Behind them, another male carried a small lacquered box with the Chinese symbol for revenge lining each side. There was no sign of Gregory, Tyson, or Tiffany, but Blue didn’t care.
This was happening.
“—gonna go crazy for these,” Shark was saying. He swiped his arm across the items on the nearest table, scattering everything to the ground.
The male placed the box on the surface. He was an Agamen, with huge white horns protruding from his skull. Bona fide ivory towers. Seriously, a colony of fairies could live inside those things.
Hell, maybe they did.
“I’m to remind you that there’s major heat on these,” Horns said.
Shark nodded and rubbed his hands together. “Consider me reminded. Now show me what I’m gonna be selling.”
Horns fiddled with the locks on the box. The lid was flipped open.
Blue saw three golden ribbons resting inside and nearly vomited. The pain John must have suffered . . . must be suffering. He had to swallow back a roar of fury, had to lock his power down tight.
“Pretty, aren’t they?” Horns said with a crooked grin.
“Are you kidding? They’re gorgeous,” Shark exclaimed. “When the Star girl finishes her designs . . . people are gonna go insane.”
Across the expanse of the rafters, Blue met Evie’s gaze. Determination radiated from her.
“They die,” he mouthed. “Hard.”
Gripping two daggers, he dropped from the ceiling and landed on his feet. Evie did the same, and together they surged forward. The men noticed and reached for weapons—but they were too late. Blue threw both of his daggers, one finding a home in Shark’s right eye, the other in his left. Howling with pain, the guy dropped to his knees. Meanwhile, Evie savagely knifed one of the humans across the throat, his skin ripping and blood spraying.
Horns tried to sprint out the door, but Blue caught him with a thread of power—an invisible rope—and dragged him back, kicking and screaming. When Blue reached out, intending to slice through the horns to take them as a memento, the male bucked in an effort to jab him with the poisoned tips.
A swift stab, stab, stab deflated all three of the Agamen’s lungs. Alien anatomy classes came in handy sometimes. The male flopped forward, allowing Blue to break his neck with a vicious jerk.
The last remaining target managed to get his hands on a pyre-gun and fire a shot at Evie. She ducked, the laser soaring just over her shoulder. Blue closed the distance in a blink, grabbing the human’s arm, twisting, breaking the bone, and swiping the gun. He fed the barrel into the man’s mouth and pulled the trigger.
Yellow lights sparked from every orifice the human possessed, and blood quickly followed. He crumbled to the ground.
You think you can take out my woman? Blue spit on the body.
Your woman? Really?
Whatever. He spun, desperate to fight someone else, but the battle was over. He stomped to the table, and Evie tagged along. They peered at the glittering golden ribbons curling so prettily against the velvet.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He nodded to let her know he’d heard.
“We’ll find him.”
Yes, they would. They would never stop searching, never give up. He didn’t care what they had to do or who they had to kill.
“Let’s get the box to Michael,” he said.
* * *
The next few days were packed with activities. Evie held a press conference to announce she was taking over Black Industries and that she’d set up an exhibition game for the Invaders and Strikers at the end of the week. She called Tyson Star and set up a tour of the Star Light Hotel, but he wasn’t the one to give her the tour. His personal assistant did the honors.
She almost threw a tantrum.
Also, Tiffany had yet to call Blue and ask him to meet her father.
But at least no one had tried to kill him. Or Evie. It was safe to assume his cover was solid, he wasn’t a target, and whoever had ordered the car chase had changed his—or her—mind.
Even so, Evie was a bit on edge. She and Blue had not had their chat about expectations and had not made out again. Was he done with her?
No. Impossible. Last time he’d been totally on fire for her. Flames that hot couldn’t have just died out.
Really? Reeeally? Have you ever witnessed a fire burning? Flames die out all the time, moron.
She could hear him puttering around in the kitchen, and shivered. He’d snuck over a few hours ago. He’d snuck over every night, actually, secretly staying in the guest room, just as he’d promised Michael.
Have I lost my appeal?
No, she thought again. She wasn’t a raving beauty like the women he was used to, and she had the wrong hair color . . . and the wrong boob size. . . . Hey. She frowned. What had he ever seen in her?
She didn’t know. But she had not fallen from the ugly tree and gotten hit by every branch, thank you. Blue had felt an attraction to her, and it had been strong enough that he’d forgotten his dislike of her.
Maybe . . . the stress was getting to him? He worked constantly, and rarely slept.
To be honest, she was having trouble keeping up with him.
“Dinner,” Blue called.
He’d offered to cook, and she hadn’t even given a token protest. Her culinary genius was limited to boiling soup and thawing the frozen dinners her father sometimes sent over.
“Be right down.” She had left him alone about half an hour ago; the sight of him preparing a meal, acting all domesticated, had nearly sent her into a euphoric state of shock.
Translation: she’d wanted to jump him.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket as she padded to the kitchen. She checked the screen, saw Michael’s name, and grinned. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, sunbeam,” he replied. He called her once a day to check in.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better.”
He offered nothing more, so she said, “Did something happen?”
“Nope. Just wondering if the exhibition game was set.”
A lie. He knew it was. He watched the news. “In two days, as planned. I’ve finalized all details for the after-party as well.” A party where Blue would probably have to seduce the pants right off Tiffany Star. Nothing else had worked.
He would always do anything necessary to get what he needed from a target, so maybe their aborted romance was for the best. Evie hadn’t changed her mind. She would never be okay with her man bagging other women, no matter the reason.
“Good,” Michael said. “That’s good.”