“How did you find us?” he demands again. He doesn’t give the man time to answer before he swings a fist into his face.
“Answer his question, Tom,” Naito says, stepping forward and running his hands over the human’s camouflaged pants. He finds something in a pocket on the man’s thigh. I don’t recognize the black rectangle until Naito snaps it into the magazine well of the gun.
“Naito,” the captive responds, drawing out the shadow-reader’s name. “Your father thought you might be with this group.”
“So he’s throwing all his firepower at us? How’d he find out about the silver?” He tucks the pistol into the waistband of his jeans.
“It’s old legend, Naito. We just discovered a way to deploy it.” He nods toward the remains of some twisted-up piece of metal. It looks like it might have been an old Maxwell House coffee can. The vigilantes must have stuffed it with silver dust and some type of explosive and then launched it into the inn. There are other twisted pieces of metal scattered around, too. Probably dozens more outside.
“Bullshit,” Naito says. “Who told you?”
Tom shrugs as if he hasn’t been beaten to a bloody pulp. His gaze takes an inventory of the kitchen, finally rests on me. “You’re with them?”
“No. They kidnapped me.”
He’s about to say something else, but Aren cuts him off. “How did you find us?”
“Go to hell,” Tom says. I have to give the human kudos. If Aren interrogated me with that expression on his face, I wouldn’t talk to him like that.
Aren towers over the vigilante. His voice is ice when he speaks. “You know what I’m capable of?”
Tom straightens and meets the fae’s eyes.
Aren’s temple pulses when he clenches his jaw. He glances at Lena as if asking her for permission. Her lips thin, but she gives him a curt nod.
“Very well,” he says. Then he wraps his hands around the human’s forearms. Tom screams and jerks. His chair tilts back on two legs before crashing over. Aren follows him down, his hands burning through Tom’s camouflaged sleeves and searing his flesh. The scream and the acrid smell trigger the memory of Brykeld, and my stomach churns.
“Okay!” Tom screams. Aren releases him. Sweat glistens on the man’s face and his chest rises and falls as he sucks in air. He stares at his arms, which are both an angry red from the fire that seared him, then he raises his eyes to meet mine. There’s so much pain in them. I have to do something. I can’t let Aren hurt him again. Silently, I open the cabinet drawer behind me.
“How did you find us?” Aren demands once more.
I peek into the drawer. No knives. Not even a freaking fork.
“We”—Tom heaves a raspy breath—“tracked her cell phone.”
I hip the drawer shut before Aren and Naito swivel their gazes toward me. I know I look guilty. Hopefully they misinterpret the reason why.
Naito turns to Aren. “You didn’t crush it?”
“I did,” the fae answers. “After we fissured here.” His voice is low, angry. I doubt he’s used to making mistakes.
He returns his attention to his captive. “How did you know to track her?”
I hesitate before checking the next drawer, partly because I want to know the answer to Aren’s question, but mostly because Kelia’s watching me now.
Tom shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“How?” Aren lowers his hand until it hovers just above Tom’s face.
“I would guess it was an anonymous tip,” Sethan says, stepping into the kitchen. Since everyone’s being careful to stay away from the windows in the breakfast nook, it’s getting crowded in here.
Aren glares at the son of Zarrak. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
“Neither should you,” Sethan responds. “If you die, we fail.”
Aren fires back something in Fae. I don’t try to translate his words. Tom catches my eye. He holds my gaze a moment, then deliberately looks at Naito. Or, more specifically, he looks at the pistol in Naito’s waistband.
Ah, hell. He wants me to grab it. Grab it and then what? I glance at Aren and Sethan, at Trev, Lena, and the other fae by the window, at Kelia, who’s stepped to Naito’s side. I can’t possibly shoot them all. To be quite honest, I don’t know if I want to.
Tom’s eyes plead with me. I swallow. I was looking for a knife seconds ago. A gun is a more efficient weapon. I can do this. I will do this.
I give Tom a little nod. He manages a small smile; then, a second later, he springs to his feet.
I lunge for the pistol and manage to get it out of Naito’s waistband. Naito spins, but Tom grabs him before he can wrench the weapon from my hands. Aren tackles the vigilante, and all three men crash to the floor.
I point the gun. “Stop. Stop!”
They don’t stop. Fists fly and I’m afraid Aren and Naito will kill Tom before I get their attention. I point the barrel toward the floor, try to pull the trigger. Nothing happens.
Shit. I’ve never touched a gun before in my life. I only know what I’ve seen in the movies and . . . Hold on. Don’t guns have safeties?
I check the side, find some little toggle and flick it, aim the weapon at the floor a second time, and shoot.
The gun jerks hard as the shot rings out. My heartbeat restarts a second later. I have everyone’s attention now.
Aren straightens and steps away from Tom. He turns toward me.
“Stay where you are.” I point my weapon at his chest. I know the gun puts me in charge here, but I feel less safe with it in my hand. It makes me feel dangerous, and rightly so. I could take someone’s life if I pull the trigger.
“You don’t know what’s going on here,” he says. His voice is soothing, his expression softer than it was seconds ago.
“I know enough,” I say. “Let him up.”
Naito’s still holding Tom down on the floor. He holds his hand out, palm down as if to calm me. “McKenzie, I know these people. They’ll shoot you the moment you step out the door. Don’t do this.”
I point the gun at him, manage to hold it steady. “Let him up, Naito.”
“McKenzie.” Kelia’s voice cracks as she steps toward her human, her silver eyes wide with fear. Guilt twists in my gut. Killing Naito will destroy her and, damn it, I don’t want to hurt either of them.
“McKenzie,” Aren says softly, taking a step forward. He pauses when I re-aim at him. God, there are too many people in here. I can’t keep them all in my sights.
“You’re not going to shoot me,” he says. I clench my teeth as he takes another step. “Put down the gun, nalkin-shom.”
He’s right. Why the hell is he right? I should want to kill him. He kidnapped me. He has no plans to let me go. Killing him might be the only way to get back to Kyol.
“You won’t shoot me,” he repeats.
I readjust my sweaty grip on the pistol. Think, McKenzie. Think! My gaze flickers around the breakfast nook, finds inspiration, returns to Aren.
“You’re right,” I tell him. “But I will shoot her.”
Aren freezes when I point the pistol at Lena. Oh, yeah. He knows I have reason to want her dead.
“How ’bout you let him up now.”