Slowly, I looked at the demon. He grinned widely, and I lifted my gaze, mouthing, What the Hell? Zayne just raised a brow and motioned me to remain quiet as he gathered up one of the unconscious men, hoisting him over a shoulder.
Damn.
Zayne was strong.
The features of the man on the floor had gone lax, as if he were on some kind of trip. He didn’t make a sound as Cayman dragged him out of view of the door, into what appeared to be a laundry or storage room. Within moments, they had the hall cleared, and Zayne returned to stand on the side of the door that opened while Cayman lingered back. Zayne’s gaze met mine, and I nodded.
He knocked on the door, and a second later, it opened a crack. “Wilson?” a male voice asked.
Zayne shouldered the door open, knocking the man back. “Senator’s on the couch,” he said, folding an arm around the man’s neck and exerting just the right amount of pressure to make him go sleepy bye-bye.
I stalked into the room, taking everything in as Cayman slipped in behind me and quietly closed the door. The room was large, nearly the size of Zayne’s entire apartment, and there was a whole lot of blue and gold on the walls and the carpet, causing me to blink. My gaze swept over framed pictures and past a door, over a dining set and to a royal blue couch and the older man who was rising from it.
Senator Fisher looked like the cliché of an ordinary old congressman who was way past the expiration date on being useful to the people he represented. Hair snow-white and trimmed, pale skin crinkled at the corners of his mouth and eyes and creased along the forehead. His clothing sported the colors of America, the suit navy blue, tie a bright red and dress shirt white. He was a walking advertisement for patriotism and privilege, rolled into one messed-up little ball of well-hidden evil.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, reaching for his pocket and pulling out a phone. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re making a very terrible—”
“Mistake? Not as big as the one you’ve made.” I snatched the phone out of his hand. “Sit.”
His rheumy blue eyes narrowed on me before his gaze bounced nervously to where Cayman was whispering to the man Zayne had taken down. “Now, you listen to me, young lady. I don’t know what you all think you’re doing, but I’m a senator of the United States and—”
“And I’m Frosty the Snowman. Sit. Down.”
The senator stared back at me, his cheeks mottling and then paling as I felt Zayne come closer.
“Check the penthouse,” Zayne said to Cayman. The demon bowed and all but scampered off.
Impatient, I smacked my hands down on the senator’s shoulders and forced him onto the couch. The surprise that widened his eyes gave me a measure of satisfaction. “Thank you for sitting.” I smiled brightly. “We have questions, and you have important answers. So, we’re going to have a little chitchat, and if you’re smart, you’re not going to make this hard for us. See the big blond guy behind me?”
Senator Fisher’s lips thinned as he nodded.
“He’s as strong as he is hot, and his hotness is off the charts.” I sat on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of the senator. “And I just learned today that he is extremely skilled when it comes to breaking bones.”
“Expert level,” Zayne murmured.
“But we don’t want it to come to that. Keep in mind, not wanting it to come to that does not mean it will not come to that. Understand?”
He looked between us. “You won’t get away with this.”
“Famous last words.” Cayman strolled back into the living room and threw himself into the chair beside the couch. “The penthouse is boringly clear. No more security teams or hookers, dead or alive.”
I frowned at him.
Cayman shrugged. “You should see the things I’ve found in some politicians’ hotel rooms. Could write a bestselling memoir.”
All righty then.
“Who are you people?” Fisher demanded, straightening the lapels of his jacket.
“Just your friendly neighborhood Warden,” Zayne answered. “Oh, and demon and Trueborn.”
How rapidly the man’s face drained of blood was proof enough that he knew exactly who he was facing. His gaze focused on me.
I smiled again, lifting my sunglasses so that they were perched on my head as I tapped into my grace, just a little, letting it shine through. Fisher sucked in air as his chest rose and fell rapidly.
From the chair, Cayman said, “The whole glowing thing is super creepy.”
Only a demon would think it was creepy.
I reined my grace back in.
“Do you know who we are?” Zayne asked. “Now?”
“I’m not really Frosty the Snowman,” I hinted.
Fisher looked like he might bust an artery. “I know.” He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Then you also know who I know.”
“If you think we’re even remotely afraid of the Harbinger, you’re very misguided,” I advised, leaning back. “You’re going to help us.”
“I can’t,” he said, hands landing on his knees. “You might as well go ahead and kill me, because I cannot help you.”
I sighed, rising from the coffee table. “I guess it’s going to be the hard way.”
Zayne didn’t take my place. Instead, he grabbed a chair from the dining table set and then kicked the coffee table back, the stubby legs scratching deep grooves into the wood floors.
“That was hot,” Cayman said.
It really was.
Zayne placed the chair in front of the senator and sat. “Where is the Harbinger?”
Fisher shook his head as I moved to stand where Zayne had been.
“Where is the Harbinger staying?” Zayne tipped forward, eye level with the senator.
Silence.
Zayne picked up the senator’s hand. The man tried to fight him, but it was like a rabbit fighting a wolf. “Do you know how many bones are in your hand? Twenty-seven. In your wrist? Eight. Three in each of your fingers. Two in your thumb. Each hand has three nerves in it, and, as I’m sure you know, a human’s hand is incredibly sensitive. Now, I can break each one of those bones individually,” he continued, voice soft as he turned the man’s hand over. “Or I can do it all at once. I think I know what needs to be done, and I’m sorry you don’t seem to know any better.”
There was a crack that caused me to cringe inwardly as the senator shouted, his body curling inward.
“I wish I had popcorn,” Cayman commented.
Zayne tilted his head. “That was just one finger. Three bones. A lot more to go. Where is the Harbinger?”
Dear God, Zayne was like the Chuck Norris of Wardens.
Chest heaving, Fisher groaned as he squeezed his eyes. “Jesus.”
“I really do not think he’s going to be any help,” I said dryly.
Another crack caused my head to jerk to Zayne. “That was your thumb,” he said. “So that was two more.”
“I don’t know where the Harbinger is staying. God,” he gasped. “Do you really think he’d tell me? Him? He’s no fool.”
“Then how do you get in touch with him?” I asked.
“I don’t.” The man trembled, rocking slightly as Zayne slowly, methodically turned his hand over. He took his middle finger in hand. “I swear. I don’t. He came to me only once before.”
“Really? You’ve seen the Harbinger only once?” Zayne shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve been serious enough—”
“It’s Bael,” Fisher groaned. “It’s usually Bael I speak to.”
“Hmm...” I crossed my arms. “You were right earlier.”
“Told you,” Zayne murmured, smiling with near friendliness at the senator.
“What’s good old bally-ball Bael been up to?” Cayman shifted, dropping his legs over the arm of one of the chairs. “Haven’t seen that punk in centuries. Has he been rocking his Harry Potter–esque cloak of invisibility? Spreading his web of lies? I imagine he has, considering he is the King of Deceit. You work for one of the oldest demons known to this Earth, birthed from the pits of Hell. Interesting company you keep. One would think that would make you stop and wonder if you’re on the right side of whatever it is that they’re planning.”
“You’re a demon,” gasped the senator. “You’re going to preach to me about being on the right side?”
Cayman gave him a half grin. “Sometimes the right side of history is made up of those you’d least expect.”
“Where is Bael?” I asked.
“Nowhere near here,” the senator responded. “He’s far away, hidden. I can give you a number I’ve called in the past, but that will do you no good. Not now.”
Just as Sulien had said. Frustrated, I stepped forward. “Why is he staying away?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fisher,” Zayne sighed. “You seem to know very little. That’s disappointing.”
“Wait—” A shout interrupted his words when Zayne shattered another finger.
And then Senator Josh Fisher shattered.
Only eight bones. Tiny ones. Painful ones, but tiny compared to equally breakable larger ones.
“I love my wife,” he moaned, face crumpling and body curling onto his side, stretched as far as he could get with Zayne still holding his hand. “I love my wife. That’s all. I love her. I can’t do this without her. She’s all I ever wanted.” Body-racking sobs erupted from the man. “Loved her since the day she walked into my econ class in Knoxville. She’s my everything, and I would do anything to see her again. Hold her. Have her back. That’s all I ever wanted.”
I unfolded my arms, exchanging a glance with Zayne. He let go of the hand, and all the Senator did was curl farther into himself. I shifted, uncomfortable with the visible raw pain. This man had conspired with a demon and witches, getting innocent humans and Wardens killed. He was connected to the Harbinger, who wanted to bring on the end times, so he sucked—big time—but unless he was an accomplished actor, he was collapsing under a kind of pain far greater than broken fingers.