Page 88 of Gunpowder

“I’m not one for social media.”

“We have access to a lot more than social media, honey.” Jinx crouched in front of him again and Wren could see the darkness under their eyes that wasn’t quite hidden by their makeup. They looked exhausted. “It almost looks like you dropped out of the sky three years ago and landed in Manhattan with an apartment and tuition paid for by a bank account overseas. So, what are you doing hanging around Incindious?”

Irritation flared in his chest. “Fuck Incindious.”

Jinx raised their eyebrows. “Well, I’m with you there. But you can’t tell me with a background like yours that you didn’t have an angle.”

“Why would I tell you if I did?” Also, Wren had no background to speak of, unless coming from an obscene amount of money counted.

Jinx laughed. Like their voice, it was disturbingly pleasant, almost soft. They raised a hand and struck him across the face. Wren grimaced; they were wearing a ring and it must have had a decent sized stone in it. The prongs of the setting scratched him, leaving hot trails of blood across his cheek.

Jinx patted Wren’s uninjured cheek. “Because I asked nicely.”

What had he been doing around Incindious? Surely his dislike of them should have been enough to discourage him from pursuing Blair, and yet the pain from their conversation still lanced deep in his heart and he could still feel the pendant against his chest that he hadn’t been able to take off. Green eyes and tan skin and touches too gentle for someone like him raced through his mind.

“If you went to the trouble of bringing me here, you already know I’m with one of their people.” I’m not telling you he broke up with me so you can decide I’m no longer useful and slit my throat.

“And I’m sure a man with seemingly no identity for the beginning of his life just met a handsome gangster at the coffee shop and the sparks flew? Don’t mock me. We know better than anyone that if a ghost is walking among men they have a purpose.”

Wren wasn’t surprised his father had wiped their records when they left Los Angeles, with his damned paranoia. “If you want to question a ghost, call Eli Masters and ask why I don’t have any records. I don’t have any secrets, you damn lunatic.”

No sooner than the words left his mouth did he see his error, and that it had the potential to be a fatal one. Jinx’s eyes widened. At first he thought he had finally antagonized his captor past the limits of their patience, but the look in their eyes was one of recognition.

“I heard the Masters line of assassins died out years ago. How about that,” Jinx said, grabbing his chin. “Isaac will have to forgive me.”

Wren met dark, deranged eyes. There was a new aggression to them, two of their long nails digging into Wren’s jaw. Whoever Jinx thought he was, or thought his father was, put him in significantly more danger than he was in before. His brain processed his next thoughts faster than it should have been able to but he attributed it to the fact his life depended on it.

His value as a target had just outweighed his value as a negotiating tool.

The next time Jinx moved, it would be to kill him.

He had to get out of this fucking chair.

They moved at the same time. Jinx drew a blade from under their coat, and Wren pulled his hands apart with enough force to break his restraints. His feet were still tied to the chair so if he dodged he wouldn’t be able to move far enough to get out of striking range. If he tried to block Jinx’s blade with his own he would lose, as he had no doubt this person was stronger than him.

Wren spun the throwing knife into a position that would allow him a better grip, and lashed out at Jinx’s eye.

Jinx was committed to their own attack, so Wren still felt the cold bite of their blade sinking into his arm. His only salvation was that his own attack had thrown Jinx’s slightly off course, so the knife didn’t nick an artery. Wren’s strike hadn’t reached its target, either. He could see now that he had connected just above Jinx’s eye, but it bled profusely and he took advantage of their temporary blindness and to cut his legs free. Wren threw himself as far to the side as he could and no sooner than he rolled up onto his feet did he see a blade sticking in the chair where he had just been. There was a pile of black hair—his hair—on the ground from where that blade had cut through it, barely missing Wren’s face. Jinx yanked it out of the chair and faced him.

“He taught you well,” Jinx said, voice lower and harsher without its fake sweetness.

“Fuck you,” Wren said, flicking his knife and leaving an arc of blood on the floor. “And him.”

Their blades clashed and Wren’s arm shook with the effort of keeping Jinx at bay. And that’s with the arm that isn’t wounded, Wren noted with concern. He saw a metallic flash from the corner of his eye and leapt back when a second knife came into play. Jinx spun them with unsettling confidence. They were probably just playing with their food, at this point. Could he use that to his advantage? His mind raced, muddled by pain both emotional and physical, and possibly by blood loss. He needed to slow the circulation to his arm before he started getting lightheaded.

I can’t beat them in a fight of weapons, he realized. The gap in their experience and strength was tremendous. Wren took a step back and Jinx chased the opening, which he’d expected, and he kicked high towards Jinx’s wrist. A blade clattered across the floor. Thank god. He would rather fight one knife than two, at the very least. He continued the movement of his kick with his torso, following the downward motion of his leg to hopefully evade the strike he knew was coming from Jinx’s other hand. Jinx had followed through with their attack after being wounded before, so Wren had no doubt they would do the same now.

Then there was a sudden grip around his leg and he instantly regretted his assumption.

Jinx followed Wren’s change in position with ease, closing his leg between two deceptively nimble, incredibly strong arms and ripped the floor out from under him. The weight of my body is nothing to this person… they’re a fucking monster. Jinx used his own momentum against him and sent him flying. He collided with the desk across the room and he hoped it was the furniture and not his back that he heard cracking. His shoulder didn’t feel right at all. His shirt was torn halfway off his arm and the air stung every inch of the exposed flesh. Jinx was already back in front of him, standing over him, and shoved a boot onto Wren’s twisted shoulder.

“That was a good try. You might have been trained by some of the best, but while you’ve been playing doctor and shacking up with a gangster, I’ve been killing people for a living.”

“Did you talk their ears off too or am I getting the special treatment?” Wren asked around the coppery taste in his mouth. That was one hell of a throw.

Jinx ground their foot down into Wren’s shoulder. Pain shot all the way down his arm and he gritted his teeth but his lips spread into grin at the white-hot sensation. For years, pain had been his only solace from the numbness. It was practically an old friend. He grabbed Jinx’s boot and looked up at them. Jinx stiffened, likely preparing for Wren to try to dislodge him, but their composure faltered as Wren only pulled it down harder.

“Are you trying to hurt me?” Wren asked, spots dancing at the edges of his vision as he increased the pressure on his shoulder—which he was almost sure was dislocated. The pain brought involuntary tears to his eyes and he started to laugh. He twisted his hand and knew he had hit his mark when he saw Jinx’s face contort, and blood began to soak his fingers. “You’ll have to do better than that.” Wren’s knife had slid through the expensive leather of their boot effortlessly, just past where the cap of the steel toe ended and right into Jinx’s foot, giving Wren the leverage he needed. He lurched forward against Jinx’s boot and he could just barely hear the awful sound of his shoulder being relocated against it over the ringing in his ears.

---