The Fallen (A Sons of Wrath Prequel) (3 page)

A void had grown inside of him, blackness spreading like a plague to every part of his being—infecting the man he’d once been.
A good guy
. He winced. The streets had roughed that kid up, chewed him to pieces and spit out the heartless bastard that stared back at him in the mirror every day.

He settled his gaze back on the girl in the alley—Lolita’s sister.

Karinna
.

He hadn’t planned to watch her like he did.

Something about the female mesmerized him, though, to the extent that his dreams had become overrun with fantasies so dark, so twisted, spiraling into what some might call an obsession. The mere sight of her roused a dangerous and inexplicable hunger for sin and debauchery. The very things he fought to resist: digging his fingers into her flesh, pulling her hair, marring her perfect skin, and her cries of pain playing a relentless loop of ecstasy inside his head. Why? What was it about her that kept him from walking away when he damn well should’ve?

An ache ravished his muscles as he stalked her from the rooftop—the familiar burn of lust scorching his blood like poison, forcing him to close his eyes and imagine the thrill of hunting her, pinning her down and taking her any way he wanted.

Temptation had always been easy to ignore before she came along. Never had to seek it out with the way strippers at the club damn near threw themselves at him. Yeah, they were pretty. Just didn’t do anything for him, aside from giving head on occasion, or a hand job now and then.

Karinna, though, she was a different league of females. Crafty. Strong. Unbreakable. Driven by purpose.

Untouchable
, which only made Xander want to touch her.

A female who craved vengeance didn’t bother with shit like snuggling on the couch and baring her soul to another. She fucked to further her cause, and Xander had a feeling she’d give good chase—the elusive prey that promised the most thrilling hunt.

Every sadist’s wet dream.

Her beauty. Her body. Stunning, but nothing he hadn’t seen before.

Like a cat obsessed with the bird inside its cage, she’d consumed him so completely through nothing more than observation.

She stared off at the sliver of moon in the clear April sky, gaze unwavering as though deep in thought.

Xander had a pretty good idea what roiled in her mind, and yet, he yearned to crack her open and pick it apart. Her thirst for vengeance silently spoke to him, touched him in ways no human ever had before her. Like two evils seeking each other in darkness.

“You watch her like you hope to devour her.”

The voice stiffened Xander’s muscles, and he looked down to the gravel trembling beneath his boot. Twisting on the ball of his foot, he just caught the flicker of white, almost translucent wings with a network of gold ribbon veins. The dark brown of the male’s skin gave him a shadowed appearance in the moon’s light.

Hasziel
.

“You’d welcome that, wouldn’t you?” Xander turned back to face the bar. “Come to pull me off this one?”

The angel blew out a sharp exhale. “Not this one. Sloane made it clear she wants you on it. Seems to like working with you.” He sniffed and shook his head, his tone almost exasperated. “Could’ve walked away from all this a year ago but … do what you do to get the job done. Whatever steel runs through your veins is exactly what this unit needs.”

Steel
.

Most angels assigned to the underground couldn’t handle the pressures of being so close to humans. That alone could make any one of them fall, but add the temptation of watching humans fuck, hearing their cries of pain, pleasure and suffering play like a wicked porn all hours of the day, and most could damn near taste the fall. Xander had spent a good couple centuries in the shit, and while those around him had given in to the carnality of human flesh and traded their wings for it, in spite of whatever screwed up fascination he’d developed toward Karinna, he hadn’t. Never would. Xander was alpha through and fucking through—would never become some groveling bitch for pussy—no matter how good.

“Much as you like to remind me otherwise, what runs through my veins is no different than yours.”

Hasziel approached and crouched beside him. “Want to know a secret?” He gave a cursory glance and directed his gaze back toward the strip club. “Had I not taken the promotion, I’d have cracked. No angel is expected to do back to back tours undercover.” He huffed. “I don’t know why you don’t accept the promotion. Share your talent by training others.”

Angels weren’t expected to do back to back tours. It just so happened, Xander enjoyed the parts of the underground that most angels sought to avoid. Hunting. Stalking his prey. Ultimately, slicing his blade across the enemies’ throats and watching as they bled justice from their wounds.

“I don’t do management. I work alone.”

“You’re dedicated, I’ll give you that.” Hasziel scratched his cheek. “You could … have relations. Your own female.”

“This isn’t the fucking part where you tell me about the birds and the bees, is it?”

Laughter threw Hasziel’s head back. “It is exquisite. Even if it’s
vanilla
, as we of the underground come to think of it. There’s nothing quite like being buried deep inside a woman. Or in this case, an angel.” He cleared his throat. “Sloane seems quite fond of you.”

Yeah. Higher ranking officers got beautiful, faithful angel ‘wives’ to keep them happy and sated. To avoid the possibility of going AWOL. Their touch carried something humans didn’t—predictability.

“My answer hasn’t changed.”

“Neither has your stubborn nature. Then heed my word, friend. I’m putting in a request that this be your last mission. At least for a while. You need—”

Here goes the fuckin’ done this shit long enough lecture again.
“The fuck, Hasziel?”

“We’ve done this shit long enough. Trust me. It’s for the best.”

“And if I refuse the promotion?”

“I hope you won’t. But you know angels are not left to be idle—”

“Some are. The poor bastards in asylum. How do you think they got that way? Being stuck in some shit, pencil-pushing job they hate, that’s how. PTBS. Post traumatic bullshit on steroids.”

“Then, perhaps you’ll give serious consideration to the alternative. You can still be out in the field.” He cast his stare in the direction of the strip club. “Just not so close. Not when so many of your brothers have fallen.”

“They are no brothers of mine. They’re weak.”

“A
moment
of weakness made them what they are now. One moment is all it takes to lose everything.” The pat on Xander’s back came with the same condescending message as a dog that heeled to its owner. Had he not been a superior, and the only person Xander might’ve called friend, he’d have leveled Hasziel to the ground with his fists. “You’ve gone the deepest any angel has ever hoped. We’re about to make the biggest bust in history because of you. But keep in mind …  the greater the depth, the stronger the temptation. Humans are forbidden
for a
reason
. And that’s a madness you can’t save yourself from. I’ve turned a blind eye to most of what you’ve done, Xander. It’s the job. I can’t—”

“It was one mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“Damn skippy.” Hasziel did the rubbing of the eyeballs thing that made Xander want to pop them right out of his sockets. “Fuck man, you never. Save. The girl.” He squinted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have to remind you, mortals are expendable in this game. It’s always been that way. Finish this. And report back to headquarters.”

Jaw clenched, Xander anchored his gaze on the female as she retreated back inside the bar.

Last ride
—a chance to prove to himself that light still touched a small part of his otherwise charred, disintegrating soul.

Xander had every intention of finishing the job.

There’d be no going back afterward, though.

CHAPTER 3

Weeks of observation had told Karinna the guy had earned
regular
status, like a few other
Chix on Cox
patrons scattered throughout the audience.

She caught a glimpse of the man in the gray three-piece suit out of the corner of her eye as she jumped up onto the pole, flexing her thighs around the cold steel rod. Judging by the way Mr. Sharp Suit always sat back, never getting in on the drunken mosh pit of men at her feet, a Mrs. Sharp Suit sat at home waiting on him.

Months of hooking up with singles had trained Karinna to know that swinging bachelors didn’t pay attention to things like names, likes, dislikes. Young and horny, they were all about a quick fuck in the back alley amidst the rats and garbage.

Never paid enough to make it worth it, either.

Married men, on the other hand, had certain interests—the kind that would keep them from getting caught.

The ones who’d gotten burned fucking their secretaries landed at
Chix
, eventually. A million miles away from their normal lives, the place offered anonymous fantasies without the risk of seeing each other at the next PTA meeting. Every one of them started a blowjob with the infamous question,
where ya from
.

Most of the dancers avoided married men and their small talk. Too much time with one client meant less money.

Karinna, however, picked married men from the crowd like worms in shit.

The guy tipped back the chunky glass in his hand—they never drank beer, always liquor, drowned in something that might hide the smell.

A long glide down the pole, and her eyes locked on his. He grabbed himself—a hookup. Like an auction, the men threw signals from the crowd all the time. Some flashed cash. Some made gestures of eating pussy. And some gave subtle hints of a quick blowjob.

Since a man couldn’t talk with his tongue dancing along her clit, and she really didn’t give a damn about the cash, blowjobs always won the sale.

Only a couple of clubs offered the kind of
activity
that
Chix
boasted. Detroit. The eighth wonder of the world—the only place where laws could be followed a la carte for the vigilantes with enough cash flow.

The lights dimmed, and Karinna collected her tips and left the stage.

Sharp Suit sat forward in his chair, gave a wink and smiled, as she approached, adjusting her black leather corset.

“Wanna hook up?”

He held up a twenty.

“That’ll get you some nice petting, but that’s it.”

More money meant more time on the clock. No man dropping Jacksons at a time planned to get a quick suck and go. Bitches had better break a sweat for that kind of cash.

Two more twenties landed on the table. “You can swallow it, too.”

“C’mon.” She led him through the tight crowd and out the back door—totally illegal in any other club, but that was the beauty of off-beat vens in Detroit. Nobody gave two shits, as long as no one got shot—too much paperwork for a city short staffed and hitting the skids.

Backing him into the wall had his mouth gaping with what could only be the sudden onslaught of excitement. Piss and garbage stung Karinna’s nose, but it didn’t matter. She preferred it that way. Dirty acts deserved to take place in dirty, rat-infested alleys with the pungent smell of rotting food and human waste.

She had no intentions of
making love
or getting off, so why get romantic?

A hardened cock bulged through his pants as she glided her hand down the front of him. Not too big, considering the guy must’ve been about six foot. Mrs. Sharp Suit probably hadn’t touched the poor bastard in years, judging the small spot of pre-cum dampening his slacks. She unzipped his pants, springing it loose, spat on her hand, and stroked.

“Where ya from?” Funny how his strangled voice matched the intensity of her strokes.

“A long way from suburbia.”

“For sixty bucks I better get more than a fucking hand job.” His eyes rolled back and he lifted his chin, as if too caught up in the ecstasy to fight if that
did
turn out to be all he got for the money.

Karinna’s stomach churned at the liquor on his breath and drunken lust plastered to his face. Soft, almost feminine moans in her ear only heightened her loathing.

“Ah, yes, that’s a good girl.” His whisper grated her spine. “Get on your knees now and suck daddy’s dick like a lollipop.”

Daddy.
Always hated the assholes who got off on the daddy fantasies.

Faking a smile, she slid the blade, a stage prop, from the holster, propping it beneath his chin.

The man stilled, eyes flew open. “What the fuck?”

“Baby girl’s about to give you the blowjob of your life, but only if you can give me some information. You’ve been coming here for months. Surely you’ve hooked up with some of the ladies.”

“Yeah. So what?”

“You know Lolita?” His shifty eyes betrayed the lie he undoubtedly intended to spew. “Keep in mind, I can gut you like a pig and toss you to the rats.”

“What is this shit? A trick?” Brown eyes narrowed on hers. “Fuck, you her sister, or something? You look—”

“Answer the question.”

“I’m not paying you to—“

A yank of his hair clipped that remark.

Karinna slipped her hand inside his back pocket, tugging his wallet free. With one hand she unfolded the leather, revealing a picture of his wife and two young daughters. She tipped her head. “How is Marci, by the way?”

Color drained from his face. Yeah, she’d done her homework. A man who disappeared in the back with a different girl twice a week didn’t go unnoticed.

With an
I’m fucked
expression, all bulging eyes and a downward curve to his mouth, he swallowed a gulp. “I wouldn’t ...” The grimace on his face taunted her grip of the blade. “She’s ...”

Dead, asshole. Lolita is dead.

Karinna pushed the blade into his throat, wanting nothing more than to slice the words right out of his mouth. “She’s what?” she said, clenching her teeth so hard they ached.

Despite the pressure against his neck, a smile skated across his face. “Should’ve known … you were a crazy bitch. A man … can’t even get his … dick sucked without …” His lips tightened as Karinna angled the blade higher. A sneeze could cut him open like a water skin sack. “I don’t have the information … you’re looking for. So, why don’t … we forget … this happened.”

“Wish I could. In fact, I wish I could forget that pretty face of your wife, too.” She tapped the knife against her temple. “Crazy bitches.”

“You come near her and …”

“And?”

“The girl’s … psycho. Kink is one thing …. Lolita’s into …. She asked me to
hurt
her.”

“Did you?” Karinna drilled him with a stare—would’ve singed his face with laser beams, if she could.

“I fuck whores, but I’m not one of those homo degenerates in leather chaps and doggy leashes.”

Useless.

She loosened her grip and let out an exasperated sigh. “You tell anyone about this and I’ll go
Fatal Attraction
on your ass, got it?”

He nodded, exhaling a shaky breath. “Got it.”

She glanced up, slammed her fist across that pretty cheekbone of his, and smiled as he slid down the brick wall. “I’m not a whore. Neither was my sister.”

Leaving him in a slump, she ambled back toward door, but halted after a few steps. Against the glisten of whatever potent shit ran in puddles through back alleys in Detroit, a small white feather lay at her feet.

Karinna looked upward.

Nothing but gray clouds strewn against a black, starless sky.

With a dubious glance back at the feather, she opened the door, and made her way inside the club, toward the dressing rooms.

Karinna’s bag sat beside the vanity, where she slumped into a rickety chair and stared at herself in the mirror.
Tired
. She’d already cashed out and given the club its cut of tips, leaving her just enough to pay utilities and her trainer—the one who’d given her confidence to even dare a back alley blowjob.

Laughter caught Karinna’s attention, and she leaned to the side, sighting movement by the lockers. Shannon, Lita’s best friend and the only female up in the club who knew anything about Karinna, stood chatting with one of the veteran girls, Bailey.

“Couch dance with Mister High Roller.” Bailey’s voice held a hint of excitement.

Shannon broke from whatever amusement she was getting, making duck-lips in the mirror. “No shit? Lucky bitch. I saw his fat ass money clip.”

“He dropped five hundies in my undies. Said he’ll give me another five if I meet him in the back for an hour.” Bailey rubbed deodorant under her arms then added some gloss to her lips.

Shannon leaned in, her voice lowered. “Does he have the tattoo?”

“Nope.” Bailey smirked. “Just a regular John, from what I saw.”

“Those guys are like the fucking lottery.” Shannon shook her head. “One day my prince will come.”

“Assuming Prince Charming wears a leather mask and carries a whip. You guys can have the kinky S.O.B.’s. I’ll take the normal guys. Good, ole-fashioned
give me a piece of ass then make me a sammich
types.” White flashed with Bailey’s smile.

“To each his own. You can keep your vanilla mothafuckas. This bitch is goin’ high class, Grade A, Christian Grey, baby.”

“Okay, even I’d make an exception for
that
. But this ain’t fiction,
baby
. This is D-town. And you’re about the farthest thing from a virgin.”

“Which means I got skillz. Anastasia ain’t got shit on me.”

Karinna couldn’t help smiling at their banter.

Bailey rose from her chair, shaking her head. “Keep livin’ the dream.” A push of her breasts created perfect curves that dipped down into the cleavage of her top. “Time to make these bitches bounce.”

The strong scent of Jasmine trailed behind Bailey as she passed.

Shannon toyed with the clasp of her bra and glanced up. “Hey, good set. You’re a natural, just like
she who shall not be named
.” The smile on her face fell back on Karinna, because instead of telling her sister’s best friend that she’d hung herself ten months ago, she lied and said that Lita had moved out to Vegas to tour with some show—something Lita had always dreamed of doing.

Lying to Shannon made certain that she didn’t catch wind of Karinna’s true reasons for coming to work at
Chix
—as far as all the girls knew, Lolita’s big sister had followed in her footsteps to pay for her monster tuition bill.

Shannon’s smile waned as she plopped down in the chair beside Karinna. “God, you are a spitting image of her.” Eyes narrowed, she pushed a stray hair behind Karinna’s ear.

The gesture, like all forms of touch, tightened Karinna’s muscles.

“It’s the eyes. Your cheekbones, too—must be the genes. I’d swear you two were twins … well, except you have long black hair, no piercings.” Shannon’s lips pressed together. “Think you have a few more tattoos, if memory serves me …”

“Speaking of which, heard you talking to Bailey.” Karinna jerked her head back in the direction she’d gone. “What’s with the
tattoos
?”

“Holy shit, no one’s told you about the Sadismen yet?” With some fervor, Shannon twisted her seat to face Karinna. “Ignore Bailey. She thinks because she’s got family up in suburbia that she’s all flyin’ higher than the rest of us in Shitsville.” A wave of her hand dismissed the girl. “Anyway, they’re an
exclusive
club. Way hush-hush. No one knows
exactly
where it is, or what goes down there. The only way in, though, is through one of their members.” She leaned in and whispered, “Girls tell me the shit they do is hella crazy. Big fucking money. Big. And word is, some of the important figures are members. You get in with them? You can go anywhere. Including film.”

Karinna’s eyes likely mirrored the wonderment in Shannon’s, and she pretended to sound both intrigued and naive. “Film? Like … porn?”

“Yes! That’s where you can make a
killing
. Sadismen have crazy connections.”

“How do you get in?”

“You don’t. You have to be invited. And you only get invited if one of the members takes an interest in you.”

“Where do you find these people, the Sadismen?”

“They come to the club every so often. You won’t know until they show you their tattoo. All members have one. If the guy likes you, you’re in like Flynn.”

“Was … Lita in?”

“Yeah. Cunt. No idea what would’ve made her head out to Vegas. Maybe one the guys financed her.”

“How long was Lita in before she …” …
killed herself
… “before she moved out to Vegas?”

“Couple weeks, I’d say, give or take.” Shannon brushed her long, golden locks. “She never came back
here
. Who would? Shit, you get in with those guys and this place is like moving back to the trailer park after a week suckin’ off Daddy Warbucks.”

“Were you worried? When she didn’t come back.”

Shannon shrugged. “A little, I guess. I popped by her apartment to check up on her. Wasn’t home.” She smiled. “Then you came along and told me she’d up and moved to Vegas.” Ringlets of blonde fell from the loose bun she clipped to the back of her head. “What a life. I always envied Lita. You talk to that bitch anytime soon, tell her to quit riding the cock she’s on and give her best friend a call.”

A quick nod dismissed the unlikelihood of that. “Shannon … the tattoo. What does it look like?”

“Lita told me it looked like a boxy infinity symbol. Overlapping.” Her blue eyes flickered with excitement. “Like you belong to them eternally.”

Karinna forced a smile in return.
You don’t have a clue.
An overlapping infinity symbol meant eternal servitude—a fact she’d learned in high school, studying African slavery. If Karinna had to guess, in the case of the Sadismen, the women seemed to be signing up for sex slavery. “You’ve never seen one?”

“Not yet. Been here almost two years now and I’ve licked enough ink to spit a book.” Shannon huffed. “Never Sadismen, though.”

Voices erupted, signaling the end of another set, and as Shannon dashed across the room toward the oncoming flock of girls, Karinna headed into the adjacent bathroom. A flashing fluorescent bulb flickered in the dimly lit room and moans seemed to rise up from one of the stalls. Karinna bent forward and recognized the sleek black stiletto slipping across the dirty floor, beneath the door. Tammy.  Frankie’s newest recruit, who didn’t skip a beat when the other dancers told her she could earn some extra cash by riding the owner, Frankie, or any one of his ‘special clients’.