Chapter 11 · Neon Hounds

"Get your hands off me before I rip them off at the wrist," Evelyn spat, her voice echoing in the damp concrete corridor.

Kane didn't let go. He had her pinned against the rusted wall, his forearm pressing firmly across her collarbone. He could feel the erratic drum of her pulse against his skin—fast, terrified, but still fighting.

"The power's gone, Ev. No cards, no fancy soul-tricks. Just you, me, and the three guys with lead pipes coming down the hall," Kane muttered, his breath warm against her ear. "Stop fighting me for five seconds so we don't get our skulls cracked."

Evelyn glared, her eyes flashing in the dim emergency red light. "I can handle myself."

"With what? Your daddy's credit card?" Kane shifted his weight, his thigh sliding between hers to keep her anchored. The friction of his rough denim against her silk skirt was a sharp contrast, a reminder of exactly how out of place she was in this gutter. "Stay. Quiet."

Heavy boots thudded on the floor. The sound was rhythmic, confident. The Neon Hounds.