? Demons have been killing people with similar bloodlines for months, trying to possess them and failing. None of them have been successful. Anything you do to endanger their chances will only piss them off. I mean, unless you wrote in the contract that you’re not responsible for any sabotage.”
He opens and closes his mouth, a furrow appearing between his brows. Then frustration gets the better of him, and he grabs my hair and wrenches my head back. Pain radiates along my skull, and I grit my teeth when his grip on the strands threatens to scalp me. “Liar!” he yells, spittle flying, but the seed of doubt has been planted.
I release a choked laugh, then glance at Porter. “Why lie when it’s easy enough to prove? Ask the MID dipshits to show you pictures. We just came from investigating one of their crimes.”
Stuart jerks my head back a little farther, the muscles in my neck straining not to snap. With a growl, he releases me, then stalks toward Porter and snarls, “Show me.”
He doesn’t give me his back, like I’m prey he doesn’t want to let out of his sight.
Thankfully, Porter doesn’t hesitate, just pulls out his phone and complies. “We’ve had eight deaths reported so far. Maybe more that haven’t been discovered.”
Instead of freaking out, Stuart leans in closer. The longer he studies the pictures, the more relaxed he becomes. He’s practically giddy as he straightens, a bounce to his steps as he walks toward his desk. He is laughing so hard, he has to sit on the edge to keep upright.
Stuart wipes tears from his eyes and pins me with a gleeful smile. “Do you think they’ll let me watch while they tear you apart?”
He’s practically rubbing his hands together like a child on Christmas morning.
Sick fucker.
He tilts his head to the side, his smile still firmly in place, but his eyes have gone completely dead. “Maybe we’ll just help your daddy dearest and soften you up a little first. No broken bones, but just enough to break your spirit. I bet he would give me a bonus for all my hard work.”
He picks up a penknife from the desk, twirling it with one hand as he mentally thinks of all the ways to cut me up.
I lift my chin and flash him a taunting smile. “Try it, Pinocchio. We’ll see which one of us survives. Puppets like you are made to burn.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
DARBY
As Anita and the guys disappear through the gates, I swallow hard against the need to order them to abort the mission. No matter how much I want my sister back, I don’t want to risk Anita’s life to do it.
If anything happens to her, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.
Overwhelming guilt paralyzes me, cold sweat dampening my shirt, and it’s a struggle to find enough air to breathe. The clank of the gates shutting jerks me out of my spiral.
There is only one way I’ll be able to complete my task—I have to trust the guys to keep her safe. Though I do work in the field with the others, I’m more comfortable behind my screens. The only way to stifle my control freak tendencies is to know everything that is happening.
Tonight will stretch my capabilities to their limits. I need to work below the radar to avoid detection. One surge of power, and our location will be compromised.
I plant my feet, discharging any extra energy, then I close my eyes and call my powers. They rise slowly, electricity crackling against my skin as it gradually envelops me from head to toe. When I open my eyes again, I see the many different forms of electricity overlaying the world.
I sort through the different streams of energy until I find the ones I need. I don’t even hesitate to hack into the guys’ cell phones, turn on the mics, then set up a program to listen for any signs of distress coming from Anita.
If she calls for me or gets herself into trouble, I’ll know.
