Witch Fire Read Free Page B

dread curl in the pit of her stomach.
    Someone knocked on her door— hard . Startled, Mira jumped three feet in the air.
    â€œMira Hoskins?” The man’s voice sounded muffled through the door. “We need to talk to you.”
    We?
    She didn’t move, didn’t breathe. The voice was unfamiliar. There was no conceivable reason anyone should be knocking on her door at eleven at night. Her godmother’s voice entered her mind… The Boston Strangler never had to break a lock, you know.
    Bang! Bang! Bang! “Miss Hoskins, we know you’re in there. Open up. We just want to talk.”
    No way was she opening that door.
    Silence. She stood rooted in place, hoping they’d go away.
    â€œMiss Hoskins,” the voice said softly after a few moments, “let’s do this the easy way, shall we?”
    Mira’s blood ran cold, and her heart rate ratcheted up. That definitely sounded like a threat. She grabbed the phone to call 911—dead. No dial tone. “Oh shit,” she breathed. They’d cut her phone line. How the hell had they cut her phone line?
    She glanced around at the windows. Tiny basement-level windows, all of them. Almost too small to allow air through, much less a normal-sized woman.
    No flight. That meant fight.
    Panic making her heart pound and her hands shake, she went to a kitchen drawer, got out a knife, and tiptoed down the short hallway, toward the door, in order to peer out the peephole.
    The sound of splintering wood filled her ears, and the door came flying open. It caught her square in the forehead. Blinding pain exploded through her head for a moment, then she felt herself falling backward into darkness.

TWO
    M IRA AWOKE TO A THROBBING HEADACHE. S HE blinked, and the hallway ceiling came into view. Wincing at the pain, she reached up to touch her head.
    Someone forced her hand down. “Don’t touch it,” came a gruff male voice. “You got a hell of a knock.”
    â€œWha—”
    He leaned over her, coming into her line of sight. Mira gasped in recognition. Forcing herself up, she crab-walked backward until she hit the wall behind her. She instantly regretted the fast movement as nausea threatened to overwhelm her. Eyes wide, she gagged and fought the urge to vomit on the hallway floor.
    The man from the diner. The good-looking one. Mr. Gorgeous.
    Her mind stuttered over the situation. Mr. Gorgeous in her apartment. The feeling of being watched. The men breaking her door down.
    He held out a hand like she was some wild animal to tame. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”
    She was supposed to believe that?
    Mira glanced past him. The door to her apartment stood wide open, and two huge men she didn’t recognize lay unmoving on the concrete floor at the bottom of the stairs. “What the hell is going on? Who are you?” Hysteria edged her voice, making it sound thready to her own ears.
    â€œMy name is Jack McAllister. I know you have a lot of questions, but right now I have to get you out of here.”
    His words barely registered as anything resembling sense. She knew one thing, she wasn’t going anywhere with this guy, no matter how gorgeous he was. Lord and Lady, she had bad taste in men!
    Her gaze sought and landed on the kitchen knife she’d dropped when the door hit her. It lay between them, closer to her. Mira lunged for it. Her fingers closed around the handle in the same moment Jack tackled her, trapping her wrist. Her breath whooshed out of her at the weight of him. Darkness spotted her vision for a moment, but she curled her fingers around the handle of the knife and doggedly held onto it.
    He rolled off her, still keeping his hand tight around her wrist. Mira gasped in relief from having his weight off her and tried to yank her arm away, which only succeeded in hurting her shoulder. She had the knife, but she couldn’t use it.
    Mira focused on a chip in the wall in front of