Promise of Wrath (The Hellequin Chronicles Book 6) Read Online Free PDF Page B

written:
     
    Tate Modern. 10:30 a.m.
     
    There was no date or anything else: just a place and time. I guessed Kay would have to turn up at the museum every day at 10:00 a.m. until I arrived. He couldn’t have screamed trap any more than he already had.
    I looked at my watch. I had the better part of sixteen hours before I’d be able to find Kay, and that was if he turned up, and then I’d have to get help from others—something I didn’t want. I wanted this done without the need for any intervention. Leaving Kay alive was my mistake: one I intended to correct.
    I wasted no time in leaving the station, glad to be out in the fresh air. I’d walked to the end of the short alley when four men blocked my path.
    “You need to give us some money,” one of the men said. He wore a black hoodie, with blue jeans and had a diamond earring in one ear.
    I looked at the other three, who wore similar clothing and were nodding along with their friend.
    “I don’t have any money,” I told him.
    “Your phone, then,” one of the others said with a slight smirk.
    “It’s been an unbearably long day,” I told them. “I get that you think I’m easy pickings, but if you don’t leave, you’re going to get hurt.”
    “You sure?” one of the men asked as he brought out a switchblade, flicking the blade to life and looking quite pleased with himself.
    Of the two beside him, one had put some knuckle-dusters on his hand. The one who’d spoken first held a dagger with a six-inch blade. They’d come to hurt someone. I doubted they’d have let me go even if I’d given them the money.
    I could remove them as easily as clicking my fingers, using my magic to throw them around with ease, but I was angry and frustrated, and I wanted someone to take that pent-up anger out on. And seeing how Kay wasn’t readily available, these four would have to do.
    I let one of the thugs move so that he was almost behind me, before burying my elbow in his face, breaking his nose and probably doing some damage to his jaw, too. I sprang forward, driving my foot into the knife-wielder’s chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.
    The last two men moved toward me as one. The third threw several punches, but they were easily deflected, and I grabbed his arm, dragging him toward me, forcing him off-balance, and slamming my fist into his nose as he fell forward. The knuckle-duster-wearer threw a powerful right that would have done a lot of damage had I not easily been able to avoid it. I stepped to the side and planted a kick on his knee, which dropped him to the ground.
    He threw another punch and tried to get back to his feet, but I grabbed his arm and punched him in the face, spilling blood all over the ground from his torn lip. He fell face-first onto the ground, and tried to swat me away. I grabbed his arm again, planted a foot on the back of his neck, and snapped the limb at the elbow. His howls of pain weren’t going to be alone for long.
    The fourth man was back to his feet, but it was only for a moment before I kicked him between the legs, dropping him back to his knees. I drove my knee into his face, doing more damage to it, and knocking him out. The one I’d punched in the mouth earlier was still where I’d left him: on the ground. He was breathing, though, so either he’d hit his head or had a glass jaw—maybe both. That left the knife-wielder, who was back on his feet, looking pretty angry about everything that had happened.
    “I’m going to cut you,” he said as he started toward me. He was confident in his knife skills, although I doubted he was as good as he believed. It takes a lot to learn how to wield a knife with dangerous efficiency, although both experts and novices can kill you just as quickly if they get close enough.
    Despite the fact that there were several feet of air between us, he stabbed at nothing, presumably hoping that in my fear I’d run onto the blade and save him the trouble. I took a step toward him, and then