Page 24 of Shades of Silver City

I fucking hate this guy.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I block out the memory of the needle piercing my skin. I have no desire to explain to this gangster how he has managed to somehow dredge up all of my past traumas in one evening.

Instead, I say, “But you let those men die!”

“They were already dead.”

“No they weren’t. Their soul-shades were—” I clamp my lips shut, my stomach twisting.

A beat passes, and he raises an eyebrow quizzically. “Soul-what?”

“Never mind.”

He steps closer to me. When I recoil, he frowns and releases a sigh of resignation before retreating to his corner on the other side of the chair. “How many times have you seen the Reaper?”

I hesitate, weighing my answer. “Once before tonight.” Before he can reply, I ask, “People normally don’t see him, right?”

“No.” For several seconds, he studies me, head cocked. “Humans normally don’t possess such an ability.”

“Yet you do?”

He shrugs. “Perhaps I’m like you.”

Shifting my weight to my other foot, I peruse the soft golden color wafting lazily around him. “You can…see things you shouldn’t?”

His lips part, and his eyes glint with interest. “Something like that.”

As desperate as I am to conceal my truth, I’ve never met anyone else with an ability like mine. Magic is what others would call it, if they knew—although I hate referring to it as that, because it’s artificial. The little information I have on my ability, magic, and the fae comes from my father’s teachings. Most of it I read about in his personal journal after his death.

Even by telling this guy I’ve seen the Reaper, I’ve revealed too much, but I didn’t realize until now how freeing it is to admit it aloud to someone—someone who gets it.

But that someone is a gangster.

Fear pricks at my neck. In the wrong hands, this information could get me killed.

Until I know what his intentions are, playing aloof might be my best option. He doesn’t need to know about how I got my ability.

“And who exactly are you?” I ask. Under my breath, I add, “Other than a kidnapper, abuser, torturer, and Sirius knows what else.”

“Other than all those aforementioned labels?” His eyes flick to the blade in my hand, then back to my face. I blink, waiting for him to continue. When I don’t respond, his smile grows. I hate the way my stomach tingles at the sight. “I’m a Nightcrawler.”

“No shit.” I steel my shoulders, standing taller. “A gangster.”

“Among other things.” He smirks, and my cheeks heat.

“A gangster who criticizes my vocabulary,” I mutter.

“You shouldn’t judge.”

“Take your own advice, buddy.” I shake my head in disbelief. Turning, I scan the door. How the hell does it open? “You said you were letting me go.”

“After we talk.”

Dread fills me. I face the gangster, tightening my grip on the knife. He gestures toward the chair. But there’s no way I’m sitting back down. Now I understand why he doesn’t seem worried about me being free of the ropes or wielding his knife. Wherever we are, it’s Nightcrawler territory. I’m not getting out of here unless he wants me to.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “And what does Silver City’s most notorious gang leader want with me?”

“For now?” His eyes gleam with interest. “Well, I only want to talk, soul-seer.”

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