Blood of the Devil

Chapter 28 - Feel the Connection

Letha folded her arms across her chest and deliberately stared at the dash. The sun reflected off the surface, so her glare was half squint, half annoyance. Mostly annoyance.

Looking awkwardly up at the man with the gun, Mickey shrugged. The biker jerked his chin and the gun behind Mickey pressed up against his back.

"Letha," the boy said softly, leaning his forehead against the top of the car. "You do realise we are being held at gun point?"

She snorted. "No, Sherlock, you are being held at gun point. I am sitting a crappy excuse for a car."

Mickey winced, and rubbed his car, murmuring, "She didn't mean it." He frowned at Letha. "And you have a gun aimed at your face as well, Letha."

Stubbornly, the girl shook her head. "No I don't."

"Yeah," Mickey said, raising an eyebrow, "you do. Look, denial is one thing but..."

"I am not in denial," she erupted, slamming her fist into steering wheel. The horn blared loudly and she repeated the movement with her other hand. She kept going, pummelling the wheel with all her might as it sang an awful, grating song around her.

The motorbike rider raised his helmet, apparently looking at Mickey, who glared at him incredulously.

"You know what?" he said, folding his arms across his chest, "I honestly don't even care. This whole 'gunpoint thing' is your gig, and I'm sure as hell not here to help you with it." So saying, He turned away from the man, leaning his back against the care. The young woman aiming the gun at him flinched, her wide eyes reflecting his glare.

Letha's anger hadn't waned, and her hands continued their off kilter melody until the car window beside her shattered. The elbow that had been used caught her on the cheekbone and she gasped as her head whipped the other way. The door was quickly pulled open and Letha was reefed out by her collar before being thrown to the ground on her knees. Raising her head, she glared at the man and slowly dragged the back of her hand across her cheek. It came away bloody, though the blow hadn't broken the skin, and she smirked.

"Missing something?"

Switching the gun to his other hand and keeping his eyes trained on hers, the guy cupped his elbow, letting his eyes flicker down to see the red smudge on the palm of his other hand. He grunted.

"What the...!" Mickey was standing with his hands clutching the side of his head, mouth open is shock as he looked at his vehicle. "What did you do to my car?"

Letha swung to head to face him, her expression flat. "Emergency evacuation."

"You," his gaze narrowed in on her, his breath coming out in an angry snort, "I blame you for this."

"Well I blame you for this," she gestured the man looming over her, "So I guess we're even."

The barrel of the gun came back into Letha's line of sight, and she ground her teeth together, reisting the urge to try and kick it out of his hand; she would be no use to Hadrian dead.

"Shut up and get up," the man grunted, his voice husky and low.

Grudgingly, Letha obeyed, scrambling to her feet. She couldn't resist commenting: "Wow, it speaks."

A hand gripped her shoulder and she was suddenly propelled towards the woman's 'broken down' sedan. She stumbled, caught herself before she fell and then tried to keep as much of her dignity in tact as she walked. Mickey on the other hand had no such qualms; he was pouting, slouching and sulking for all he was worth.

They reached the car, and Letha looked it over in distaste. "See Sherlock, we're going to get out of this just fine."

"What makes you say that?" Mickey asked hesitantly, biting his lip as he saw the troublesome glint in her eye; he was curious about what she'd say, even though he was fairly sure it wouldn't help the situation.