I allow him to rush across the room to the bedroom. More wordless screams meet our ears.
When he emerges from the bedroom, Bowtie’s carrying a gun, probably the one Adam dropped when Gaderel ended him. He aims it at us, finger on the trigger.
“You’re dead, bit—”
Gaderel flicks his hand, and across the room, an invisible force rips the gun from Bowtie’s hand and sends it flying in the opposite direction.
Bowtie allows himself a moment of shock, meeting my gaze.
We both move at the same time.
He lunges toward the desk at the back of the room near the sliding glass door of the balcony.
I rip a dagger from my waistband and hurl it with deadly precision.
The blade buries itself in Bowtie’s back, just one inch to the right of his spine. He screams in agony, stumbling and falling to his knees.
In a flash we’re at his side.
Gaderel rips open the sliding glass door. I grab Bowtie by his upper arms and haul him to his feet. Strength flows through my body. He feels as though he weighs just ten pounds.
I drag him out to the balcony and shove him against the glass security wall and railing. The wind whips violently this high up—it has to be over a thousand feet. Maybe more.
I rip my dagger out of his back, wipe it off on his suit jacket, and shove it back into its holster at the small of my back. Then I yank Bowtie by the shoulders and turn him around so that we’re facing each other.
“I’m sorry,” he cries. “Whatever I did. I’m so sorry! Please don’t do this. Please. I’ll give you anything you want. Name your price.”
“Whatever you did?” I’m nearly apoplectic now. “What you did was murder my best friend that night.” My eyes flame brightly; I can see them in the reflection of his terrified, wide-eyed stare.
Bowtie whimpers, “What…what are you?”
I snarl, letting out a low, inhuman growl. “The last fucking thing you’re ever going to see in this life.”
Then I hurl him over the side of the balcony.
His screams pierce the night, echoing in my ears as I turn and stride calmly back to the door.