Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson Page 0,124
vast array of gardening tools at our disposal, arming themselves for war. One witch even snatched the wand off the guard with the shears still stuck in his face—not that she could actually use it, but I understood the need to hold it, to pretend. Maybe it gave her courage to wrap her fingers around a wand again.
Courage that I found faltering inside me…
Until Fintan strode to my side, smirking, casual once more—like he had kick-started some teenage hijinks, not an outright rebellion where people, most likely inmates, were bound to die.
Or fry.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, grabbing his arm and hauling him away from the unfolding chaos.
“Me and the boys had a chat,” he said as he twisted out of my hold—easily, like he wasn’t even trying—and caught me by the chin. “Time to get out of here, darling.”
I blinked up at him, smitten butterflies flitting to life in my chest, affection and incredulity and outright terror colliding, mashing into something that almost tipped off an anxiety puke.
“And this is the plan?”
Fintan chuckled, then booped me on the nose. “Well, no, I’ve gone a bit rogue. Let’s just run with it, shall we? See what happens.”
“See what happens? Fintan—”
Before I could rip him a new one for starting a prison riot on a whim, he snatched my hand and dragged me away. Our fingers threaded together so naturally, finding strength and support in each other, and I power walked after him, body aching and adrenaline soaring. While a flurry of activity erupted all around us, blurred purple, green, and grey jumpsuits racing by, Fintan led me down one long row without breaking his pace, headed for the main doors of the building without delay. I barely managed to grab a pair of scissors along the way, clutching them in my free hand as I clung to him with my other.
Since the attack, I hadn’t moved this much or this fast, overly cautious with my recovering body, but the fight-or-flight instinct kicking into overdrive blocked out the painful reminders of that night. The only time I stumbled was when I spotted the corpses of dead warlocks near the front; not exactly disemboweled with a trowel, but Fintan had been quick and efficient with his takedown. Slit throats for the both of them, one missing his belt—and his wand snapped in half.
Which, honestly, was almost as cruelly intimate as snapping his neck.
“So, we’re attacking Guthrie?” I asked breathlessly, mind still scrambled but body oddly calm as we paused at the main doors. No trembling or shivering. No weak knees or sweaty palms. Fintan poked one of the front doors open and peered through the crack, squinting against the afternoon sunshine, then shook his head.
“No, they’re attacking Guthrie.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder at the coalescing inmates. “We’re going to pay one of the guards patrolling the perimeter to sneak us through the front gate.”
I sputtered up at him, standing my ground when he tried to tug me forward. “What? But you told everyone else—”
“I’m not wrong,” the fae insisted with one of his cavalier shrugs, eyes blazing with mirth—with a fire of his own, green flames sparking and snapping like I’d never seen before. “If they overwhelm Guthrie, they can take down the ward and free everyone. Let’s be honest—inmates outnumber security. But the ward also opens and closes at the main gates for shift changes… We don’t need Guthrie for that, and I have a lot of money. Prince, remember?”
I groaned. “Oh my gods, Fintan, now is not the time to pull this—”
“Now is precisely the time to buy our way out,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows and then shouldering through the main doors before I had the chance to object. Fingers still entwined, I had no choice but to follow him into the sunshine, met with a blast of cool, dry air as I jogged in his shadow, clutching my scissors like they might actually do something.
Like I had the stones to use them on a guard as Fintan had.
Never gonna happen.
I couldn’t… stab them into someone’s face.
Or leg. Or shoulder. Or whatever. It wasn’t me.
I couldn’t…
Do you want to die here? a stronger me whispered from the black depths of my mind, the butterflies in my chest pounding their wings, circling as one swirling mass. Do you want to lose to Lloyd? Toughen up, sweetheart. We’re just getting started.
I rubbed at my ear with my shoulder, unsure of where all that had come from—only that