Pretty When They Collide (Pretty When She Dies 0.5)(39)

The soft, warm fingers of the witch wrapped around Cassandra’s bare fingers as the glove dropped to the floor. Aimee was a dead weight in her arms, but Cassandra could still hear the faintest whisper from her lips.

“Fuck you,” Cassandra slurred, trying to cover Aimee’s voice. “You *s. This whole... thing... a setup.”

With a magnetic grin and a shrug, Michael said, “Oh, come now, Cass. Don’t be so bitter. We’re both in the acquisitions game. You get relics. I get supernatural toys for very rich people. I was after that lovely little witch in your arms when I took on this security job, but when I found out from Scott that Frank wanted you, I just had to let Arnost know about that little deal.”

“I’m going...” Cassandra struggled with her numb tongue.

“Yeah, you’re gonna what?” Michael smirked.

The dart fell out of her neck and onto the floor.

“How long before she goes out?” Arnost asked briskly, clearly annoyed by the fact that she was still standing.

“I’ll shoot her again,” another man offered.

“No, no. I like her this way. All helpless and desperate,” Michael said, brushing them off. “She can barely stand.”

A cold liquid began to trickle from the puncture wound in her neck. Cassandra started to lift her hand to brush it away, but then realized what was happening. She could feel Aimee’s magic building, her fingers trembling in Cassandra’s. Even as her head grew clearer, Cassandra deliberately slumped against the billiard table. Let the *s think they had her in their power for the moment. It would give her the element of surprise.

“She’s almost out,” Michael continued. “Look at her struggling.”

Arnost and the other men chuckled.

A man with beady eyes and a very sallow complexion drew closer, his dart gun aimed at Cassandra. “I want to f*ck her.”

Arnost shrugged. “After I break her. I’m not interested in her f*ckin’ *. I want her powers. I want her loyalty. It’s the witch I plan to f*ck without mercy for that little spell she cast on me.”

“Blood bonding both of them is going to be a bitch,” Frank’s angry voice said. He was shoved into the room by more armed guards wearing very different body armor from his men. “The witch is especially a pain in the ass.” His face was bruised, bleeding, and his shirt was pockmarked with bullet holes.

The crackling sensation of their combined power played along Cassandra’s hand. The sedative was racing out of the puncture, moistening her skin, while her thoughts were becoming increasingly lucid. She could feel her strength returning. It was now a matter of seconds.

“So this is a f*ckin’ double-cross,” Frank spat, glowering at Michael.

Aimee slumped to the floor at Cassandra’s feet, her fingers slipping free of her grip. Cassandra let her go, trusting her completely. She made a big show of trying to stand up straight, but fell instead over the billiard table and out of the sight of the kidnappers.

“Frank, you stupid little shit, didn’t I tell you I don’t’ like being f*cked with?” Arnost said dismissively. “Someone get the dhamphir.”

“That’s my dhamphir and my witch and this is my house,” Frank snarled.

Cassandra lay on the floor, waiting.

“And look who’s in chains,” Arnost snorted. “And who is going to f*ck your witch tonight?”

As Frank and Arnost continued to trade insults, Cassandra focused on the approaching footsteps. The man reeked of cigarettes and harsh cologne. Eyes closed, she concentrated on the sound of his footfalls and his growing scent. When he was only a few feet away, she rolled to her feet in a flash, seized the tranquilizer gun in his hands, jerked and twisted it about, liberating it from his hands. He only got out a sharp gasp before she slammed the butt of the weapon into his face, knocking him out.

The popping of dart guns going off filled the air and Cassandra spun away into cover behind an arcade game to avoid the fire. But she needn’t have to. When she peeked out, she saw all the darts suspended in air and the surprised expressions of Arnost’s men.

“My witch is about to kick your ass,” Frank said with confidence.

Slowly, Aimee rose to her feet, her long hair shimmering in the light. “I’m not your witch, Frank. And no one is f*cking me tonight,” she said in a low voice. “Or Cass.”

The darts flipped around in the air, aiming at the guards at various points in the room.

“Michael!” Arnost shouted. “Stop her!”

Cassandra sprinted forward, jumped onto the billiard table, then launched herself at Michael just as Aimee released the darts. Some of the guards tried to dive out of the way, others swatted at them futilely with their weapons. Most of the darts appeared to hit their targets and men all over the room fell. Cassandra attempted to kick Michael in the head on her downward arc, but he lashed out, smacking her out of the air and into the wall. She landed hard, but rolled to her feet, lifting the tranquilizer gun. Drawing a bead on Michael, she tried to squeeze off a dart, but he was faster than anticipated and kicked the weapon out of her hand.

For a split second she worried about Aimee, but then a guard went sailing past her, crashed through the sliding glass door, and disappeared into the night. Relieved, Cassandra ducked under Michael’s attack, came up behind him, punched her elbow into his back, and sent him stumbling. Whipping about to finish him off, she was shocked to find him raising his weapon to shoot her.