Chapter 27

ANITA

Idon't have to open my eyes to know we're heading into the study. I have every inch of this place mapped in my mind, including exactly how many steps it takes to escape any room in this prison.

The temperature in the house drops ten degrees, leeching the heat directly from my soul, but that might just be my imagination. The air is sterile, the place as silent as a mausoleum. Not even insects dare enter without permission.

When the door to the office thuds shut behind us, the ominous sound has my heart thumping like a jackalope in my chest. It's like a prison door slamming shut in my mind, and it's a struggle to remember our plan and not to freak the fuck out.

My senses go into hyperdrive, and I can sense my three guys in the room…and double that many guards.

Escape is futile.

The guys would be taken down in a hail of bullets if they tried.

Fire crackles in the office, the flames soothing my panic enough for me to remember this is part of the plan. As Stuart's steps head toward the massive desk that dominates the room—yes, he's totally overcompensating—Cassius tucks me closer, his thumb brushing against the underside of my arm reassuringly.

To my shock, it works.

My panic abates at his nearness, my heart slowing to match his steady, reassuring beat, and the tightness in my chest gradually eases. I'm flabbergasted when I realize what emotion I'm feeling.

Trust.

It's such a foreign concept that I don't recognize it at first, but I trust the guys.

It's tentative, something I haven't felt in close to a decade, and I'm not sure how to process the emotion. Knowing now is not the time, I shrug it off and a fierce determination to protect the guys takes over. No matter what happens, I'll do whatever it takes to ensure they don't get caught up in my mess.

"Account?" I crack my eyes open to see Stuart sitting behind his desk in front of his computer.

Porter doesn't miss a beat and rattles off an account number. The fact that he doesn't even hesitate gives me pause for a second, wondering if they are double-crossing me, then I immediately dismiss it.

The guards stand around the edges of the room, never once taking their eyes off us. Garvey, the sadistic fucktwat who took great pleasure in torturing me the most, practically vibrates with eagerness at the thought of getting his hands on me once more, and it's all I can do not to shudder at the thought.

I clamp down on my emotions before they can escape.

If his eyes are on me, then it's not on the guys. Soren turns his attention to the bookshelves lining the room, his hands clasped behind his back, like he's perusing the spines of the books in search of his next great read. The tomes are ancient texts worth a small fortune, and they took my family decades to collect.

While one or two of the guards watch him warily, they don't object as he slowly works his way closer and closer to the desk. He's searching for the demon contract. Something about the tense set of his shoulders tells me that he has a lead. I'm desperate to throw out my senses to see if I can find what caught his attention, but I don't dare for fear of giving away our ruse.

"Garvey, don't be rude." Stuart smirks at his loyal servant. "Why don't you prepare a seat for my long-lost cousin and make her feel welcome?"

"Of course, sir. It would be my pleasure." I can't hold back a tremor of fear at the malicious glee in his voice. He gestures toward two of the guards, and they leave the room, only returning a second later with a thick length of chains.

Garvey grabs a sturdy chair, placing it in the middle of the room with a thud, then rubs his hands in full villain fashion as he motions for Cassius to deposit me on it.

The basilisk hesitates, and I discreetly prod him forward. When he doesn't move, I shove my fingers between his ribs hard enough that he grunts, and he reluctantly complies.

We discussed this possibility earlier and planned for every eventuality. We can't afford for him to hesitate now. Cassius pauses at the chair, grunting as he lowers me with the greatest of care, like I'm a prized treasure to him, and it's enough to take my mind off the fact that I'm about to be decorated in chains.

Again.

I don't have to call my magic and build up the energy like last time. No, my flames are raging under my skin, searing my insides with the need to explode out of me. My power has never felt so volatile or out of control. I'm not sure if it's because I'm back home and struggling to hold the horrors of my past at bay, or if my magic just wants vengeance.

"You'll have about ten minutes or less before she burns through the drugs in her system," Cassius warns in a grumbly voice as he straightens and steps away.

I immediately miss his cool, calming touch.

As the chains near, a wave of sickening magic washes over me, and I gulp in dread—magic restricting cuffs.

It's going to take the full twenty minutes for me to overload them…if I'm lucky.

I nearly grunt under the weight of the chains, my shoulders bowing, and the dickhead Garvey takes great pleasure in clamping the manacles so tightly around my wrists that pain streaks up my arms and my fingertips tingle with numbness.

"That should do it!" Stuart stands and circles the desk, already dismissing the MID agents as he makes his way toward me. He cups my face, tilting my head back, and it's all I can do not to lunge forward and take out a chunk of his flesh.

Fuck it!

Lightning fast, I latch my teeth into the fleshy part of his thumb. I yank my head back and forth, savaging his hand, and a spark of pleasure burns in my chest when my fangs lengthen and dig into bone.

Blood spills down my chin, and I glare up at him in triumph. He punches me in the ribs twice, hard enough for the bones to creak, then once more in the side of my face before my jaw unlocks.

I give him a bloodthirsty grin, welcoming the pain. "Aw, cousin, it's good to be home again. It's wonderful to see things haven't changed."

I barely finish speaking when Garvey slams the butt of his rifle into my shoulder where it connects to my neck. He hits the bundle of nerves in a way that induces maximum pain. I grunt as agony radiates along my skull, while white-hot pain shoots down my spine, incapacitating me for nearly a full minute.

If I hadn't been chained to the chair, I would have dropped to the floor.

When I can breathe again, I can't resist taunting him. "A love tap. How sweet! Did you miss having me in your torture chamber, big guy?"

A snarl twists his lips, and he lifts his gun to slam it into my face, only to halt when Stuart holds up his hand. My cousin runs the backs of his fingers down my cheek, and it's all I can do not to jolt away from his creepy touch. I must not have covered my flinch enough, because a delighted smile curls his lips.

He reaches down and grabs my throat tight enough to cut off my air. "Don't worry, cousin, dear. We'll be sure to give you a warm welcome home. Your room is ready and waiting for you."

Heat ravages my insides, churning at his nearness, and a bead of sweat slides down my temple. I swallow hard, struggling to hold everything back.

It's not time to fry his ass to oblivion yet.

A slow roast so he can feel every inch of his body cooking is nothing less than what he deserves.

When I don't give him the reaction he wants, he clicks his tongue and laughs. "Don't worry, little cousin. You'll be singing a different tune by morning."

Soren takes a step forward to intervene, tiny wisps of smoke steaming up from his clothes, but Porter stops him with a subtle shake of his head. With murder in his black and silver eyes, the hellhound turns away and continues his search of the room, inching ever closer to the desk.

Soren lifts his head, sniffs the air, and I know he must be close.

We need a distraction before Stuart sends the guys away.

I metaphorically pull up my big girl panties, then spit in Stuart's face before he can release me.

Fury sparks in his brown eyes, and I can practically see a film of insanity descend over his face. I smirk at the bastard and raise a mocking brow at him. "Ah, too bad you can't kill me, right?"

He pauses in the middle of lifting his hand, his attention sharpening as he searches my face. "So you know?" He gives me a creepy smile that is all teeth, his expression turning manic. "That will make this all the more fun! Oh, don't worry, little cousin. As long as you're breathing when we turn you over to your daddy dearest, we'll still get what we deserve."

He doesn't even wait to finish speaking before he slaps me across the face with all his strength. My skin instantly burns, pain searing along my cheekbone, and my eye stings like a bitch. It throbs for a few heartbeats, and I grit my teeth to prevent myself from giving him any type of reaction.

I slowly lift my head, then smile at him, feeling blood spill down my chin from a split lip. "Are you sure about that? You do know why they want me, right?"

That catches his attention, and he pauses in the middle of throwing another punch. I push my point home, grabbing onto the most plausible explanation, and one he would relish the most.

"Possession," I say succinctly, pasting on my best creepy smile. "Do you think they'll be happy that they'll have to waste power to heal me?"

I look him up and down, then flick my tongue against my bloody lip. "I wonder if he'll allow me to kill you once he takes possession of me." I flutter my lashes up at him coyly. "I mean, if I promise not to fight him, don't you think he will give me a little boon?"

Doubt flashes across his eyes, but it's quickly replaced by frustration, then he leans down and roars in my face. Any sanity is gone, and I mentally sigh when I realize I pushed him too far. "Not if I beat you so hard, you're unconscious when he comes to claim you."

I snort and roll my eyes, then bluff out my ass. "You really are a fool, aren't you? Demons have been killing people with similar bloodlines for months, trying to possess them and failing. None of them have been successful. Anything you do to endanger their chances will only piss them off. I mean, unless you wrote in the contract that you're not responsible for any sabotage."

He opens and closes his mouth, a furrow appearing between his brows. Then frustration gets the better of him, and he grabs my hair and wrenches my head back. Pain radiates along my skull, and I grit my teeth when his grip on the strands threatens to scalp me. "Liar!" he yells, spittle flying, but the seed of doubt has been planted.

I release a choked laugh, then glance at Porter. "Why lie when it's easy enough to prove? Ask the MID dipshits to show you pictures. We just came from investigating one of their crimes."

Stuart jerks my head back a little farther, the muscles in my neck straining not to snap. With a growl, he releases me, then stalks toward Porter and snarls, "Show me."

He doesn't give me his back, like I'm prey he doesn't want to let out of his sight.

Thankfully, Porter doesn't hesitate, just pulls out his phone and complies. "We've had eight deaths reported so far. Maybe more that haven't been discovered."

Instead of freaking out, Stuart leans in closer. The longer he studies the pictures, the more relaxed he becomes. He's practically giddy as he straightens, a bounce to his steps as he walks toward his desk. He is laughing so hard, he has to sit on the edge to keep upright.

Stuart wipes tears from his eyes and pins me with a gleeful smile. "Do you think they'll let me watch while they tear you apart?"

He's practically rubbing his hands together like a child on Christmas morning.

Sick fucker.

He tilts his head to the side, his smile still firmly in place, but his eyes have gone completely dead. "Maybe we'll just help your daddy dearest and soften you up a little first. No broken bones, but just enough to break your spirit. I bet he would give me a bonus for all my hard work."

He picks up a penknife from the desk, twirling it with one hand as he mentally thinks of all the ways to cut me up.

I lift my chin and flash him a taunting smile. "Try it, Pinocchio. We'll see which one of us survives. Puppets like you are made to burn."