Page 67 of Martyr
There’s someone else on the floor in front of him.
“Please,” thesomeone elsesobs. They’re facedown, hands behind their back. When Gabriel doesn’t reply, they try to shuffle away.
“That’s not very nice.” Gabriel hops down and grabs their foot. He drags them backward, closer to the platform. To their original spot.
“Lights,” I whisper to Saint, my voice barely audible. I gesture back the way we came.
He scowls.
Of course he does.
But he seems to know that he’s only here for backup, and this ismyplan, because after a beat, he moves away. I take his position and peer around the column into the gloom. I can’t tell who Gabriel has. Malik, perhaps? The shadowed figure appears male. Large, too, even though Gabriel moved him with ease.
I ball my fists, then force myself to relax. I need to focus on the task at hand and not anything else. Like, for example, Saint mentioning my addiction. Being concerned about me falling off the wagon—or being hauled off it, more like.
Now, naturally, it’s in the back of my head. Not just that Gabriel is the dangerous connection to that part of me, but the drug itself. The rush of it hitting my vein, followed by the blistering after-burn.
Snap out of it.
“I don’t know anything,” the man groans. “I told you?—”
The lights come on, all suddenly blazing.
Gabriel squints, lifting his hand.
That’s my cue. I step out from my hiding spot and into the room.
He spots me immediately, but he doesn’t seem surprised at all. Heclaps.
“Artemis! You’re back.” He moves away from the man and toward me.
I raise my gun automatically.
“Oh, wow.” He sighs and stops. “Okay, fine. I suppose I deserve that. You seem good. Clear and sober, then?”
“Yes,” I bite out. “But?—”
“No, no, I know that’s not why you’re here. I don’t even have any of that filthy drug on me. No syringes for my little pet.” He grins. “You’ve kicked the habit. I’m proud of you.”
I clench my teeth. I should stash my gun, get closer. Tell him what I really came for. But now that the lights are on, I can clearly make out his hostage.
Sheriff Bradshaw.
“Damn it, Gabriel.” Now Idoput away my gun. “What are you doing with him?”
Nate looksrough. Two black eyes, his nose swollen and crooked—definitely broken. He has a split lip, and there’s blood pooling under his body that wasn’t visible in the dark. I’d guess he has some sort of wound in his gut—a stab or gunshot?
“I’m practicing the proper interrogation technique.” Gabriel circles him and crouches on the far side. He grips the sheriff’s hair and forces his head up. He tilts his face in my direction. “She’s come to save you, isn’t that sweet?”
I frown.
“Oh? Lookie.” Gabriel’s voice is gleeful. “Shedidn’tcome here for you. She came for… Olympus? Stumbled upon us? My mistake, putting you somewhere so discoverable.”
“I came to talk to you,” I say as evenly as I can.
“About?”
“About your master.”
