“I kicked my dog.” Tears trickled down her cheeks and dried in salty lines, outlined by makeup.
Nix clucked his tongue. Kicking a dog wasn’t a damning offense.
“Undress.” Voice whiplash-hard, Micah stepped out of the shadows, and he strolled forward. “Secrets are not tolerated. Yours will be revealed, or I’ll take them from your flesh.”
“Where am I?” Her voice wavered.
“Phoenix already told you.”
No, he hadn’t, but the girl nodded her agreement anyway.
Micah crossed his arms over his chest. “Strip now, or I’ll send your soul straight to Hell for failure to obey on command.”
“I’m at judgment?” Her fingers trembled as she slowly began to remove her clothing.
Neither of them replied. Micah quirked his head to the side and watched her disrobe. Not the first time, a twinge of guilt socked Nix in the gut for what they did, what he’d been taught to do to the condemned. Their actions couldn’t be fair. Lying to those that came through the fire was sick and twisted. Cruel to give them hope of entering Heaven when only fire and brimstone awaited their eternity.
Micah forced them all to strip—male and female alike—and fed them all the same spiel about redemption. Confess all and they were promised the Kingdom of Heaven. If they came through the fire, then they’d already been judged and deemed unworthy to enter the Pearly Gates. Micah already knew their sins so having them come clean served no purpose other than as entertainment. Damning them after he’d promised paradise served as icing on the cake.
Micah was a sick motherfucker. And what’d that make him for going along with it? Sick-and-twisted motherfucker number two?
With a pained glance the girl stripped off her panties and stood before them cowering. Micah moved behind her and curled his hands around to the front, cupping a breast in one hand and wrapping his fingers around her throat with the other, pulling her flush against his chest.
A brief flash of memory surfaced from his former life. Madison’s panic when she’d scurried from the stock room after Micah choked her.
The same terror blazed from Beth now, her bottom lip trembling.
Micah rubbed his chin against the side of the girl’s head. “This is my final request for you to confess your sins.”
Intimidation always worked.
The girl began to sob, gasping and choking, and shuddering beneath her cries. “I smothered my ailing mother for her twenty-thousand-dollar life insurance policy.”
“What’d you do with the money?” Nix asked.
“Bought meth.”
Keeping a hand wrapped around her throat, Micah dragged his other hand down her stomach until it rested below her bellybutton.
“Continue.” His voice grew thick with what Nix recognized as desire.
“I gave birth to a baby five weeks early and—”
“Were you taking meth while you were pregnant?” Nix watched as Micah dragged his hellish fangs against her shoulder and shifted into his blue angel skin.
“Yes.” Beth quivered in the King’s arms. “I left her in a dumpster.” Tears hit her cheeks and dried. “It was sleeting. I saw on the news the next morning that she froze to death.”
“Why should I bow to monsters like you?” Micah’s grimace reflected his bitterness. “Why would Father ask it of us when your species is so undeserving?”
Nix beheld the King, who hated God for requiring them to serve mankind.
“Your sins are
not
forgiven,” Beliel rasped against her ear.
“Please—”
Demon claws sprang forth and punctured her abdomen. Beth gasped as her blood oozed over the fallen angel’s fingers and down between her thighs, hitting the skin-stitched floor. Each droplet of the liquid wrenched screams from the ground. Micah pulled his arm up, slowly gutting her like a deer. Beth screamed and the demon laughed as blood and intestines spilled forth. Micah shoved his hand into her chest and ripped her heart out. The organ still beat after being removed.
The King stepped away and her body
thunked
against the flooring. Only the soul remained standing, quivering in shock. The demon nudged her carcass with his foot, and she began to scream.
Micah lifted the heart. “H
uklejtax jioq vkulh oj mifak.” Tarnished soul grant us power
, he said, and took a bite of it. As he chewed, he held the remainder toward Nix. “Finish it.”
Aghast, Nix couldn’t tear his focus off the organ. All the horrors he’d committed, yet the idea of ingesting a human heart disgusted him.
“It’ll give you strength, Phoenix, to kill Zennyo Ryuo.”
He ripped his focus off the object in Micah’s hand. Their stares bolted on each another. Nix couldn’t have looked away if he tried. “What if Mads lives? What’s the point in revenge?”
“He still wields the power to kill her. He knows he cannot kill me, which means it’s unlikely he’ll hesitate to take her life next time we meet. We must protect our woman. The heart gives more power than any other organ. You’ll need to augment yours if you wish to help me defeat the immortal.”
Our woman
? Had she ever been his? He didn’t think so, but she had responded to him eagerly, which meant she could be his someday.
Nix took the organ and it jerked in his hand, squirting blood from the ripped valves. He choked on bile and cringed at the squishiness of it.
“Consume it before its last beat.”
Anything for Mads
.
“For Mads.” He toasted her husband with the heart and consumed it, gagging only once. He was proud he didn’t succumb to his mortal
ew
factor.
Chapter Six
Madison parked the car and surveyed the juke joint on the outskirts of Delta, Utah, not that Main Street could be considered a bustling metropolis. She’d seen less rundown establishments, but she schmoozed with the cesspool of creation, so who was she to complain about a little upkeep?
“You think they furnish handguns as you walk into this place?” Alessa scrunched her nose as she peered out the vehicle’s front window.
“No human is as frightening as a demon.”
Alessa snorted. “Spoken from the woman who issues one-word commands and demons bow to her whims. Seriously, Madison, you handle demons easier than cockroaches.”
Madison turned off the car and extracted the keys. “You’ve only seen me do that once and you know how big a fit Zen had.”
“If that was a fit, I have never seen the man have anything but one.”
She chuckled at Alessa’s sarcasm. “Believe me, he was extremely angry. It was all in his eyes.” And in her head, because he’d laid into her telepathically. “You ready to do this?”
“Yeah, why not. I figure Hell’s going to be worse than any backwoods honky-tonk can be.”
Alessa could say that again.
They stepped out of the Land Rover and Madison secured her pistol in the waistband of her jeans at the base of her spine. Blades secured to her ankles, she strapped shurikens to the outside of her thigh. She didn’t want anyone thinking they were two pretty chicks easily intimidated.
“You expecting trouble?” Alessa’s lopsided grin showcased her amusement.
“Aren’t I always?” She straightened, pocketed her keys, leaving the car unlocked in case they needed to make a hasty getaway.
“You have trust issues.” Alessa walked beside her. “Genovela is legit.”
“Maybe, but her call came from nowhere and right after Zen was baited. Coincidence?” Madison shrugged. “I hope. Being Nix’s friend doesn’t make her mine.”
They entered the bar. The outside presented disrepair, but the inside smelled like Pine-Sol. No cigarette smoke blanketed the air and the sense of ‘business’ rather than ‘good times’ permeated the establishment.
“Sherlock bar.” Madison noted at least twenty hunters present. Too many in one place irritated her skin. How many of them were aware of her identity, or just knew her name and sketchy background?
“How can you tell?” Alessa whispered.
“They have a distinct signature to their aura.”
Silence descended on one person at a time throughout. A scuffed-up bar situated to her left seated a dozen gawking Sherlocks.
“Alessa, you should know, there’s not a lot of love lost between me and them.”
She felt the other woman’s attention, but Madison kept her focus on the establishment’s clientele, who one by one turned in their seats to gape at them.
“Madison, they’re really hard to piss off. What’d you do?”
Madison snorted at Alessa’s naïveté. “I was born.” She glanced at Nix’s lover and sent her a teasing grin. “And I may have enthralled one…or two.”
“I always did prefer being the underdog,” Alessa quipped in a singsong voice.
Madison rolled her eyes and strode toward the bar. The bartender, a giant of a man, at least six-six with broad, lumberjack shoulders, scruffy cheeks and brown hair, watched them approach, as did everyone else. With a matching set of dark brown eyes, he surveyed them, hunter-like, a trait common among Sherlocks. Little would get past him.
“Two shots of your best tequila.”
Lumberjack glanced at the hundred-dollar bill she tossed on the bar. Cautious, he watched them as he reached for a bottle of José Cuervo Gold off the shelf. Far from the best as far as tequilas went, but she wasn’t surprised by the selection. A Sherlock bar wasn’t known for its pricey liquor.
“You’re not from these parts.”
Not a question, but a statement. Madison answered anyway. “Nope.”
Alessa grinned. “What was your first clue, sweet cheeks? Her accent or our pretty faces?”
“We have a sassy one tonight, gentlemen.” The barkeep joked to the men strung up at the counter like hecklers at a strip joint. Chuckling, he smacked two shot glasses down in front of them and poured tequila to the rim. “Keep your money. The first drink’s on the house.”
He winked at Alessa, but Madison left the cash on the bar.
“Thanks.” Madison turned sideways on the barstool facing Alessa so she could keep a watch on everyone, including the bartender, in her periphery. Putting the two Sherlocks on her other side, behind her, her senses twitched in protest at turning her back to danger. Something about most Sherlocks rubbed her the wrong way and these were no different. Her best guess, the demon inside her recognized them as enemies.
Beside her, Alessa leaned over the counter, giving the barman all her attention. “My name’s Alessandra.”
“Odd name.” Not a man of many words obviously.
“It’s Italian.” She sent him a saucy grin as she tipped the tequila to her lips.
Uncertain where Alessa was going with the conversation, Madison bit back a smile. She shook her black hair over her shoulders, and ran her fingers through the long tresses. Caught up in Alessa’s antics, Madison forgot to keep a watch on the Sherlocks.
Once Alessa had the barkeep’s undivided attention, she licked her lips and ogled the man up and down like she might a prime piece of steak. “You’re kind of cute, sweet cheeks.”
Madison’s eyebrows flashed upward. She’d never seen the other woman flirt with men, but in the four months she’d known her, Alessa had never needed to. Oh, yeah, she and Nix had more in common than Madison originally thought. Only Alessa could pull off calling a Sherlock sweet cheeks.
“Yeah?” The worker didn’t look as if he believed her, like maybe he waited on the bad punchline. He’d probably heard it all.
“Oh, yeah,” Alessa said in a throaty tone. “You know what they say about Italians?”
He poured her another shot. “What’s that, doll?”
“We are astounding lovers.”
Madison choked on laughter. ‘Sweet cheeks’ blushed. Imagine that, a lumberjack of a Sherlock going pink over such a comment. She decided to save him by getting straight to the point. “We’re here to see Genovela Maxwell.”
The bartender flicked her a ‘go away’ glare, as a lone male off in the right corner caught her attention. Nothing out of the ordinary, except he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Did he recognize her? Likely.
“Genovela is kind of expecting us, sweet cheeks.” Alessa downed her second shot and turned the glass upside down. Madison didn’t feel the need to touch hers. A clear head was required and she’d only ordered the tequila for appearances.
“I haven’t seen Genovela in weeks.” He straightened and poured himself a drink and toasted Alessa. “To Italian lovers.”
Oh, lawd
!
“We have a mutual acquaintance. Nix Birmingham. You know him, right? He’s a Sherlock like the rest of you?” Dead silence answered her question. Madison watched a hunter exit the building, sending them a precautionary glance as he went out the door.
“No idea what you’re talking about, little lady.” He glanced at the patron next to Madison as he swigged more liquor. “Unless you’re talking about Sherlock Holmes.” A few snickers surfaced.
“He’s English. Bad lovers there.” Alessa winked. “I sure as hell wouldn’t take him with me to a bar fight.”
“Something’s wrong.” Madison swiveled around on her seat and glared at Lumberjack. “Genovela’s not here, is she?” Her best guess, she never had been, which meant they’d walked straight into an ambush.
She watched him for hints of subterfuge. Strike one: he didn’t even blink at her question. “Are you Madison Wescott?”
“This is a trap, Alessa. Let’s go.”
A beefy hand from her other side slammed a blade down on the bar. The burly fellow leaned toward her, beer breath hitting her face. “Madison Wescott, hmm? I have a good friend that’s a blubbering fool thanks to you.”
“Oh, shit.” Wide-eyed, Alessa gaped at their new, knife-wielding friend. “Dude, you’re asking for trouble.”
Madison peered at the weapon on the counter in front of her before turning to face the man. Grizzled jaw, red hair curled around the edges of a ratty baseball cap. He could’ve passed for any Southern country bumpkin she’d grown up with. She nodded toward the dagger. “That isn’t going to come close to stopping either of us from walking out the door. You’ll only end up hurt.”
A flash of fear hit his scruffy countenance before he manned up and smirked. He went to say something, but before he got out whatever he’d planned, another voice spoke.
“Leave them be, Billy.” Madison froze. “They’re here to see me and Madison would just hand you your ass anyway. That’d be embarrassing.”