A Witch's Fury Read Free Page B

addicted, poor excuse of a madam of a
drug-infected whorehouse, she typically put up with all my shit
rather well.
    “I cannot believe you used George to catch
Governor Hash with prostitutes,” she stated yet again, eyes
clenched closed, fingers massaging her temples.
    Tilting my head, I watched her strained
expression. “Don’t forget the drugs,” I added. I was impressed with
my creativity in using my human pimp contact to trap Governor Hash
in drug and prostitution charges. Hey, I didn’t kill the asshole.
That is progress.
    She groaned, still not looking at me.
    “What’s the big deal? The man deserved far
more than the slap on the wrist he is receiving now. He
propositioned me in the alleyway of Kitten,” I reminded her, still
mortified, annoyed, and wanting to kill the man.
    Grams finally lowered her hand from her face,
regarding me with cold, slate eyes. I stared back. I was missing
something.
    “What?” I asked again, leaning forward in the
uncomfortable blue chair.
    Grams blew out a breath. “Nothing. Just the
devil we know is better than the devil we don’t.”
    “He kept his job,” I reminded her, cracking
my neck. I muttered, “Amazingly enough,” under my breath.
    Grams shrugged, meeting my gaze, “He is
powerful, Olivia. You would do well to remember that.” With that,
she turned back to her computer.
    My eyes narrowed. Did Grams just threaten me?
That certainly didn’t sound like just a warning. Before I could
voice my suspicions, she threw a file at me.
    “I’m aware you wanted to take a break, but I
need you on this one.” Her slate gray eyes regarded me levelly,
giving us both a graceful way out.
    I snatched it from her desk before storming
out.
    I’ve never been graceful.
    …
    I looked over the file from Grams again while
sitting in my SUV outside the manor, annoyed with myself for not
checking where I was going. The miserable state of Ohio and I do
not get along. I skimmed the pages again, looking for what type of
supernatural I was going up against, again not finding an answer.
Strange, considering that the rest of the file was robust in minute
details about the child I was to obtain, Mindy, from her abusive
and elusive stepfather.
    With a groan I cranked the engine, punching
the address into my GPS. The sooner I was done the better.
    …
    The drive had taken me seven long hours.
Looking up at the dilapidated row of houses in front of me, I
debated calling Grams at this ungodly hour, but decided against it.
I certainly didn’t want to interrupt her time with Mercer. I’d call
tomorrow during normal business hours.
    Leaning back in my seat, I tapped the
steering wheel, debating. Should I check into a hotel or sit here
and hope the offending Supernaturals showed their faces before I
needed to sleep?
    Assuming I could easily identify them, I
could handle this child abuse case and get the hell out of
here.
    Leaning my head back against the headrest, I
adjusted my rearview mirror so it gave me a clear view of the
house. Decision made.
    …
    I didn’t have to wait long. Thank all the
Gods, I lack the patience.
    Two figures huddled against the fresh falling
snow, one a child, the other a larger figure who opened the
half-fence and shoved the child in. The child stumbled and fell. I
growled low in my throat, watching the adult laugh. I had been
spending too much time around the damn shifters.
    I couldn't see the child's face, but I
watched her intently as the standing figure pulled back a leg,
slamming it into her frail form. It took all my limited
self-control not to tear that leg from his body right there on the
street. Not that in this neighborhood anyone would lift a finger to
help, or that such acts of extreme violence would even elicit a
response, but I refrained.
    The steering wheel creaked beneath my hands
and I forced a breath out of my lungs, waiting as the lights in the
house came on and went off.
    Releasing my cramped hands from the steering
wheel, I flexed the stiff digits