Page 96 of The Devil’s Feather

I re-aimed the gun. “Open the fucking door.”

Benson and Deandra joined me, keeping the men off my back. The door opened to a buzzing noise. There Rafael was, seated with his hands restrained behind his back. Dried blood streaked from his nose all the way down his chest. His right eye was swollen shut, and his shirt was torn at the collar. Men surrounded him.

Those fuckers!

He straightened. “Elaine!” His voice was hoarse.

The movement revealed Molly behind him with a wireless shaver in her hand. The goddamn White Witch cutting off Aslan’s mane before the sacrifice. Over my dead body.

Side-stepping to clear my line of sight, I aimed the pistol at her head. “Back the fuck up! Now, before I double-tap your skull.”

She skidded backwards, dropping the clippers. “Jesus, it was just a joke.”

Most of the men raised their hands and backed away as well.

“Jokes are supposed to be funny.” More backup poured through the door, emboldening me. “God, Rafael! What have they done to you?”

His mouth split into a crocodile grin. “You should see the other guys. Plural.” Rafael stretched his neck to the right, revealing a series of small burn marks just above the torn collar of his shirt. “Remind me to get you a better taser to use on me. This shit tickles.”

“A violet wand is good enough for everyone else,” Benson muttered under their breath behind me, “but oh no, not for Rafael Nazim, patron saint of pain pigs.”

Rafael’s eyes narrowed as Benson came into view. Deandra wisely said nothing.

I handed Benson the gun. “Safety’s off.”

They nodded, covering the room.

A stocky, balding man blocked my path to Rafael. It was the guy who’d tried to stop us outside the salon. Just tall enough to look down at me, but not tall enough to be truly intimidating, the man’s ridiculous tactical vest was too big for him, like it was his first day on the job.

“Turns out these guys get very uncomfortable if you moan and say, ‘harder, Daddy,’ when they hit you.” Rafael jerked his chin toward the man in my way. “Jeremiah Sapp here will definitely be thinking of me when he goes home to fuck his wife. Tell me, Jerry, are my tits bigger than hers?”

I bit lip to keep from snickering.

Jeremiah’s face turned blood red, and he reached for me. “Ma’am, stay back. This man is dangerous.”

Rafael snarled, “If you touch my girlfriend, I will crack your skull open like an egg.”

The possessiveness made me a little giddy. Even if he was sassing too close to the sun, given the state of him.

Jeremiah sneered and lightly pushed my shoulder. Rafael surged up from the chair and head-butted him. Bone crunched and blood sprayed and men yelled. Rafael raised a boot, ostensibly to stomp the fallen man’s head.

I scooted in front of him, planting my hands on his chest. “Stop!” A growl rumbled under my hands. I summoned up every bit of dominance I’d ever had in the dungeon and threw it into my voice. “That’s enough. Back down.”

Rafael lowered his foot, looking down at me. To my surprise, I didn’t have to slap him; the rage bled away on its own. As he stepped back, his shoulders flexed. He lowered his head and grunted, arms straining. With a pop, his hands came free. The swarming thugs stopped moving like they’d been flash frozen.

First, how did he do that? Second, why was that so hot?

“Goddamn,” Deandra whispered.

“Fucking zipties,” Rafael grumbled, rubbing the red lines on his wrists and shaking out his hands. The blood trickling down his forehead added to his general air of menace.

Chaddington Techbronius III peeked out from behind one of the bigger bruisers. His eyes slid from Rafael to the unconscious Sapp.

“Gentlemen, ladies, and, uh…” he trailed off, looking at Benson.

Benson grinned and raised both fists. “My pronouns are ‘fuck’”—one middle finger went up—“and ‘you’.” The other middle finger went up, still holding the gun.

He blinked and turned his back on Benson. “Mr. Nazim, I think we’ve both made our points.”