Sin & Spirit (Demigod of San Francisco #4)(74)

Her air was cut off, silencing her. Her vision sparkled with red and black spots. Another wave of adrenaline washed into her. She stilled, closing her eyes.

“There you go. Just let it come,” the woman whispered like a lullaby.

Zorn had trained her for this, though he had also tied her feet. Mordecai had thought it barbaric. Thought it too much.

Her heart hurt as much as her neck. As much as her wrist. All she wanted was to run back to Mordecai, hug him, and tell him that he was wrong and she was right. Na-na-na-na-na.

A tear leaked out of her eye. The pain flared from her wrist as she pulled again. It was now or never. Clumsy left hand or no, it was time to get that knot free. It was time to survive.

She scrabbled at it, disappearing into her head, cutting out the pain. Her mind might be fuzzy around the edges, not far from dying, but she wouldn’t let it get to her. She could do this. She could get out of this.

The rope came free in her left hand. It slid off her right arm and dropped to the floor. Her hands were free.

She thrashed her shoulders, taking the focus from her lower half, acting like she was trying to get out.

“Almost there now,” the woman said. “Almost there.”

“You’re going…straight…to hell,” Daisy mouthed, no breath to let the woman know what was coming.

She kicked her feet out, separating them at the last moment to hit the insides of the woman’s knees, as she jammed her left hand into the neck of her shirt. The woman’s hands tightened even more around Daisy’s neck. Blackness encroached on her vision.

Daisy wrapped her hand around the hilt of the knife in her bra. Before the woman could stop her, she yanked the blade out, slicing her would-be strangler’s arm as it passed by.

The woman jerked back and turned, immediately going into defensive mode. It was too late. Daisy was already moving, thankful for the proximity, since she had to use her nondominant hand. She surged forward and rammed the blade into the woman’s gut. Before the woman could fully pull her hands away from Daisy’s neck, Daisy pulled her blade out and slammed it in again, this time slipping it between the ribs. Lucky shot. One more for the kidney, which she missed, slicing the woman’s side instead. She really needed to work on this hand.

The woman grunted, unreally quiet despite the onslaught, and staggered forward. Daisy tried to get out of the way, but she got twisted up with the chair and went down. Her bad wrist hit first and she cried out.

The chair tumbled out of the way. The woman, blood running onto the floor, grabbed for Daisy. Daisy rolled away, the room spinning.

She forced herself through it, knowing this was life or death, and scrambled up, her wrist held down at her side. It would feel better if she cradled it against her body, but it was out of the way in case the woman surprised her with a body kick or punch.

The woman rolled onto her side, trying to get up, giving Daisy an opportunity to kick her in the stomach, right in her wound. The woman screamed, curling in on herself. Daisy dropped and stabbed the knife through the woman’s throat.

“You don’t fuck with my family and get to live,” Daisy said, straightening up. She wiped the drool from her mouth and stepped back slowly, watching, waiting. If the enemy was good, she’d feign a mortal wound to bring the attacker closer, greedy for a kill.

One must never be greedy for a kill.

If the enemy was good, she would see the attacker backing off, assured of victory, and become the attacker herself.

One must never let down her guard, even when the enemy is on the very brink of death.

So when did one finish things up, or was Daisy supposed to wait here all day for the woman to bleed out? She wished she’d known to ask during Zorn’s instruction.

Daisy waited for the remorse to come, for the cacophony of emotion following a kill, especially her first personal kill. Zorn had warned her to be ready for it. To be ready to talk herself around it if there was no one there to help her.

None came.

She felt no remorse whatsoever. Not for this woman, who had intended to kill her. Not for her partner in crime, who had killed Mordecai…

The sorrow nearly stole her breath.

Okay, fine, she did feel pain for Jack. Clawing betrayal. She wasn’t dead inside, after all. She’d need help dealing with Jack. But not this woman. Not this asshole, who’d tried to kill a kid in cold blood, whispering lullabies and calling the situation a mess.

“Look who’s the mess now, motherfucker,” she whispered. “And you better bleed out before you can tell Alexis I swore.”





Amos



Amos parked along the street in the plain brown Dodge he’d stolen from his hotel parking lot. The afternoon sun beat down on the corner lot, the weathered and beaten building hunkering among the newer condos and buzzing office buildings. He could barely see the red car sitting idle in the parking lot.

Aaron’s staffer was still there.

Amos let his lungs slowly deflate. That was a relief. Demigod Magnus didn’t tolerate failure. Amos wasn’t the only Possessor in the world, and he wasn’t even the best—he didn’t want the boss to think about replacing him.

He grabbed his bag from the front seat. The various items within tinkled as they fell against one another. He strung the strap over his shoulder and stepped out of the car, dressed in business casual with his hair slicked to one side. There was less of a chance people would notice him if he fit into the surroundings.