I straighten slowly, rolling my neck once, adrenaline humming low and steady under my skin, my breathing controlled, measured, like I haven’t just dropped three grown men in under thirty seconds.
The door opens behind me.
I don’t turn right away.
“You fight well for a pretty boy.”
I snort, dragging a hand down the front of the fucking cardigan still tied around my shoulders as I glance over at Igor, then past him to where my dad steps into the room.
“Pretty boy?” I huff. “It’s the outfit, isn’t it? I feared trying a kick with these pants, didn’t want to lose aura snap kicking a motherfucker, only to have my arsehole out.
Johnathon doesn’t answer me, doesn’t even look at the bodies on the floor as he crosses the room in two long strides and grips Gideon by the shoulder, shoving him down into a chair hard enough to make it scrape loudly against the ground before unclipping the gun from his belt and setting it on the table beside him with disinterest.
Power stripped.
Control gone.
And Gideon feels it.
I see it in the way his jaw tightens, in the way his eyes flicker—not fear, not yet, but something close to it.
Then he starts talking.
Of course he does.
“You are a poison,” he spits, his voice rising, losing that calm edge it had a moment ago. “A stain upon this world. A destroyer. A heathen—”
‘Cause I'm a picker, I'm a grinner. I'm a lover and I'm a sinner. I play the music in the sun… Fucking love that song.
I lean back against the wall, crossing one leg over the other like I’ve got all the time in the world, like I’m not even slightly concerned about the man currently having a religious meltdown in front of me.
“This man not like you very much,” Igor observes mildly.
I grin.
“Yeah,” I say, pushing my glasses up my nose with one finger. “It’s all teen drama, Igor. You see, I have been making sweet, sweet, sweaty love with a woman half his age, and poor old Gideon over there doesn’t like it for some reason!”
Gideon’s face twists, fury flashing hot and fast now.
“You have no soul!”
I shrug lazily.
“You’re right there,” I tell him, my smile turning sharp. “My wife sucked that right out of me. Felt it leave my fucking body. Nearly dropped me to my knees.” I tilt my head, eyes locked on his. “Worth it though.”
That does it.
He snaps.
The movement is fast, faster than I expected, as he lunges for the gun on the table, fingers closing around it as he flicks thesafety off in one smooth motion and swings it up toward me, his chest heaving, his control completely gone now.
“Not so smart now, are you!” he shouts.
I raise my hands slowly, palms out.
“I will have you know, I have never been accused of that.”
“Any last words, Mr. Baker?”
