Page 113 of Stroke of Shadows

Angel gasped. “The gallery! He’s taken her to the gallery!”

Sythe pulled him closer, so they were nose to nose. Angel flinched when he tore the metal chain from his neck, Sythe pocketing the golden key.

‘Three minutes, incoming.’

Police sirens screeched in the distance.

Angel flicked his gaze towards the door. “What the fuck is this?”

“The only reason you’re not dead right now is because I made a promise.” He released his hold, and Angel fell to his knees with a crack. “Now this is what’s going to happen. In a few minutes, this entire estate is going to be surrounded, and you’re going to be arrested on so many charges, it’s unlikely you’re ever going to see anything but metal bars again.”

“No charges will ever stick,” Angel sneered. “I’m Angel fucking Beauchamp.”

“Oh, they’ll stick. I’ve made sure of it.” Sythe smirked. “No one is ever going to remember your name. You’re nothing, a blurred memory soon to be forgotten.”

Angel’s eyes widened.

“Everything you’ve built, your empire, I’m going to burn to the fucking ground.”

‘Thirty seconds.’

Sythe waited until the last moment before wrapping the shadows around him. “Don’t worry, Mr Beauchamp. Your Gods are forgiving, aren’t they?”

Chapter 39

Harper

Harper’s eye ached, thumping along with her pulse. It had begun to swell, the skin hot as she gently touched it. She sucked in a pained breath, the ropes cutting into her wrists. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been left alone, nothing but the light buzzing from the light to keep her company.

She was stuck, and no matter how hard she struggled, the ropes weren’t budging.

She glared at the bracelet with her good eye. She’d twisted the bead, but nothing had changed. Not that she expected that it would.

A click, a flicker of light from beyond the boxes. Harper pushed against the wall, using it to get herself to her feet. Her knees wobbled, legs unsteady.

Footsteps, each one sending tremors down her spine. She’d feared for her life since she was a little girl, but not once did she think it would be like this. A pressure had settled on her chest, her lungs locked in concrete.

“I’ve come to collect some blood.”

Harper watched as Lorraine stepped into the light, a cruel smile curving her lips. She didn’t wear her traditional white gown, instead dressed in simple jeans and a black blouse.

“Just like old times, huh?” She held a knife, the blade glinting. Two men appeared behind her, their faces painted as if it were Halloween. Without a sound, they grabbed her, their grips as tight as iron as they folded her body over something solid.

A rip, the back of her shirt opening.

“The more you move, the harder this will be,” Lorraine said, taking her knife to slice a line across Harper’s skin.

Harper let out a cry, fighting against the hold. “Stop!”

Years she’d been the vessel, ceremoniously being hurt to appease the Gods. The cuts were usually shallow, just enough for her to bleed. But these slices were far from shallow, her blood running slick across her skin.

One of the men moved away, releasing some of the force.

Tears burned her face, her fingers almost purple with how hard she tried to free herself.

“What did I say about moving?” Lorraine scolded her like she was a child.

The knife left her back, only to be replaced with something freezing cold and solid. Harper tried to turn her head, barely catching the sight of the golden chalice against her skin.

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