The voice comes from above and behind us. We whirl around to see Naomi standing on a metal catwalk that runs along the wall, her red curls vivid against the gloom. She’s practically bouncing on her toes, her entire body vibrating with a frenetic energy that sets my teeth on edge. Her smile is too wide, her eyes too bright.
“Naomi,” Dragon acknowledges, his calm voice in direct contrast to the tension radiating from his body.
“Thank you so much for accepting my invitation,” she calls down, her words coming fast, almost tripping over each other. “I’ve been so looking forward to this. You’re just in time for the delivery!”
Demon tilts his head toward me. “Can I shoot her now?” he asks, just loud enough for me to hear.
“Not if I do it first,” I mutter back, my finger itching on the trigger.
Naomi laughs, the sound sharp and jagged in the cavernous space. “Now, now, boys. Let’s not be hasty.” She wags a finger at us as if scolding children. “That’s no way to greet an old friend.”
Movement behind us catches my attention. I turn slightly, and my stomach drops. Men are emerging from the shadows, from behind machinery, each one wearing a Devil’s Rejects cut, each one armed. We’re surrounded.
“Fuck,” Demon whispers, his earlier amusement gone. “That’s a lot of guns.”
I do a quick count. At least fifteen Rejects, possibly more still hidden in the shadows. Not great odds.
Naomi descends the stairs from the catwalk, her movements oddly graceful despite the manic energy pouring off her. She approaches us, stopping a safe distance away, that too-wide smile never leaving her face.
“Roman,” she says my name almost fondly. “You really shouldn’t have rejected me, you know. I don’t handle rejection well.” She pouts, a childish gesture that somehow looks grotesque on her face. “Not well at all.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “You’re insane. You know this right?”
“Am I?” Naomi throws her head back and laughs, the sound bouncing off the warehouse walls. “But I told you, didn’t I? I toldyou I was going to drag the Rejects to the top. It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you refuse to play by society’s rules.”
“She’s crazier than I am,” Demon mutters, “and that’s saying something.”
Naomi’s head snaps toward him, her eyes narrowing. “Demon,” she purrs, “how’s Amara these days?”
The effect is instantaneous. Demon lunges forward with a snarl, only to be caught by Dragon’s iron grip on his arm. Demon struggles against his brother’s hold, his face contorted with rage, but Dragon doesn’t budge.
“Not yet,” Dragon hisses, his voice barely audible.
Before I can decide whether to risk shooting her now and dealing with her men afterward, or try to play for time until Dragon’s other men can get into position, the main doors of the warehouse slam open with a metallic screech.
I turn, and my blood freezes in my veins.
Kayla is being dragged in by a massive Rejects member I recognize as Crusher, her hands bound behind her back, her face pale with terror but chin raised in defiance. Behind her, Molly is similarly restrained, her blonde hair wild around her tear-streaked face.
And just like that, the stakes of this game have changed entirely.
My world narrows to a single point: Kayla, on her knees in front of Naomi, her hands bound behind her back. Every muscle in my body tenses, ready to launch myself at Naomi, to tear her apart with my bare hands. But the guns trained on us from all sides keep me frozen in place. One wrong move and Kayla could be the one to pay the price. I lock eyes with her across the warehouse floor, trying to convey without words that I won’t let anything happen to her. Not this time.
Beside Kayla, Molly kneels, her blonde hair falling in tangled waves around her tear-streaked face. Both Dragon and Demonare making sounds beside me, low, dangerous growls that rumble up from deep in their chests as they look at their sister.
But it’s not just Molly’s presence that has Dragon’s muscles coiling with rage. It’s the man standing behind the two Rejects who dragged them in.
“David,” Dragon snarls, the name sounding like a curse on his lips.
The prospect shifts nervously, avoiding his president’s burning gaze. His hand keeps straying to the butt of the gun holstered at his hip, his fingers fidgeting.
Naomi initially beams at the new arrivals, her eyes alight with a sick triumph as she saunters over to where Kayla kneels. But as she scans the doorway behind them, her smile falters, replaced by a frown.
“Where are the others?” She demands, her voice sharp.
David blinks, confused. “Others?”
“The old lady,” Naomi snaps, her earlier manic delight replaced by cold irritation. “Dragon’s whore. Gray’s bitch. I wanted all of them.” She waves her hand impatiently. “Where are they?”