Crap. I can’t call out his name without alerting the vigilante, and I can’t wait for him to turn. I follow Briefcase Man, thinking. Aren, Trev, and Nalst should be watching the back exit. Naito’s watching the front. Even without Lee following me, I’ll be safe.
I step into the hallway, see the back exit then—
The vigilante turns, swinging his briefcase at my head while he kicks open a door.
I manage to duck beneath the briefcase, but he rams into me, making me fall into the side room. Instinctively, I roll to my back, intending to kick up and knock his head off, but someone’s behind me. They grab the arms I brace against the floor, then drag me all the way inside.
TWENTY-ONE
“DON’T MOVE. DON’T make a sound.” The man holding me presses a gun into my ribs.
In front of me, Briefcase Man closes and locks the door. We’re in a restroom. The men’s restroom. Three urinals are on the wall to my right. Gross. I want to peek under the two stalls to see if anyone is in them, but I’m sure I already know the answer. They’re empty, and no one in the bar had a view of the hallway or my abduction.
I draw in a deep breath—through my mouth, not my nose—and do my best to keep my heart rate steady. I’m going to get through this without Kyol fissuring to my rescue. Hell, after last night, he might not come to my rescue at all.
“We knew we’d get their attention sometime,” Briefcase Man says to me.
I reestablish my mental wall as well as I can under the circumstances, then decide to play dumb. “Whose attention? Who are you? What do you want?”
The gun digs deeper between my ribs.
“You’re here with Lee,” the man behind me hisses into my ear. “He hasn’t reported in to us in over a month. He’s been turned.”
“Into a vampire?” I say, eyes wide and innocent. Is this guy really prepared to fire his gun? Everyone in the bar would hear it go off.
The vigilante grabs the scarf around my neck and pulls it tight.
“There’s fae with you,” he says. “Where are they?”
I choke, then cough until he loosens the damn scarf. Kyol’s thoughts are focused on me. He’s not alarmed yet. I concentrate on my breathing, forcing myself to stay calm.
“Okay,” I say, scrambling for some plausible explanation. “Okay. Yes, a fae fissured me here. I’m supposed to meet him tomorrow morning so he can fissure me back home. But I’m not here because of them. I’m here because of the Sight serum.”
“You already have the Sight,” Briefcase Man snarls. He sets that briefcase on the sink and opens it.
“Yeah, but Lee didn’t,” I say, still trying to buy time. “We heard it’s lethal, and we’re here to find out if that’s true.”
The scarf tightens again. “Tell us where you’re supposed to meet the fae. Tell us what type of magics he has.”
I cough again, more to buy time to think than because the scarf is too tight. Surely, Lee’s noticed me missing by now. I’ve been gone at least two minutes.
“You need to start talking,” Briefcase Man says. He’s holding a vial of pale, yellow liquid in one hand and a needle and syringe in the other.
Oh, this is great.
“The Sight serum,” I say, eyeing the vial as he fills the syringe.
“The Sight serum,” he acknowledges. “Some of it kills.” He pushes the plunger until a tiny droplet of the yellow liquid comes out. “Some of it doesn’t. I’ll let you guess which batch this is from.”
My heart pumps a little harder. I might already have the Sight, but I have no doubt that the wrong batch of the serum will kill me just as it killed the others who injected it.
Briefcase Man takes a step toward me. I could use some help right now, or even a good distraction. How is it possible that we’re in a bar, and no one’s so much as knocked on the restroom door?
He takes another step. I’m going to have to risk it. Here’s to hoping the man behind me doesn’t really want to fire his gun.
I slam my head back and drop my hand to the gun as I turn in my captor’s arms.
There’s a loud crack—his nose breaking, not the gun firing—but the weapon won’t budge from his hand.
I aim the barrel away from me, knee the guy in the groin then blindly swing a backhand behind me, expecting Briefcase Man to come for me.
He’s there. My fist catches his neck instead of his face, but that works to my advantage. He chokes, giving me the second I need to lurch past him.
He grabs my ankles before I reach the door. I catch the handle, manage to get it unlocked. Before I crash to the floor, I shove it open and yell.
Briefcase Man yanks my leg. I twist to my back, see him lifting the syringe.
Crap!
I jerk out of the way just in time. The needle breaks against the floor, and I slam my heel into the asshole’s face. I get my ankle free, then scurry to my feet and out the door.
The back exit’s the closest. Someone from the other direction asks if I’m okay. I’m about to scream, “He has a gun!” when I spot Aren behind the concerned human.
I can’t see into the restroom from where I’m standing, which means the vigilantes can’t see me, so I force myself to laugh, then say to the human, “I went in the wrong restroom.”
He gives me a slow nod, his expression saying I’m crazy for yelling and dashing out like I did. It’s a look I’ve grown used to in the last ten years.
Aren presses his back against the wall and slides along it toward the open restroom door. I’m on the other side of the opening.
“Two of them. One gun,” I say, just loud enough for him to hear.
He nods once then, dagger in hand, he opens a fissure in front of the doorway and disappears.
Silence. That’s weird. Inside the restroom is the only place he would have fissured.
Cautiously, I peek in. Aren’s there, staring down at the two vigilantes who are still on the floor. Briefcase Man is clutching his bleeding nose. The other man—his nose looks broken, too—is clutching his privates.
Aren looks up at me, surprise and appreciation and maybe a little something else in his silver eyes.
My stomach does a flip.
“The bond has a couple of other side effects,” I say, stepping inside the restroom and picking the vigilante’s gun off the floor before he recovers.
Aren gives me a grin, then he looks down at the vigilantes again. “On your feet. Both of you. You’re going to walk out the back door without a word to anyone.”
The gun’s safety is on. I leave it that way, then motion for the two humans to get up. Briefcase Man does; the other vigilante is still holding his privates. Surely, I didn’t knee him that hard.
Aren grabs a handful of his shirt and forcibly pulls him to his feet. “Move.”
I slip the gun into my waistband and cover it with my shirt. Then, after picking up the syringe and broken needle, I throw them into the briefcase, close it, and follow the others out.
Trev, Lee, and Naito are in the back alley. So is another man. A human. Lee has the guy’s arm twisted behind his back. When he sees the vigilante who grabbed my arms in the bathroom, he gives a little snort.
“Told you Harper was involved.”
Naito glares briefly at his brother, then says, “Their car is parked a block away. Let’s get them out of here.”