was testing the effects of my power on hers,” explained Molten, so smoothly I wouldn’t have guessed he was lying if I hadn’t known otherwise. “She’s good, but she’ll break under pressure.”
I went to argue, but Achilles silenced me with a single look before turning to his ‘second-in-command’, his expression utterly calm. “Funny, I could have sworn I expressly told you not to touch her, Patrick. She’s my prisoner, my property.”
“I am not your –” I really should have expected the hand that reached out and wrapped itself around the column of my neck. Achilles’s favorite pastime , aside from killing people, seemed to be choking me, after all. His grip was nowhere near tight enough to cut my air supply, though, so I had to assume he was just telling me to shut up in his own special language.
“Did she use her power on you?” he asked, as if he wasn’t standing there, holding an innocent girl by the throat.
Molten shook his head. “She did use it on herself, though.”
Achilles’s eyes flashed to mine once more. He looked so deadly that the sunshine in me momentarily took over – I made a funny face at him, and I could have sworn his lips twitched.
“Take her upstairs, and make sure she stays there. Keep your hands to yourself, unless you want to lose them,” he instructed to someone behind me. Rough, gloved hands closed around my arm and led me outside. Achilles’s black eyes blazed with something unidentifiable as the door closed on him and Molten.
“Here,” my guard said gruffly, thrusting a towel at me.
“Thanks,” I gushed, truly grateful for any good deed after what had gone down with Molten. I looked up at the guard from under my lashes as I wrapped the towel around myself. Just as Molten struck me as a politician type, this man looked more like someone’s father than the thug of a criminal mastermind. He even had a handkerchief neatly folded in his jacket pocket.
“So I’m not going back to my cell?” I asked. He led me back past the cell I’d called home for five days, and through to a fire escape stairwell.
“Guess not,” he replied shortly. Silence, and then he added, “You okay?”
I supposed, to an outsider, I must have looked like I’d just battled my way through the Amazon. My hair was tangled, I stank to high heaven, my clothes were missing, and I had a distinct feeling my scalp was bleeding. But it could have been much, much worse.
“That Molten guy is a dick,” I grumbled. “Does Achilles go out of his way to employ creepers? Don’t answer that,” I said quickly, when he went to respond, “I don’t want to be responsible for you choking on your own hands.”
I’m not quite sure why I was opening up to this complete stranger. The fatherly vibe just got to me, I guess. Plus, he was the first person to show genuine concern for my welfare here. I would latch onto that compassion any way I could.
“I wouldn’t worry about Molten,” he said as we climbed the stairs. “If the boss wants you kept upstairs, there’s little chance he’ll get to you.”
“Why? What’s upstairs?”
I shouldn’t have asked – a moment later, he opened another fire exit door, and I found myself standing in some kind of office, complete with cubicles and desks. Thugs of all shapes and sizes sat around the room, some in groups, others rifling through papers, others talking furiously into cell phones. Everything was all wrong in the office, though – there were no computers, or phones, or printers. Papers were scattered across the floor, files strewn everywhere, knives embedded in walls and bullet holes riddling the cubicle barriers.
Some odd looks were thrown my way, but no one stopped us or seemed to question my presence.
“Come on,” my guard said, leading me away from the cubicles, into what I assumed was once a CEO’s office. It had two rooms of its own, probably a bathroom and … a bedroom? Judging by the way the office had been converted into a
I went to argue, but Achilles silenced me with a single look before turning to his ‘second-in-command’, his expression utterly calm. “Funny, I could have sworn I expressly told you not to touch her, Patrick. She’s my prisoner, my property.”
“I am not your –” I really should have expected the hand that reached out and wrapped itself around the column of my neck. Achilles’s favorite pastime , aside from killing people, seemed to be choking me, after all. His grip was nowhere near tight enough to cut my air supply, though, so I had to assume he was just telling me to shut up in his own special language.
“Did she use her power on you?” he asked, as if he wasn’t standing there, holding an innocent girl by the throat.
Molten shook his head. “She did use it on herself, though.”
Achilles’s eyes flashed to mine once more. He looked so deadly that the sunshine in me momentarily took over – I made a funny face at him, and I could have sworn his lips twitched.
“Take her upstairs, and make sure she stays there. Keep your hands to yourself, unless you want to lose them,” he instructed to someone behind me. Rough, gloved hands closed around my arm and led me outside. Achilles’s black eyes blazed with something unidentifiable as the door closed on him and Molten.
“Here,” my guard said gruffly, thrusting a towel at me.
“Thanks,” I gushed, truly grateful for any good deed after what had gone down with Molten. I looked up at the guard from under my lashes as I wrapped the towel around myself. Just as Molten struck me as a politician type, this man looked more like someone’s father than the thug of a criminal mastermind. He even had a handkerchief neatly folded in his jacket pocket.
“So I’m not going back to my cell?” I asked. He led me back past the cell I’d called home for five days, and through to a fire escape stairwell.
“Guess not,” he replied shortly. Silence, and then he added, “You okay?”
I supposed, to an outsider, I must have looked like I’d just battled my way through the Amazon. My hair was tangled, I stank to high heaven, my clothes were missing, and I had a distinct feeling my scalp was bleeding. But it could have been much, much worse.
“That Molten guy is a dick,” I grumbled. “Does Achilles go out of his way to employ creepers? Don’t answer that,” I said quickly, when he went to respond, “I don’t want to be responsible for you choking on your own hands.”
I’m not quite sure why I was opening up to this complete stranger. The fatherly vibe just got to me, I guess. Plus, he was the first person to show genuine concern for my welfare here. I would latch onto that compassion any way I could.
“I wouldn’t worry about Molten,” he said as we climbed the stairs. “If the boss wants you kept upstairs, there’s little chance he’ll get to you.”
“Why? What’s upstairs?”
I shouldn’t have asked – a moment later, he opened another fire exit door, and I found myself standing in some kind of office, complete with cubicles and desks. Thugs of all shapes and sizes sat around the room, some in groups, others rifling through papers, others talking furiously into cell phones. Everything was all wrong in the office, though – there were no computers, or phones, or printers. Papers were scattered across the floor, files strewn everywhere, knives embedded in walls and bullet holes riddling the cubicle barriers.
Some odd looks were thrown my way, but no one stopped us or seemed to question my presence.
“Come on,” my guard said, leading me away from the cubicles, into what I assumed was once a CEO’s office. It had two rooms of its own, probably a bathroom and … a bedroom? Judging by the way the office had been converted into a
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