Bitter Bite (Elemental Assassin #14)(24)

if Santos had decided to rob the bank on his own or if someone had hired him

to do it. And since the bastard had tried to shoot Finn, I was going to carve

the answers out of him one slow slice at a time.

Bria and Owen started to follow me, but I stabbed one of my knives toward

Finn, who was still sprawled across the floor. He must have taken a harder

tumble than I’d thought.

“Stay with him!” I yelled.

Not only because Finn was injured but also because I didn’t want to leave him

alone with Deirdre—not even for a minute.

I shoved a few more screaming people out of my way, rammed my shoulder into

the door, and barreled down the stairs, which were still covered with that red

carpet—

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Santos fired at me, hanging out the front passenger window of a black van

idling at the curb. But I was still holding on to my Stone magic, so the

bullets bounced off my body instead of punching through my chest. Still, the

blows made me stagger back, and it took me a few seconds to shake off the

hard, stinging impacts and dart forward again.

Santos cursed and started to reload, but whoever was driving the van had had

enough, especially with the growing whoop-whoop-whoop of police sirens in the

distance. The getaway driver gunned the engine and peeled away from the curb,

tires smoking.

But I wasn’t ready to give up, so I sprinted out into the street, fell to my

knees, dropped my knives, and slapped my palms flat against the asphalt. In an

instant, I reached for my Ice magic, blasting it out over the entire street.

The cold crystals of my power exploded out from my palms and rushed down the

pavement like a tidal wave streaking toward shore. The sheet of Ice raced down

the asphalt, getting closer and closer to the van’s back tires. If I could

just get the vehicle to skid and crash, I could still catch Santos.

“C’mon,” I muttered. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon . . .”

I poured even more of my magic into creating that solid sheet of Ice, watching

it creep closer and closer to the van.

At the end of the block, the driver took a hard right, making the tires

screech in protest. The van careened around the corner and vanished from

sight, even as my elemental Ice continued to shoot straight down the street.

“Dammit!” I snarled.

Gone—Santos was gone.

And so was my hope of getting any answers about the robbery.

*

I released my magic, grabbed my knives, and stood up. The elemental Ice

coating the street burned my bare feet as I walked over to the curb. I slid my

knives back up my dress sleeves, pushed through one of the doors, and stepped

back into the bank.

All sorts of debris littered the floor—overturned tables and chairs, trays of

spilled food and drinks, shattered shards from the crystal chandeliers, trash

bags of valuables, bullet casings. The waiters and bartenders were clustered

along the tellers’ counter, shell-shocked expressions on their faces. The

partygoers and the bank’s clients wore similarly stunned looks. No surprise

there. Things as low-down and dirty as strong-arm robberies simply didn’t

happen at a place like First Trust.

As for the bank staff, all the tellers, investment types, and other hotshots

were nervously gathered in the middle of the lobby around Stuart Mosley to see

what his orders would be. Mosley had his phone clamped to his ear, his eyes

narrowed, and his voice chillingly low as he demanded answers from the person

on the other end about how this had happened.

The crime bosses were also on their phones, texting and talking to their

crews, telling them what had happened and trying to get info on who the

robbers were and where they might be headed. I would be doing the same and

calling Silvio soon enough, if the vampire hadn’t already heard what had

happened.

But first, I had to deal with Deirdre Shaw.

She was sitting on the same stool as when I’d first come into the lobby. Her

scarlet shawl lay crumpled on top of the bar in front of her, along with her

purse and several bloody cocktail napkins. A long red gash sliced along her

upper left arm, but the wound didn’t look deep, and it wasn’t even bleeding

anymore. She’d thrown herself in front of a bullet and had only gotten

grazed. I was certainly never that lucky. Then again, I’d long ago lost count

of how many times I’d been shot.

But it seemed to be a new, thoroughly horrible experience for Deirdre. The

robbery itself might not have scared her, but getting shot certainly had.

Shock still whitened her face, her eyes twitched, and her fingers shook with

small spasms before she clasped her hands together to try to hide the tremors.

I studied her carefully, but her surprise seemed one-hundred-percent genuine.

I didn’t want to admit it, but perhaps she really was an innocent victim

tonight, like everyone else here.

What really concerned me, though, was the fact that Finn was right by her