Page 110 of The Diamond in the Rough

Somehow, this stupid little shit had managed to remember something that had led the FBI to Garraway. Or at least close enough that they needed to get rid of him sooner rather than later.

That was going to sign his death warrant.

Just as soon as they took his power from him.

Panic gaveme enough of an adrenaline kick that I could push away the emotions that had soaked the cloth along with whatever chemical they were using to make me lightheaded and unable to fight back.

It didn’t knock me unconscious—just made me dizzy enough that there wasn’t much I could do to fight them off, my arms and legs limp and out of my control.

My heart was pounding so loud I couldn’t hear anything else, my breath short in my lungs and burning in the back of my throat.

It was a familiar feeling, this sickening panic. I’d experienced it every time they’d dragged me off for ‘treatment’ at Tranquil Brook. Every time they’d strapped me down and drained me of magic.

Except worse.

Because I was pretty sure that this time, they were also going to kill me.

I tried to focus enough to access my magic—death magic, magic I could use to protect myself, even if it meant killing the men (two of them? three? I wasn’t sure) who were dragging my uncooperative body away from the wall and toward a van.

At least… I thought it was a van.

It was hard to focus.

Hard to think.

“Shit!” someone said. “Hold him. Slippery little fucker.”

Something sharp bit into the side of my neck.

Then darkness.

22

Garraway had saidthat it was important to make sure they got this guy. Fucker squirmed like a goddamn fish, though. But they’d got him in the end.

He made sure to pull the ties extra hard so that the skinny fucker couldn’t get out of them. If they bit into his flesh, then they weren’t too loose.

She sighedas she folded up the moving blankets, grimacing at the stains on them. The dark brown that couldn’t really be anything except blood.

She hated it when Phil left bloody laundry for her to do. For one thing, it was almost impossible to get it out of things. Not that anybody cared about the moving blankets, but, inevitably, his clothes would come back bloody, too. And it was a lot harder to get blood out of light-colored shirts than it was the dark pants. She really wished he’d stick to the black ones when he had to do this kind of thing.

This wasthe first time he’d been selected for a mission, and he definitely didn’t like it. His fingers had worried at the zip ties Gennaro had asked him to hold, palms sweaty as Gennaro and Mulrooney had grabbed the kid.

He was just a kid.

Skinny, like his own Tommy.

Jesus.

What the fuck was he doing here?

He didn’t like magic, didn’t think freaks should have it, and what Mulrooney had said about magic only belonging to those who studied it, worked on it as a skill, and had the disposition for it made sense. Normal stupid people shouldn’t have it.

He knewheshouldn’t have it. Mulrooney seemed smart enough, and he said he was studying it. Gennaro didn’t, as far as he knew, though.

But this kid had the other kind. The kind people just got—not what they worked for.

He didn’t think people should get money handouts from the government, so why should they get magic handouts?