He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "Glamor?"
I paused to look at him. Surely he'd heard of glamor.
"Yes. Some fae warlord said my apartment was in his realm."
I waved my hand in front of my face to dissuade him from asking questions. "Don't ask. It has something to do with a nasty incubus and buying me a favour. But as it turns out, this Fae warlord thinks I owe him."
"They do like to be repaid," he said thoughtfully.
I clutched my hands to my chest in an effort to keep them from wrestling each other. "So I've discovered."
"He called himself a fae warlord?"
"He called himself she at one point. I suppose a fae could be gender-fluid." I shrugged, not really caring how the fae self-identified in light of the pickle I was in.
He chuckled, which surprised me.
"What?" I demanded.
"Sidhe," he said, spelling out the word. "Some might say a sidhe is a breed of fae. A very old breed. And many of them wouldn't use the term fae to describe themselves." He put his finger to his lips, thoughtful. "If a sidhe warlord came to you and wants--what was it he wanted--?"
"A bone of some sort," I said with a sigh. "But it doesn't matter. I'm already screwed. The glamor's gone, as you can see. Then you show up out of nowhere to pick up a priceless artifact I had no idea I was stowing for you--one that could have gotten me arrested, mind you--"
"You weren't," he said shortly.
"But I could have been," I argued. "I could have gone to jail." I thought of Scottie again and imagined the way he'd be prowling about the general cells, waiting to be released if he wasn't already, and that brought me right straight back to Alvin. I stepped up my pace once more.
"And then you make some weird mojo on me," I said. "What was that anyway?" I said, clutching at his sleeve so I could hold him still long enough to get ahead of him.
He didn't stop but it gave me the chance to scuffle ahead of him and turn my back to the oncoming traffic, so I could see his face. "What was that?"
He halted and shrugged. "Mojo," he said.
"Not a great answer."
"Not a great question."
"You aren't going to tell me, are you?"
He said nothing. That inscrutable facade remained intact. I heaved a sigh, beaten for the moment.
"Then at least tell me where we're going," I said.
"If you insist on coming, then you'll see, won't you?"
He stuck out his hand and a cab pulled alongside the curb. Maddox handed him a fifty and bade him take us to the seedier part of town, or as the locals called it, Paradise.
We jumped out in front of Paradise's old library, the one I'd met Kassie in a few weeks earlier when I'd been running from Finn, and I looked askance at him.
"Feeling the need for a bodice ripper?" I asked him.
"You're a better comedian than you are a thief," he said.
"I'm not--"
He held up his hand. "Save it."
He lifted his nose to the air as though scenting for something. I swallowed down a wisecrack about dogs.
After a moment, he made a short grunting sound that could have meant, figures, and then he turned down a side street.
"Keep up," he said. "I don't want to have to have to start looking for you too if someone decides you'd make a nice quick meal."
"I've been down this way before," I said haughtily from his side.
He paused long enough to look me over and made a thoughtful sound deep in his throat.
"What?" I said. "I do business all over. No one has touched me before. They might even like me down here." That one was a stretch, but I didn't like the implication in his tone that I was a helpless twit.
Instead of arguing he started walking again. In three strides he had managed to make me take to running. I had short legs and though I was a good runner, running in an area like this usually meant it was from something, and under the circumstances, it might not be a good idea.
"Mind slowing down a bit, then?" I said.
He sighed and held back. "We don't have much time," he said and reached back for my hand. He gripped it tightly and squeezed.
I flushed at his touch.
"Keep up or I'll drag you," he said and the warm flush evaporated.
"Bastard," I muttered, but I kept up, if only to spite him. It wasn't long before we arrived at a seedy bar much like the Rot Gut Tavern and a mere couple of blocks away.
The exterior had bullet holes in the paint and graffiti that someone had graffitied over. As scary as Fayed's bar could be, this one seemed just downright nefarious.
"If you need a drink, Fayed's would be less filthy," I said as we stood outside, surveying the door and the numerous wounds it had endured in its time.
"I didn't come for a drink," he said.
He prodded my chest with a finger, pushing me back gently but firmly.
He held me off that way while he gazed down at me. His eyes pinned to my mouth for a long moment, making me uncomfortable.
"You should stay outside," he finally said.
I mentally ran down a list of reasons why he wouldn't want me to follow him and one in particular rattled its way to the top. He had a priceless coin. A coin he'd used me to steal.
"I want half," I said quickly. "Fifty percent off the top."
At first, he looked confused and then as realization lit his face, he guffawed.
"You want half of what's waiting in there?" he said.
I nodded.
He shook his head. "You're not a kitten; you're a bull."
"Forty, then."
He shook his head. "You don't want a tenth of what's waiting inside, Isabella."
He gave me a shove, but I kept my footing even if it took considerable effort to do so.
I lifted my chin as though I was going to argue and waited till he cocked that russet eyebrow in warning.
I conceded. Just the right amount of time, I thought, and watched him push open the door and disappear into the gloom within.
I gave him exactly four seconds before I followed him in.
CHAPTER 15
I quietly scooted along the wall to the right as he strode immediately toward the bar. He was so intent, I doubted he knew I was there behind him, but I could imagine the scowl that creased his face from the set of his shoulders, the way his muscles moved like a cat's beneath it.
He was flexing his fists at his sides as he headed to the bar, curling and uncurling them. He was nervous. Anxious. Eager. All things that would match up with an uncertain sale of priceless items.
But there was something else that I recognized from the many times I'd watched the same emotions in Scottie's body language.
He was furious.
He'd hidden it well from me but now that he thought I was safely outside, he gave it free reign.
Even the half dozen patrons could see it. Several of them got up from the bar and, pulling their beers along with them, shuffled casually toward the pool tables. All but one of them, and that man hung over the counter oblivious to the way the others turned their backs on him almost intentionally.
They saw what I saw and reacted the way strangers do. They decided to ignore it.
Maddox approached that beefy man hanging over the bar. Even from this distance, I could see the swelling on the back of the man's hand as he reached for his drink. He stretched his fingers wide, showing several bloody cracks in the knuckles. Knuckles that had buried themselves into my cheeks and ribs just hours earlier.
Alvin. The bastard.
My stomach knotted up at sight of him, and the strength ran out my legs like water from a tap. I found the nearest chair and sank into it, aware that my breathing had gotten too loud, too short. I sucked it in and held it, trying to reset it as Maddox approached him and Alvin turned at the sound of someone approaching him. Maybe he felt the fury or the tension. Maybe he felt the shift in the room.
Confusion twisted his features at first as he spun on his stool to face Maddox, but
then they contorted in annoyance.
"Fuck you want?" he said, a little too loudly.
Maddox said nothing. Nothing. As long as I lived, I would never forget the sound of that silence.
He just reached out toward Alvin and spidered his fingers across the man's face. I'd thought Alvin a bloated and unfit man until he'd beaten me, mistaken the size of him for fat.
The truth was, he was big, as big and as muscle-hardened as any thug Scottie had employed, but he was nowhere near as big as Maddox. Side by side, it was obvious who was the giant and who was Jack.
Maddox's fingers went into Alvin's hairline even as his palm all but covered Alvin's face.
And then the bastard rose from his stool. Rose. As though being lifted or levitating but I knew neither of those could be true. A man can't be lifted by his face, and a man can't levitate. Yet Alvin's feet dangled and kicked at Maddox as he was lifted toward the tar-stained ceiling.
I'd mistaken also the length of Maddox's arms until one stretched upward, holding Alvin by his face. Alvin mumbled and tried to shout for help beneath his palm.
Everyone in the bar swelled forward in surprise and interest. They smelled blood.
Even the bartender leaned forward, his hand reaching beneath the bar.
I expected a gun or a bat to come out but in the next heartbeat, Alvin began to convulse beneath Maddox's hand. The sheer violence of it paralyzed the bartender, paralyzed me and the half dozen other patrons.
He twisted and curled his knees up, grunted in pain.
Bruises and blood bloomed on his face and neck. Instead of gripping Maddox by the arm to defend himself, he winced and hugged himself. Bones cracked, loud snapping sounds echoed in the room, punctuated by muffled screams.
The invisible beating continued, and though I couldn't hear punches and kicks being landed, I could hear the resulting strikes resonating from Alvin's body.
Prickles of cold swept across my skin and water flooded my mouth. My stomach rebelled.
I couldn't get to my feet fast enough to run to the bathroom. I had to heave beneath the table. The stink of sour bile washed over me, and my belly trembled from the effort of trying to calm itself.
As terrified as I was, as gut sick over what was happening, I made the mistake of looking up and catching Maddox's eye.
The timing couldn't have been more wrong. I thought I smelled excrement and urine. Alvin. He'd released his bowel and bladder and he now hung, slumped into himself from Maddox's grip.
With one short movement, Maddox released him, and the man who had beaten me to within an inch of paralysis fell to the floor in a heap.
The patrons sped for the exits.
Maddox's face, his expression, was unrecognizable in its vengeful fury, and in those seconds, terror overran the sickness.
"You killed him," I said, gagging on the words.
CHAPTER 16
I wasn't sure what to expect. Maybe I expected to feel vindicated or relieved. Maybe even a sense of peace. I felt none of those things.
Alvin might have been the fists that pummelled me, the feet that kicked me, but he was the weapon only. Alvin was a tool like a hammer was a tool. The real person wielding the weapon was Scottie, and Alvin was nothing if not a loyal weapon. Scottie owned him. Owned his life. Just like any other person circling within Scottie's orbit, if that life was to be snuffed out, it would be at Scottie's behest, not anyone else's.
And there would always be more Alvins. Except next time, that Alvin would be a bigger weapon, wielded by an angrier owner.
"He's dead," I said again and the way my voice sounded accusing rather than aghast, I knew I was only just beginning to add up the fact that this was Maddox, the man standing in front of me, who had done it.
"You killed him," I said.
Maddox looked down at the husk of man in a heap at his feet.
"Apparently," he said.
He sounded almost as though he hadn't expected Alvin to die. I had a hard time swallowing every time I glanced at the bloody rags and hulking figure curled into a ball at Maddox's feet. My gorge kept rising and my skin was prickling with flush. I thought I could feel my nails biting into my palms.
"You think that will fix anything?" I said, a little too shrilly. "It fixes nothing."
I staggered to my feet, aiming for the door.
Maddox's gaze landed on mine and held it. My feet rooted themselves to the floor.
"This isn't the bastard that did that to you?"
My head jangled up and down. "Of course it is."
I felt myself backing away from Maddox the way the bartender had.
"It is, yes. It's him, but he's just the messenger. There will be more. There's always more. You didn't fix anything. You made it worse."
Maddox's gaze shuttered dangerously. "The man at the gala?" he said, so low I barely heard him, and it was the threat of it that reached my ears more than the level. "He is the author of this particularly nasty note?"
He nudged Alvin with his toe as though he was killing time until I answered, but I knew he didn't need me to. He had every piece of info he needed.
And so, it seemed, did the bartender, who finally made the decision to reach for his phone.
Maddox gave him a long look and the man dropped it onto the counter. He put up his hands. The screen died to black.
"Didn't see nothing," the bartender said. "I'll say nothing. No one will know. Just leave."
Maddox's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. The bartender sidled sideways like a snake trying to get out of the reach of a stick. He butted up against edge of his counter.
"Seriously," he said. "I don't even know how it happened. Bunch of thugs, is all," he said, weaving out a plausible tale as best he could with Maddox staring him down. "Bunch of thugs dropped him in here." He grabbed the glass Alvin had been drinking from and emptied it out in the sink. Washed it clean. Put it back on the shelf. "See?" he said. "Didn't even have a drink in here."
I felt myself begin to hyperventilate. Kassie and Fayed had both told me Maddox was dangerous. And it wasn't as though I didn't believe them. I just didn't have an opportunity to see exactly what form that danger came in. I flicked my gaze over his shoulder toward the bartender who was backing away from the bar, his gaze pinned to Maddox's back.
"No," Maddox said and crouched down next to Alvin. "No need to make up a story," he said.
The bartender sighed heavily. Relief spread across his shoulders.
Maddox glanced up at me, ignoring the bartender for the moment. "Where should I dump him?"
I was struggling to keep up, struggling to stay calm.
"Dump him?" I said. I felt as though everything was speeding up and slowing down all at once.
"Yes, Isabella," Maddox said, impatience a barely concealed tone in a voice that held me like a terrified child. "Where should I return this message back to its author?"
Back to Scottie. He wanted to dump Alvin at Scottie's doorstep. I felt my shoulders heaving, my stomach threatened to rebel again. I heard the echoes of my memory telling me I might care about this man, a man I thought might have some compassion inside.
But he was just like Scottie.
Maybe they were all like Scottie. Maybe I was better off alone. I couldn't go home. I had no way of getting out of the city. I shook my bug-out bag, testing its weight. The last time I'd dug into it, had been to take the cache out to pay for the museum intel. My escape funds were all but gone.
I sobbed out loud and caught it between my teeth.
"Isabella," Maddox said, and it was his voice that freed me from my own paralysis finally.
I ran headlong toward the door.
Maddox sighed from behind me as though this was the last thing he needed. He called out to me again, but it was too late now for me to even turn around. I was at the door and the handle was in my hand and I was tearing out of there like a cat with its tail on fire.
Cat. My cat. Trapped in my apartment in the fae's realm. Strange how that was t
he thought that struck me as I fled the bar.
Strange it was the thing to remind me.
I really was alone.
It was dark already, and the street was filling up with hookers and thieves. My people. People I understood. Normal, human, mortal people.
I caught my breath and leaned against a wall, heaving. My shoulders dug into the bricks. All I could think of was the way Alvin had twisted in Maddox's grip, suffering blows and kicks he couldn't see coming. He suffered, oh how he suffered. My body had echoed each moment of the attack and though I hadn't felt a bit of pain, the cells remembered it and cried out to my mind.
I hated Alvin for what he'd done to me. I hated Scottie for ordering it.
But while I might not have been inclined to feel pity for Alvin, my psyche ached beneath each assault, the memory of it making me sick to my stomach even if I felt nothing.
And worse was that it had been Maddox who delivered that beating. I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to put those pieces of the puzzle together.
"I told you to stay outside," came a soft whisper. "I warned you not to come in with me."
Maddox. Trying to backtrack and blame me for feeling this way. It was too much, that accusation, as though I was somehow to blame for witnessing something I shouldn't have. As though he wasn't culpable at all. I needed to get away from him. From here. I needed a safe space.
But nowhere was safe. I knew that now. Not my apartment. Not with Maddox.
I pushed off the building. He caught my arm momentarily and tugged me toward him, but I fought him like a cat would fight. I hissed out curses at him, kicking, scratching.
"Leave me alone," I said, striking out. I connected with something. Maybe his cheekbone. I wasn't sure. I was so blinded by confusion and anger and fear that I couldn't know where the blows landed.
"Isabella."
My name was a command in the air. Stay put, it said. Stop.
I would do nothing of the sort.
"Fuck you," I said and made one last bid for escape. This time, one of my kicks landed against something solid. He grunted and let go.
I fled out of instinct, aiming for the shadows.
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