Page 23 of Shades of Silver City

My heart squeezes at the thought of the betrayal from the man I loved. His final gift to me was a death sentence.

“Don’t act like you know me,” I say.

“I don’t know you. But I do know you’re one of the only other people who can see the Reaper.”

“How exactly can you see him?” When he doesn’t reply, I say, “Are you working with him? You keep showing up at the same time as him.”

“Of course I’m not.”

“You both have stupid nicknames, break the law, wear dark clothing—”

“I am not working with the Reaper.” He snorts, and it sounds half-annoyed, half-amused. “Work with me and you’ll see that for yourself.”

Work with him?

Despite his golden aura and our shared ability to see the Reaper, helping him would be helping the Nightcrawlers. I’m trying to stay off the Scouts’ radar. This is the last thing I need.

“Fuck that.”

“Eloquent. Your vocabulary reflects your intelligence, you know.”

I blink, processing the roundabout insult. “Excuse me if my intelligence isn’t up to your standards.”

Education is a luxury I can’t afford. Though, compared to most patrons I serve, I find that my intelligence is above average. All thanks to my father’s teachings. During the years I spent with him before his death, he would read me scientific journals and other research papers as bedtime stories.

The Phantom mutters under his breath and saws more forcefully. He tugs the rope, pulling my shoulder at an awkward angle. An electric tingle courses through my right arm.

“Ow! Watch it.”

“Do you want me to release you or not?” he asks. “Stop moving.”

I grunt in response. A second later, the ropes give, and I’m freed. A sharp pain lingers in my shoulder from being confined in an awkward position, and I shake out my arms, hugging them in front of me.

A giddy warmth floods through me at the realization that I’m no longer contained. I’m one step closer to getting out of here.

When the man steps back into sight, I quickly bring my knee up, connecting with his junk.

“Sirius A!” he swears, taking the North Star’s name in vain. “My balls!”

Without hesitation, I bolt around the chair and spring toward the door. But there’s no doorknob. No handle. No hinges to take apart. Just a solid slab of steel built into the brick.

I pound on it. What the hell is this place?

Whirling around, I find the man doubled over, his tan cheeks flushed a deep red as he cups his crotch.

With a quick lunge, I scoop up his abandoned knife, angling it toward him.

“Let me out of here,” I demand.

He clenches his teeth, glaring at me. “That’s what I was doing!” He releases his privates, waving his arms up in the air with disbelief. “I asked Godric to keep an eye on you, not tie you to a damn chair. You’re not a prisoner.”

I grip the knife so hard my knuckles go white, then put my back against the door, keeping as much space between us as possible.

He adjusts his jeans, shaking his head at me.

“Yet you were the one who injected me with—whatever it was that knocked me out,” I say.

“To save your life, woman!” he yells in exasperation, running a hand through his blond waves. His face scrunches in a way that makes him appear almost conflicted. “I wasn’t going to let you die.”

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