Cold Burn of Magic(76)

“Because he chose you to be the Family bruiser instead of me,” Grant hissed. “I was his right-hand man. I was older. I had more experience. But he told me that I wasn’t a good enough fighter, that I wasn’t as good a leader as his precious son. He made me broker as a consolation prize. Well, it wasn’t enough.”

“And you think this will be?” I asked.

Grant blinked, as if he was just now noticing that Devon and I were still easing away from him. But instead of coming after us, he gave me another smirk, as though I was doing exactly what he wanted me to. I frowned again. Why would he be looking at me like that? Where were the men he should have with him? What was he up to?

“Actually, now that I think about it, I might as well take your Talent, too, Lila,” Grant said. “It’s not as powerful as Devon’s, but sight can be handy on occasion.”

“You’re not getting my Talent,” I ground out. “I’ll die before I let you rip my magic out of me.”

“You’re gonna die anyway,” he said. “Might as well make it useful.”

Grant let out a sharp whistle. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, one by one, the doors on the cars in the parking lot opened, and men with swords started pouring out. I cursed my own stupidity. I’d been so concerned about people hiding in the shadows that I’d never considered the fact they could be waiting in the cars with their tinted windows. And now, Devon and I were both going to pay for my mistake.

Devon moved in front of me and raised his fists, but he couldn’t take them all on, not even with his compulsion magic. There were just too many of them.

I spotted a movement out of the corner of my eye, and I realized that one of the men was racing toward me. He had to have a speed Talent to move so fast. I started turning in that direction, even though I knew I wouldn’t be able to block the attack—

A fist slammed into the side of my face. I staggered back, feeling a cold burst of magic racing through my veins—but it wasn’t enough.

The fist hit me again, and the last thing I heard was Devon yelling before the world went black.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX


The ache in my arms woke me.

For some reason, they seemed to be anchored over my head, as though I were trying to do some difficult yoga move. In fact, they seemed to be stretched up so high that I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore. Everything just . . . hurt.

I tried to move my arms to take the pressure off them, but something heavy was wrapped around my wrists, holding them in place over my head. Still, I struggled, wondering what was wrong and why I was having such a strange dream—

The night came rushing back. Family dinner. Mo’s call. Realizing Grant was behind the attacks. Grant confessing to killing Lawrence Sinclair and threatening to take Devon’s Talent—

My eyes snapped open at the thought of Devon.

All I saw was darkness, but I blinked again and the world came into focus. A lone bulb burned in the ceiling, casting out long shadows that twisted every which way like monsters about to strike. I scanned the shadows, but all I saw was a warehouse with a dirty concrete floor and gray cinderblock walls. The air was cool enough to make me shiver, despite my black suit. But perhaps the most curious things were the drains that had been set into the floor at regular intervals. One was directly underneath my bare, bloody feet, which were sprawled across the concrete, since I’d been unconscious.

Since I couldn’t really tell where I was, I moved on to how I was. My jaw pulsed with pain, but other than that, I seemed to be okay. I didn’t feel any stinging cuts or throbbing bruises, although a dull ache filled every other part of me.

I looked up at the source of the pain—my arms. My hands were tied together with a heavy rope, which had been looped over a metal hook hanging down from the ceiling. Someone had strung me up on the hook and then left me to dangle for however long it took for me to wake up. More hooks hung from the ceiling, each one right over a drain.

The hooks, the cool air, the drains in the concrete floor. My heart dropped like a stone. This wasn’t a warehouse—it was a slaughterhouse.

The sort of place where they hung slabs of beef and pork in cold storage before shipping them out to butcher shops. A perfect metaphor for what Grant wanted to do to Devon—

“Mm ! Mm-mmm!”

A muffled sound caught my attention. I looked to my right to find Devon tied to a chair. My eyes scanned over him, but he seemed to be okay. Red welts and bruises marred his face, and his knuckles were scraped and bloody, probably from his fight with Grant and his goons. The ropes binding him to the chair were as thick and heavy as mine, and a strip of silver tape covered his mouth, to keep him from speaking and using his compulsion magic.

Questions crowded into my mind, mainly about whether Felix and the others realized what had happened yet, if they were tracking us, and how close they might be to finding us. But I forced myself to push those thoughts away and focus on Devon. All that mattered right now was getting both of us out of here—alive.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Devon nodded, then abruptly stopped. He looked past me, his eyes narrowing in anger, rage, and hate.

“He’s fine,” a snide voice answered me. “For now.”


Footsteps sounded, and Grant walked in front of me. He wasn’t alone. Two men also appeared and moved behind him, flanking him like soldiers. I looked around, but I didn’t see anyone else. Once they’d captured Devon, Grant must have paid off all the other men he’d hired and sent them away.