Rage and Ruin by Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,162
a wolf. “Do you know how many bones are in your hand? Twenty-seven. In your wrist? Eight. Three in each of your fingers. Two in your thumb. Each hand has three nerves in it, and, as I’m sure you know, a human’s hand is incredibly sensitive. Now, I can break each one of those bones individually,” he continued, voice soft as he turned the man’s hand over. “Or I can do it all at once. I think I know what needs to be done, and I’m sorry you don’t seem to know any better.”
There was a crack that caused me to cringe inwardly as the senator shouted, his body curling inward.
“I wish I had popcorn,” Cayman commented.
Zayne tilted his head. “That was just one finger. Three bones. A lot more to go. Where is the Harbinger?”
Dear God, Zayne was like the Chuck Norris of Wardens.
Chest heaving, Fisher groaned as he squeezed his eyes. “Jesus.”
“I really do not think he’s going to be any help,” I said dryly.
Another crack caused my head to jerk to Zayne. “That was your thumb,” he said. “So that was two more.”
“I don’t know where the Harbinger is staying. God,” he gasped. “Do you really think he’d tell me? Him? He’s no fool.”
“Then how do you get in touch with him?” I asked.
“I don’t.” The man trembled, rocking slightly as Zayne slowly, methodically turned his hand over. He took his middle finger in hand. “I swear. I don’t. He came to me only once before.”
“Really? You’ve seen the Harbinger only once?” Zayne shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve been serious enough—”
“It’s Bael,” Fisher groaned. “It’s usually Bael I speak to.”
“Hmm...” I crossed my arms. “You were right earlier.”
“Told you,” Zayne murmured, smiling with near friendliness at the senator.
“What’s good old bally-ball Bael been up to?” Cayman shifted, dropping his legs over the arm of one of the chairs. “Haven’t seen that punk in centuries. Has he been rocking his Harry Potter–esque cloak of invisibility? Spreading his web of lies? I imagine he has, considering he is the King of Deceit. You work for one of the oldest demons known to this Earth, birthed from the pits of Hell. Interesting company you keep. One would think that would make you stop and wonder if you’re on the right side of whatever it is that they’re planning.”
“You’re a demon,” gasped the senator. “You’re going to preach to me about being on the right side?”
Cayman gave him a half grin. “Sometimes the right side of history is made up of those you’d least expect.”
“Where is Bael?” I asked.
“Nowhere near here,” the senator responded. “He’s far away, hidden. I can give you a number I’ve called in the past, but that will do you no good. Not now.”
Just as Sulien had said. Frustrated, I stepped forward. “Why is he staying away?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fisher,” Zayne sighed. “You seem to know very little. That’s disappointing.”
“Wait—” A shout interrupted his words when Zayne shattered another finger.
And then Senator Josh Fisher shattered.
Only eight bones. Tiny ones. Painful ones, but tiny compared to equally breakable larger ones.
“I love my wife,” he moaned, face crumpling and body curling onto his side, stretched as far as he could get with Zayne still holding his hand. “I love my wife. That’s all. I love her. I can’t do this without her. She’s all I ever wanted.” Body-racking sobs erupted from the man. “Loved her since the day she walked into my econ class in Knoxville. She’s my everything, and I would do anything to see her again. Hold her. Have her back. That’s all I ever wanted.”
I unfolded my arms, exchanging a glance with Zayne. He let go of the hand, and all the Senator did was curl farther into himself. I shifted, uncomfortable with the visible raw pain. This man had conspired with a demon and witches, getting innocent humans and Wardens killed. He was connected to the Harbinger, who wanted to bring on the end times, so he sucked—big time—but unless he was an accomplished actor, he was collapsing under a kind of pain far greater than broken fingers.
“What does she have to do with Bael, Josh?” Zayne asked, using his first name and in a voice so gentle it was easy to forget that he’d just broken the man’s fingers.
Fisher didn’t answer for several minutes, only sobbed, until, finally, he rasped, “The Harbinger heard my prayers and came to me.”
I jolted as Cayman swung his legs off the chair and tipped forward.