Blood of the Wicked Read Free

inside in five minutes.”
    “Maybe I’ll just see you wiggle right here.” He took another step forward. Jessie’s body tensed, mouth dry.
    Shit. She didn’t have time for this. Any minute, that hunter was going to come sniffing. The back of her neck itched with the certainty.
    Neon popped overhead, highlighting the alley around them in vivid purple. It bled through his full brown beard, glittered off his array of facial piercings and toothy smile. It picked out a lot of sweaty, veined muscle.
    And the leering jester inked into one thick arm.
    I see death and a laughing joker.
    Her heartbeat leaped into her throat. “Fuck,” she whispered, and jumped when he laughed.
    “Not yet, baby,” he said, reaching for her. Her vision tunneled in on the biker’s stained, shit-eating smile, and without warning, Jessie’s patience guttered out.
    She felt herself go. Almost like when she tapped into the power that simmered beneath her conscious mind, but this was sharper. Angrier. Focused.
    He was every man who’d ever leered at her. Every man who’d ever groped her in the dark confines of every bar she’d worked at. The ones who’d laughed at her and her baby brother on these goddamned merciless streets.
    Jessie’s body surged into motion before her brain made the call. She stepped into him, into the wild clasp of his arms, and pure satisfaction rippled through her as his smile cracked into surprise. Her fist collided with his smirk and sent him reeling.
    His flat features contorted into shock. Rage. “Bitch!”
    Adrenaline pushed her forward; she tried to dart past him, choked on her own collar as a meaty hand snagged the back of her jacket and hauled her back into the alley. Slammed her back against the broken, pitted brick, hard enough to force the air from her lungs. Jessie’s vision dimmed as she swung again, connected with something metal on his coat, and yelped as her arm went numb from fingers to elbow.
    If the joker gets his hands on you, Jessie, that’s it. That’s the beginning of it all. Don’t stop for him.
    Her brother’s voice, the memory of it, rang sharply in her head. Too damn late.
    She tried to jerk away, cried out again as his fist tagged her mouth. Pain exploded inside her skull, lights flashing violet and pink and red as she dropped to her knees.
    Blood pooled on her tongue, coppery and warm. Jessie choked on tears of pain, of humiliation and fury, even as she struggled to get off her hands and knees, and hit him again.
    And again. And—
    “What the fuck ,” she heard, and a riot of energy roiled around her. For a dazed moment it looked as though her attacker split into two, dancing awkwardly away from her like two halves of a broken mirage. One staggered upright, thick and meaty, the other long and lean as they wrenched apart. With a bellow, the biker swung at the second man who was nothing more than a trim, fast-moving shadow dancing just out of his reach.
    Jessie shook her head hard, forced herself to her feet. She stumbled hastily for the alley mouth. Get out, run like hell. She couldn’t get caught up here, not as long as that hunter was— Oh, God .
    Her knees buckled violently. She whirled to plaster her back against the wall, grabbed rough brick for support as she stared at the fighters. Him . Shocked, she jammed her fingers against her bleeding mouth.
    Neon flickered, seared, and she saw tanned skin, black ink, and rough denim as the witch hunter blocked with his left forearm, snarled something, and curved out a wicked right hook.
    His body moved like an oiled machine, brutally efficient as he followed up with two jabs to the drunk’s nose and an elbow that crunched loudly on impact.
    Blood spurted, near black in the neon light.
    “Run!” The witch hunter threw it over his shoulder, only to twist awkwardly when the biker stomped hard on his knee. Jessie saw his face go shock-white, heard his agonized grunt of pain.
    Fury and fear forced her to move. She caught her backpack in