Stark's gaze follows me.
Straight through the glamour.
The bastard smiles.
Shit.
His smile widens.
The bastard actually takes a step toward me.
Well.
That's unsettling.
I tighten my grip on the crossbow and bare my teeth in something that definitely isn’t a smile.
Bring it on, fanger.
Movement flashes behind Stark.
I react before he does.
The bolt is already airborne by the time I pull the trigger.
Glass shatters.
The remaining meathead jerks as iron punches through his throat and launches him backward.
Stark’s mine, asshole.
Stark catches the collapsing leech, rips the bolt free, and drives it straight through the bastard’s heart.
The body withers into a shriveled husk of ash almost instantly.
Show-off.
That’s my cue.
I sling the crossbow across my back, grab my bag, and leap from the roof.
The landing jars through my knees, but I keep moving.
What a fucking shitshow.
I got no answers.
My cover is blown.
And somehow Stark saw straight through a glamour that should’ve hidden me.
Months of surveillance work gone in a matter of minutes.
All because a woman who shouldn’t have even been able to see the restaurant walked through the front door.
Fucking hell.
Chapter Twelve
