Page 38 of Bond of Passion

Oh, fuck no. Not the cheese grater again.

“Hey!” Deja wheeled around to face the group, fists on hips and haughty as a queen. A queen in tight jeans and a blouse that showed a lot of cleavage.

Good to know that you still appreciate a nice rack, even in the face of death.

“This is my time,” she said. “And not all weapons are physical. Some of us have more...shall we say, evolved means to cause pain.”

Dayum. Score one for the queen.

The dudes looked sufficiently cowed, and Tavin figured his odds of getting out alive just got better.

She pivoted back around and stared even harder than before. He’d gotten the impression earlier that she’d been panicked and unsure how to proceed, but this time, she gave him a play-along look.

That, he could do.

He stared back in defiance, the way he’d done with all these fucks. This had to be believable.

“You think you can hurt me, cupcake? You think you can—?” He broke off with a yelp of feigned pain. And then another. Then a howl of agony that ended when his voice and energy flagged.

Panting hard, he sagged in his chair and surreptitiously eyeballed the room. Everyone seemed to be mildly entertained. Good. But he still didn’t see any friends in the audience.

“How did you like that, you bastard?” Deja growled, her anger so genuine he almost believed it. “Want some more?”

He screamed as if she were crushing his brain. Shrieked so hard there was a burst of pain and a muffled pop in one ear. When his voice grew hoarse, he sagged again, breathing hard, but this time it wasn’t an act. It took a surprising amount of energy and oxygen to scream like that.

There were a few chuckles from the crowd, but they were starting to get bored. No matter how much pain he pretended to be in, it wouldn’t be enough. They’d want blood soon.

“Female.” A goat-headed guy Tavin had whacked pro-bono because the male liked to murder demonlings, clomped forward. “How did he kill you?”

“She told me he stabbed her,” another dickhead called out. Name was Muscov, and the fucker still had Tavin’s blood on his hands as if the kitchen sink weren’t ten feet away. Filthy beast.

Tavin glared at him, still playing the role of unrepentant assassin. “Yeah, I stabbed the bitch. Right through the fucking heart.” He looked back at Deja and smiled, really getting into it now. “It was like cutting into a juicy steak.”

Deja’s eyes shot wide, and he swore her rich gray skin went a few shades paler. Had he gone too far? Too many Hannibal Lecter vibes?

“He did that to you, and you’re just hurting him with your mind?” Goatfucker said. Tavin couldn’t remember his actual name, and he didn’t care.

“It’s bullshit,” someone muttered.

“Yeah, bullshit! Let’s see some of his insides!”

Everyone got on board with that, shouting encouragement to Deja, along with a lot of suggestions. Tavin hated all of them, but he couldn’t fault their creativity.

“Don’t you assholes think you’ve seen enough of my insides?”

Deja slapped him. Hard. “Shut up, you assassin scum. You’re getting what you deserve. You killed everyone here.”

Man, she was a great actress. Outrage had darkened the shadows under her eyes and cheekbones, giving her a stark, almost skeletal appearance. Even her voice had gone darker. More resonant. It was kinda hot.

“Everyone here deserved what I did to them,” he shot back, and he wasn’t lying. None of these scumbags had been good—or even marginally decent—people. Murderers, rapists, and worse. All of them.

“I deserved it?” she yelled. “I deserved to be cut into like a piece of steak?”

He scowled. This was starting to feel less like an act and more like an authentic grievance.

To the cheers of the crowd, she punched him. “Answer me!” Punch. “Why did you kill me?”

As he tested his jaw, he tried to come up with a response. He’d never been good at improv, and he was even worse at it when he had no idea what was going on. She seemed so genuinely angry.