Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy #1)

by Ilona Andrews

Connor drank his coffee. “The name is Mad Rogan. They also call me the Butcher and the Scourge, but Mad is the most frequently used moniker.”

They say a hundred-and-thirty-pound woman has no chance against an athletic two-hundred-pound man. That’s a lie. You just have to make a decision to hurt him and then do it.

We had only three rules. Rule #1: we stayed bought. Once a client hired us, we were loyal to the client. Rule #2: we didn’t break the law. It was a good rule. It kept us out of jail and safe from litigation. And Rule #3, the most important one of all: at the end of the day, we still had to be able to look our reflections in the eye.

I’d seen my share of real biker gangsters. Not the weekend bikers, who were doctors and lawyers in real life, but the real deal, the ones who lived on the road. They were hard, not too well kept, and their eyes were made of lead. Pierce was more like the leading man playing a badass in an action movie. Lucky for him, he could make his own background of billowing flames.

“He killed a man,” Mom said. “He was framed,” Grandma Frida said. “You don’t even know the story,” Mom said. Grandma shrugged. “Framed. A man that pretty can’t be a murderer.” Mother stared at her. “Penelope, I’m seventy-two years old. You let me enjoy my fantasy.”

“Is it illegal?” “Oh yes.” Grandma grinned. “And you might die from it. You want a set?”

“I’ll break you.” “You will try.”

That’s why Szenia is here.” He nodded at the blond man. “He is a trained paramedic. But if your heart stops, it stops. Eh.” He spread his arms. “Eh” was not the reaction I was looking for.

“You seem to be under the impression that I work for you and you can give me orders. Let me fix that.” I hung up.

“This family will put me into an early grave,” my mother growled. “I’m coming with you. Mother, lock the doors and set the alarm. We’ll take the van and the Barrett.” “Would the Barrett be enough?” Grandma Frida asked. “Isn’t he supposed to bounce bullets off of his chest?” “It fires .50 cal at twice the speed of sound. It will hit him before he ever hears the shot.” My mother crossed her arms. “I’d like to see him bounce that off his chest.”

Adam thought he could use me; so did Mad Rogan. The best way to deal with them was to use them right back. I had to throw the two Primes at each other and wait quietly on the sidelines until the dust settled.

“I really would like to know,” he said with genuine curiosity. “The next time I kill someone, I’d like to do it in a way that doesn’t trip you up.” “How about you don’t kill anybody for a little bit?” “I can’t make that promise.” Small talk with the dragon. How are you? Eaten any adventurers lately? Sure, just had one this morning. Look, I still got his femur stuck in my teeth. Is that upsetting to you?

I am a polite, nonthreatening kind of dragon with excellent manners. Horns are hidden, tail is tucked away, fangs covered. I would never do anything cruel, like stab a man with a knife about ten times to get him to answer a question.

“It’s still wrong. You can’t just kill people because they annoy you.” “You keep saying ‘can’t,’” he said. “You shouldn’t.” It was like talking to some alien creature.

“Remember you told me about how the Great Chicago Fire wasn’t started by Mrs. O’Leary’s cow? Your professor had some sort of alternative theory about it?” Bern gave me a funny look. “Did you see the bus halfway in the ground?” “I don’t want to talk about the bus.” “Okay,” Bern said in a soothing voice. “We don’t have to talk about the bus. We can talk about the cow instead.”

I risked a glance at his face. Mad Rogan was smiling. Something I said must’ve been really funny. “Do I have any redeeming qualities?” he asked. A charming, self-deprecating dragon. No, not buying it. That charm could tear in a split second, and then there would be flame and sharp teeth. “Not running over the squirrel was in your favor.” “Mhm. Good to know.” He smiled wider.

Been there, done that, got a lot of fatigue-colored T-shirts.

If the clouds split open and an archangel descended onto the street in all of his heavenly glory and tried to make Rogan see reason, he would fail miserably and have to pack up his flaming sword and go back to Heaven in shame. I had no idea what gave Lenora the idea that I could do any better.

He kissed me back. There was no magic this time. No phantom fire, no velvet pressure. Just a man, who tasted like the glory of heaven and the sin of hell rolled into one.