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“That guy fucks me off.”
The feeling’s mutual.It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask Nightshade what’s happening but a shrill whistle rents the air and I wince as I look around for the culprit responsible for bursting my eardrums.
Hatchet is giving me a smouldering grin and fuck my broken ass, I’m ready to go again.
“It’s time,” Night says. “Positions.”
I nod and mentally prepare myself for whatever is about to happen. I take my position, bat in hand, ready to swing at anything that comes my way. The adrenaline is pumping through my veins, and my face is sweaty. The anticipation is killing me, but I don’t let it show. I’m not weak. I’m not vulnerable. I’m a fighter, and I’ll do whatever it takes to survive.
As we wait, I can hear the muffled sounds of someone approaching from the outside. The guys have fanned out around the foyer, but I’m right in the middle opposite the door. It feels deliberate, staged, like whatever is about to step across the threshold is specifically for me.
Finally, the door slowly opens, and a heavy-set pig of a man in a too-tight suit and shiny loafers steps through. I freeze. I know this man.
It’s the judge from my case. He grins at me, oily and smug, and I feel a flash of rage.
He takes one look at me, eyes scanning the destruction of his home, and his grin falters. I’m sure the bruises and cuts on my face and my wild hair don’t make me look particularly intimidating, but I hold my bat up menacingly, ready to strike.
“Well, well, well,” he says slowly. “Look who we have here.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t trust myself to speak without cursing him out or spitting in his face.
“You were always a troublemaker, Miss Kingfisher. But I didn’t expect you to make it out of that asylum. You’re resourceful, I’ll give you that.”
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure out what game he’s playing.
“What do you want?” he demands, his voice betraying his fear.
All around me, the other guys chuckle. It’s a terrifying sound and Judge Jeremiah pales, noticing their presence for the first time.
“Nothing much,” Nightshade says, his tone low and deadly. “The asylum just wanted to thank you for their latest recruit.”
Bones steps forward, and Judge Jeremiah visibly shrinks back in fear, even as his lip curls in a sneer at Bone’s tattoos. He’s a scary mother fucker, but not as terrifying as Nightshade with his facial ink. No, he was very careful to keep his face neutral when looking at Night.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that your services are no longer required.”
“I see.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“The asylum doesn’t want me to send any more recruits their way? Got it. Message received loud and clear. You can go now.”
“Now, Judge,” Bones drawls, his voice dripping with menace. “That’s not very hospitable of you, is it?”
The judge swallows hard but tries to maintain his haughty air. “And why would I be hospitable to the likes of you? You’ve clearly broken in and trashed the place.”
Nightshade steps forward, his eyes flashing with something that sends a shiver down my spine. “Because if you don’t, we’ll make sure everyone knows about your little side business.”
The judge blanches, and I can practically see the sweat beads forming on his forehead. I don’t know what they’re talking about, but it’s obviously something that terrifies him.
“Fine,” he says, defeated. “You’re welcome to stay. Do you require refreshments?”
Nightshade smirks and it’s fucking beautiful in its deadly intent. “We have no interest in your piss poor taste in sub-par liquor, Judge. Just you.”
“W-what?”
“Kayla?”
