The squatter howls in pain, the Colt tumbling from his useless fingers to the carpet. Layne kicks the gun away, then kneels beside the squirming squatter, one knee on his plaid-shirt-covered chest, one knife jammed against his fleshy throat.
“Poesy. My sister. You raped her, along with your squatter buddies. Then you beat her to death.”
The squatter’s tear-glistening gaze locks onto the clan tat beneath Layne’s right eye, drinks in the yellowing bruises and scabbed-over cuts on his face. Recognition ignites, sparking a growing terror in the mouth-breather’s pale blue eyes. “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah, ‘Oh, shit’ is right. Shoulda made sure I was dead too.” That memory had chilled Augustine to the bone. But it had also convinced him that Valin would do whatever it took to protect Kallie Rivière from those hunting her. Still, all of his prowess with knives and guns wouldn’t save her from a hex.
Not unless he shot the hexer between the eyes. A feat he had a feeling the nomad could accomplish quite well.
The revving engine noise ratcheted up a roaring notch or two. Standing beside his bed, Augustine closed his eyes and focused his thoughts inward.
black-haired, brown-eyed woman with toffee-colored skin. tone of her voice. “And we’re going after him.”