As if I’d ever touch his cock. Never. Not even to cut it off. “You use that thing to hurt women. It has to go.”
“No!” he squeaked. “Please no.”
“I found the handcuffs. Maybe I should shackle you to the bedfirst.”
“Those handcuffs aren’t mine! They’re here for Van.”
If Van was waiting in the hall, I’d make him pay.
I sent another searing jolt of pain through Grillo’s body and felt an echo in my own. Unlike my own magic, the magic I absorbed from Smit and Carron demanded a price. My knees buckled as phantom fire raced along my spine. I clutched one of the bed’s posts.
Grillo missed my weakness as tears streamed down his cheeks. “Please,” he begged. “Have mercy.”
“Did the girls you raped plead for mercy?”
He stared at me as if he didn’t know how to answer. I could almost see his thoughts turning in his ugly head. Should he lie? Would I know? Would I punish him by extending his agony? Or should he tell the truth? He’d feasted on their fear, reveling in their terror.
I could end his miserable existence. I had Smit’s death magic, and if ever a man deserved death, it was Grillo. He’d raped countless girls.
Tempting, but I was neither judge nor executioner.
Rather than killing him, I crashed a wave of pain over him and smiled when he fell face-first on the hard floor.
“Hurry up in there!” Someone in the hallway was impatient.
If they knew how furious I was, they’d happily wait to see me. And my fury wasn’t reserved for the men lining up outside my door. Grayson, Teal, Flynn, and even Pierce had failed to protect me. Again.
I took a breath, gathered my strength, and shoved open the door.
Seven men crowded the hallway. Seven.
Carron’s gift exploded from my fingers, attacking the closest men in their lungs, their guts, their hearts. Squeezing.Twisting. Wringing not nearly enough agony from them. Too soon, they fell to the floor, unconscious.
As they fell, the magic I’d borrowed from Carron sputtered out.
The remaining four men stared in confusion at their companions on the floor.
Their confusion gave me a chance to summon conventional weapons. A sword. A staff.
I swung the staff, breaking a man’s thigh bone before they even thought of attacking me. Then I destroyed a second man’s knee.
The remaining two raised their fists.
I roundhouse kicked one in the head and grinned as he crashed to the floor.
Only the innkeeper remained. He pulled a knife and stalked toward me. “You think you can do this to my customers?”
“You’re lucky I didn’t kill them.” Arguably, they’d deserved it.
He lunged toward me, and I brought the staff down on his wrist. The crack of a breaking bone was sweet.
“Bitch!”
Not terribly original. Swinging the staff, I aimed the hardened wood at his head. He fell forward. Face-first. Hopefully, he’d broken his nose.
I stepped over their prone bodies, pausing only to kick the innkeeper in the ribs. Once. Twice. Okay, three times. The third kick was rewarded with another loud crack. Not entirely satisfied, I also kicked him in the jaw.
But my rage wasn’t spent. It burned hotter, demanding answers. The guards had left me down here. They’d heard the men at the bar, seen their leering looks. And they hadn’t cared.
