Felix’s vision darkened at the edges.
Not dying today.
Blinking hard, he pulled his own dagger from his cross-holster and jammed it through the man’s neck. When the grip on his shoulder loosened, Felix yanked his dagger free and shoved the man aside. His body hit the ground with a dull thud.
But the man’s blade was still buried deep in Felix’s stomach.
He spat a mouthful of blood onto the street.
Solach.Not good.
A new figure stepped out of the fog; another of Ashcroft’s, by the looks of him. His shiny bald head gleamed under the dim light, and ruined skin sloughed off his face in slabs, peeling away from muscle. Ashcroft liked to keep his goons hopped up on the elixir, despite the side effects. The pros outweighed the cons, apparently.
The man drew a gun, and this time, when Felix called on his power, it rushed up to meet him. He wiped the blood from his chin with the back of his hand, and when he ordered the man to stop, he obeyed.
“Answer me honestly,” Felix said, and with the command set in place, he asked, “Are there more of you here?”
The man shook his head, eyes glazed. “No. Not here.”
A fresh jolt of pain stole Felix’s breath, and he fought hard to maintain his concentration, grasping at the threads of his power.
“Where’s Ashcroft?”
“I don’t know,” the man answered. “Don’t deal with him directly.”
It couldn’t be a lie. Not while under compulsion. And it was the same answer Felix had gotten every time. None of the thugs he killed ever seemed to know where their boss was.
He spat more blood onto the ground. “That’s just grand.”
As he tried to think of something else to ask, his leg wobbled, threatening to give out. He couldn’t keep hold of the man much longer.
“Do me a favor now and put that gun in your mouth.”
The man obeyed, blank eyes staring at Felix, waiting eagerly for the next order.
“Pull the trigger.”
The gunshot pierced the silence, echoing all around him.
Felix’s own dagger fell from his grip, clanging loudly against the cobblestones. He wrapped his fingers around the one buried inside him and winced. Even the slightest movement was agony.
“Wouldn’t do that,” a voice came from behind him.
He whirled and drew his pistol.
Another man, arms crossed, clearly unbothered by the gun trained on his chest. “Remove the knife, and you’ll bleed out in seconds.”
Felix glowered, but his hand fell away from the dagger. Without Marlow around, he couldn’t risk it.
“Name’s Gideon,” the man said. He was older, with tied-back chestnut hair and a trimmed beard. His faded red jacket hugged his broad shoulders.
“You saw what I can do, yeah?” Felix asked.
The man’s eyes jumped to the body. “I did.”
“Don’t think I’ll do the same to you?”
Gideon shrugged. “I don’t. ‘Cause we want the same thing.”
