stopped abruptly and pivoted, swinging my purse up to bash him on top of the head.
This time he blocked, swinging an arm up to deflect the blow. Shit. I backpedaled as he barreled right into me, taking me down to the concrete in an incredibly painful tackle. My turn to have the air knocked out of me and little stars in my vision.
Though I wasn’t in the right position for it, I tried shoving him off me. He was growling curses and highly uncomplimentary remarks as he grabbed at my hands, forcing them down to the pavement on either side of me. So I did the next best thing and rammed my knee up as hard as I could into his crotch.
His eyes bugged out so much I could see the whites behind his sunglasses, which had somehow managed to stay on his face during the fight. Unfortunately, my tactic didn’t work as well as I’d hoped. He didn’t let up his grip on me, the other two guys ran up, and as some of the stars cleared from my peripheral vision, I could see the two black cars double-parked and idling beside where I was pinned to the pavement.
Each of the suits grabbed an arm, hefting me to my feet as the guy with the bloodied face slowly levered himself up to stand. I kicked at kneecaps and bit at the hands on my shoulders and arms, but they had me pretty well pinned. It was hard to keep fighting after the first guy jabbed a harsh punch into my stomach, once again driving the air painfully out of my lungs. I prayed he hadn’t hit me hard enough to crack any ribs.
“You’re under arrest for attempted murder,” the bloody-faced guy said loudly in a wheezy, slightly higher-pitched voice than before. I imagine that was due to my kneeing him right in the ‘nads. Lots of people were staring at us, watching open-mouthed from apartment windows, out of their cars as they passed by, or peeking from storefronts. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”
Gasping back some air, I spat at him. “You lying sack of shit! Somebody call the police, these aren’t cops!” I cried out louder, hoping someone in the crowd would believe me. “Help, they’re kidnapping me!”
Nobody moved. Goddamn useless rubberneckers!
The two guys holding my arms wrestled my hands together at the small of my back so that bloody-face could whip out some handcuffs from a back pocket and snap them around my wrists. I struggled and screamed again, trying to twist out of the cuffs even though I knew it wasn’t doing much more than bruising my wrists.
“Shut up,” he growled into my ear as he leaned in at my back, soft enough that only the guys holding my arms and I could hear. “Nobody in this crowd believes you, and I’m pissed off enough right now to punch your face into the back of your skull. Nicolas is a good enough mage to make you feel like I did that and more a few times over without leaving a mark, and I will give him the green light if you keep this up. So shut … up.”
I did as I was told, panting slightly as I tried to think of a way out of this. The men at my side used their grip on my upper arms to practically lift me off the pavement, dragging me to one of the cars. The other guy picked up my purse and trailed behind us. Once I saw that creepy little mage glaring at me from the back seat of the car they were dragging me toward, I started struggling again.
I did not want him anywhere near me! Thanks to Arnold, I knew a bit about what magi were capable of and was not interested in being within touching distance of one again. God only knew what the jerk was trying to cast on me earlier. Whatever it was happened to be nasty enough to require a physical touch. I’d seen enough magic, and had enough discussions with Arnold, to know that only the strongest, nastiest, most illegal sorts of spells were cast by that method.
The two men shoved me into the back seat, right up next to Nicolas, Creepy Mage Extraordinaire. The guy in charge slid in next to me on the other side and shut the door, trapping me between them. The driver twisted around in his seat, brows raised. “Jesus, Logan, looks like she did a number on you.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Mr. Muscles–better known as Logan–said, his voice a girlish squeak. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
The driver shook his head and turned his attention back to the road. Logan reached into the pocket of the passenger seat and pulled out a small med kit. I had a moment of feeling proud of myself for having done so much damage before I felt those cold, sweaty fingers on my temple again.
“Can I hurt her?”
I twisted away, scared out of my mind by the venom in Nicolas’s voice. The move left me pressed up against Logan, but hey, anything to get me away from a pissed-off Other. Worse, one who was pissed off specifically at me.
“Not yet. Remember what the boss said. He wants to question her,” Logan said, shoving me back toward Nicolas with an elbow. He started dabbing at the cut on his temple with his other hand, cleaning some of the blood off his face with a medicated pad. “Put her out, though. I’m tired of dealing with her shit.”
Nicolas nodded, reaching out to take my face into his hands, fingers digging into my temples as I wrenched away from his touch. He was grinning at me, an odd light in his eyes. Was that fae energy or simple insanity? After a few seconds, searing pain blasted through my skull, so abrupt and painful I couldn’t remember how to breathe.
Then there was darkness.
I woke up on my stomach on a thickly carpeted floor, my hands still cuffed at the small of my back. I had no idea how much time had passed, or even what time of day it was since there wasn’t a window in the room. Judging by the slightly damp feel to the air and the musty scent, I thought I might be underground, possibly in a converted basement. The only illumination came from a few candelabra on large brass stands.
Despite the clammy feel to the air, the place was lovely and spacious. The carpeting was a pale cream color, and the molding and oaken furniture had gilded scrollwork, the gold reflecting dim candlelight. A large walk-in closet with mirrored sliding doors was left open, revealing more ball gowns and ladies’ dress shoes than a bridal depot at the mall.
Whoever dragged me in here hadn’t thought to dump me on the thick, comfortable-looking bed done in crimson and cream, and I groaned as I twisted onto my side and struggled to sit up. At least I was left to sleep off whatever Nicolas had done to me on carpet instead of hardwood. And hey, I was still alive. My ribs ached, but the pain wasn’t so sharp as to make me think they’d been broken. That much was a blessing.
However, I had no idea where I was or what my captors wanted with me. I was alone in the room, and when I awkwardly tried opening the single door with my cuffed hands, it was locked.
I spotted my purse on top of a dresser. With a little ingenuity, I unzipped it and spilled out the contents on the floor. My cell phone and mace were still there, mixed in with my makeup and breath mints. Once the screen of the cell was illuminated, I saw that it was well past nightfall, almost nine. Thankfully it was still Saturday. I hadn’t lost an entire day to unconsciousness, so I figured they must be planning to do something with me on a relatively immediate basis. Joy of joys.
It took some shifting and twisting and struggling, but eventually I slid my arms under my butt and got my hands in front instead of behind me. I quickly texted Sara, Arnold, and Chaz a message:
KIDNAPPED! SEND HELP! THINK IT IS MAX CARLYLE, CALL COPS OR ROYCE OR JACK/WHITE HATS. DON’T KNOWWHERE I AM. CAREFUL, HE HAS MAGE ON HIS SIDE. (NICOLAS?)
I frantically jabbed at the send button as
