Driana sauntered up behind him. “I’ll take good care of you, green eyes. Promise.”
Don’t do this, Annabelle silently screamed, but he gave no notice. But…but…
Driana faced her, grinned and waved goodbye. The door shut with a sickening click.
The gates in Annabelle’s mind swung wide-open, panic spilling through her. He’d done it. He’d lured her here under false pretenses. He’d handed her over to the enemy—to men who would try to destroy her—choosing Jamila’s safety over Annabelle’s, despite his pretty words to Burden about valuing all his “charges” equally. He’d tricked her. Used her.
Nothing you can do about that. Not now.
Now she had to find a way out of this.
Burden chuckled. “And then there were two. What think you of that, little girl?”
Annabelle met his gaze with all the bravado she could muster. “I think it’s time to finish this. You and me, right here, right now, winner take all.”
He rubbed a too-long pinky nail between his teeth before he said, “I see now why you’ve garnered so much interest. I find I admire your courage, foolish as it is…and I know I will enjoy breaking you. Which I’ll do, before I escort you to your new master.”
“Ohhh, a new master. Scary. Why don’t you keep me instead?” she suggested. “You can give me a tour of the club.” I can knee you in the balls and run. “We’ll get to know each other better and…who knows what else.”
“Darling, it’s impossible to trick me. I’m—”
The door split down the middle. Suddenly wings wrapped around her, shielding her view of the room. “I’m here,” Zacharel said. “I just had to get the guards outside the office.”
Oh, sweet mercy! Zacharel had never intended to leave her alone, she realized, had always had her best interests at heart. She should be ashamed of herself for assuming otherwise, but at the moment she was simply too grateful.
“I thought—” Her words were cut off as gunfire erupted. The horrible clang of metal against metal—and then metal popping through flesh and into bone. Grunts and groans sounded. Shock and confusion blasted through her, holding her immobile. War had broken out, but all Annabelle could do was stand there, clutching the collar of Zacharel’s robe.
Robe? Yep, she realized. The street clothes had melted away, returning to a flowing drape of material. “Friends of yours?” she asked.
“Yes. Their timing leaves something to be desired. They should have burst into the office much earlier,” he added more loudly.
“Hey!” someone said. “We got up here as fast as we could.”
“Then you need more training,” Zacharel growled.
Annabelle gave him a shake. “What can I do to help?” She owed him. Because really, this had all happened because of her. She didn’t want anyone else hurt on her account.
A pause as Zacharel panned the room. “There is no need for you to do anything. Burden is already contained.”
“True that. We’re all done, big guy. You’re welcome, by the way,” said a husky voice she recognized.
A voice she would never forget, because it shivered through her with unnatural force. Of course, the scents of champagne and chocolate drifted to her nose, confirming her suspicions.
The man possessed by the demon of Promiscuity was here.
Annabelle would have assumed a defensive position—or maybe offensive—but Zacharel held her steady.
“You’re not done until you clean up the mess,” he announced harshly.
Wait. They were working together?
Do not assume the worst. Not this time.
Grumbles, then, “Whatever you say, angel cake,” a woman said. “Dibs on telling others what to clean!”
“Kaia,” a man groaned. “You are such a brat.”
“You’re only jealous you didn’t think of it first.”
“True.”
Different sounds soon filled Annabelle’s ears. Something being dragged. A body? A trash bag being opened. Heavy things falling inside, landing. Mumbles of complaint.
She blocked each one. “Why didn’t you tell me your plan?”