The man scoffs as though he’s offended. “Yeah. That freaky mind-control thing your kind can do. Dom told us all about it, but I call it a mind worm because that sounds more, like,gross, ya know? Really paints the picture.”
“What the fuck?!” I rasp into the hood, the words garbled and frantic around the fabric.
“Can’t worm our brains if you can’t see us,” he sing-songs cheerfully.
“That’s enough, Sakane,” the redhead barks. He eases his weight enough to allow me a ragged breath. “Why were those soldiers chasing you?”
“Gotta be my dashing good looks,” I wheeze through a cough. “Jealousy’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
He pushes right back down on my sternum as more air punches from my lungs. “Keep talking shit,” he warns. “See where it gets you.”
“Probably the morgue,” I admit breathlessly, “but at least I’ll die as I lived. Pretty and mouthy… my legacy.”
He pats me down with a growl, his hands rough as they smack up and down my frame. When he finds the folded papers tucked under my waistband, he yanks up my chestpiece.
“If you wanted to feel me up, you could’ve at least taken me for dinner first,” I rasp. “I’m pretty easy, actually. Fuck on the first date if you buy me dessert. Doesn’t even have to be fancy, just get me a donut and all this could be yours. Hell, get the kind with sprinkles and I spread like butter.”
“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Papers rustle violently as he flips through them. “What are these?”
“So… that’s a no on dessert then?”
He pushes his weight onto his knee, grinding down until stars burst in my vision and air whistles out of me.
“We watched you stroll into that building like you owned the place,” he hisses, leaning in so close his coffee breath burns my nostrils, even through the hood. “Ten minutes later, half the damn army was scrambling after you. Why?”
“Stalking me already, pretty boy?” I choke out, forcing the words through the pain. “That’s hot.”
“I’m going to fucking murder you.”
“Get in line,” I mutter, the fight leaching out of me.
“What do we do with him?” Sakane asks around what sounds suspiciously like chewing, then the crinkle of a wrapper confirms it.
These two are infinitely better odds than the soldiers I was running from, so I force my body to sag against the floor.
It’s not surrender, just a calculated pause.
My magic is drained and my energy isn't far behind, but while I’m not free, I’m not staring down a firing squad.
That’s something.
The redhead pauses. “We take him to Dom. As tempting as it would be to throw him back out and watch the soldiers scoop him up, he has information. We need answers first.”
Air floods my lungs as the knee lifts. Relief lasts half a second, just long enough for rough hands to haul me upright and sling me over his shoulder again.
He grunts under the extra weight, adjusting his grip on my thighs. “Fucking hell, you’re heavier than you look.”
“Flatterer,” I mutter into the fabric over my face. “You should feel me after pasta night.”
I shift, trying to get comfortable with his shoulder digging into my stomach.
“I can walk, you know,” I complain.
He snorts. “We saw how fast you run. Not a chance.”
Frustrated, I growl but force myself to go deadweight. It’s the pettiest rebellion I can manage, but makes me feel marginally better.
The redhead shifts me higher on his shoulder and starts moving with steady, purposeful strides that echo faintly off concrete. We’re underground now, or at least somewhere enclosed. The air is damp, with a faint tang of must and old stone.
