Dark Kings

by Sadie Moss

  “Are you all right?” I ask quietly.

  Her eyes flare wide, surprise flashing in their dark depths. I can see her scrambling to get her emotional walls up as she nods her head vigorously. “Of course. Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  I lift one eyebrow. “Because you just got hit by a dose of lust dust that would drive even a siren mad. Because you came on my tongue and begged me to fuck you, two things I’m certain you’ve never done before.”

  Her cheeks turn red, and she drops her head slightly, although she doesn’t seem able to rip her gaze away from mine. “I thought I said we weren’t going to talk about it ever again.”

  I nod. “You did. And we won’t. Once I hear you say you’re okay.”

  She looks tempted to just blurt the words out to end this conversation, but before she speaks, she pulls her lower lip between her teeth. Her gaze goes soft, falling out of focus as her thoughts seem to turn inward, and then she nods slowly.

  “Yes. I am. That was…” Her blush deepens, and I swear I can smell her sweet arousal in the air. She breathes in deeply, shaking her head. “It was… a lot. But I know why you did what you did. I was out of my mind with want, and there was no way I would’ve let any of you leave that room until you gave me what I needed. Not with a single shred of my dignity intact anyway. I would’ve run through the halls naked, begging someone to f—well, you know. I’m glad you didn’t let me do that.”

  She looks so shy and vulnerable as she speaks that I’m filled with the urge to scoop her up into my arms, to cradle her against my chest like I did when I first brought her back to my apartment, bleeding and broken.

  I want to take care of her, just like I did then.

  But instead, I drop my head and press my lips softly to hers.

  Just once.

  A kiss that’s different in nearly every way from how I’ve kissed anyone in a long time.

  I’d like to say I’m taking care of her. That I’m doing this for her. To reassure her and comfort her.

  But the truth is, I’m just greedy.

  When we break apart, her eyes look a little dazed and her cheeks are still flushed, but something in her body has softened. There’s more I could say, but the elevator already seems to have shrunk somehow, and I think it’s best for us to leave before the ephemeral emotions floating in the air take root.

  “Come on, angel.”

  With a hand at her back, I usher her out into my apartment, leading her down the hall toward the west wing. I know exactly where Ford has taken our demon captive—to a room with steel doors and magical locks that could only generously be termed a “guest room.”

  An “interrogation room” would be a more apt description.

  My brother already has Henrik bound to a chair in the middle of the room, and he’s woken the demon up too. Ford towers over him as Remington and Phoenix stand off to one side, watching with distaste and disinterest, respectively.

  “Anything?” I ask as Trinity and I step inside.

  “The fucker won’t talk,” Ford growls. He draws his fist back, and the angel beside me draws in a sharp breath. When Wrath’s punch connects with the demon’s face, a soft, pained noise falls from Trinity’s lips.

  My brother freezes. I know he heard the sound, and it appears to have affected him more than Henrik’s screams ever could.

  With a curse, he kicks Henrik’s chair, making it rock back on two legs. Then he turns away, running a hand through his blond hair. “One of you want to try? Be my fuckin’ guest.”

  Remington’s eyebrows jerk up, surprise evident on his face. But none of us say anything about Ford’s change of heart. It’s unlike our rage-filled brother to give up an interrogation before the subject is unconscious again, but this suits our purposes just fine anyway. There are other tactics that are just as effective as violence, if not more so.

  Jerking my chin at Phoenix, I step forward. He grumbles, annoyed at being called upon to work, but strolls over to stand beside me as Remington takes my place beside Trinity.

  “Henrik,” I say smoothly. “We need information. I’m sure you’re aware of the sinkhole to Hell that opened up in Lower Manhattan a few days ago. Who’s behind it?”

  The bookie lifts his head to glare at me, unearthly yellow light gleaming in his eyes. “I ain’t tellin’ you shit, man! You kidnap me? You beat the shit out of me? You think I’m gonna help you?” He snorts a laugh, blood dripping from his nose. “He’ll kill me if I say anything.”

  Well, that was easy.

  Now I know two things: the bookie does have valuable information, and whoever was behind this is a man.

  So far, so good.

  I stand a little taller, letting a hefty dose of greed waft from me. The demon blinks, licking his lips like he can taste money on the air.

  “If you help us, we’ll reward you handsomely,” I promise. “Magic. Power. Money. Whatever you want, I’ll make sure you get it.”

  His eyes spark with interest when I say “money,” and I nearly roll my eyes. Everyone thinks money is the key to everything, but they’re wrong. I could lose my entire fortune tomorrow, and I would rebuild it from nothing because I have power. Strength. Determination.

  “Sure would be nice, right?” Phoenix’s voice is a languid drawl. “Sipping cocktails on a beach somewhere, not a care in the world? Beats gettin’ the shit kicked out of you by that guy, yeah?” He jerks his thumb at Ford, who growls.

  “He’s a fucking psycho!” Henrik blurts, and Phoenix nods understandingly.

  “Hey, you don’t gotta tell me.” His voice shifts again as he sends out another wave of sloth toward the man. “It’d be so much easier to just take the money and help us, wouldn’t it? You’ll never have to work again. Never have to deal with this kinda shit again. You wouldn’t answer to anyone but yourself.”

  “Fifty million dollars,” I put in, and the greed that flares inside Henrik tells me I timed my offer well. Phoenix has softened him up, and now he’s imagining all the luxury fifty million could buy him. All the pussy. All the booze.

  “Yeah… yeah, okay.” The demon’s voice slurs a little, like he’s drunk. Which, in a way, he is. He’s drunk on greed, and so full of sloth that he can barely bother to form the words fully. “I’ll tell you. Waddaya wanna know?”

  “The sinkhole.” I keep pouring greed into him, not giving him a chance to come to his senses. “Who opened it? Where can we find them?”

  “Oh.” His brows pull together a little as he thinks. “I don’t know the name. But I heard a guy talking about opening a portal. He was bragging about it, trying to bag a succubus who was way out of his league. Said he’d single-handedly performed a spell to open a pathway from Earth to Hell.”

  “Where was this?” Phoenix sounds like he couldn’t care less if he tried, but a hint of interest gleams in his eyes.

  “At Heaven’s Gate.” Henrik leans forward a little. “You know. The casino?”

  “Yeah, I know it. What does this guy look like?”

  “I’m not sure. He had his back to me, but he was definitely a demon. High-level.” The bookie is practically panting now, and I dial back the greed a little.

  “That’s it?” Ford growls as he paces on the other side of the room. “That’s all you got? You don’t know this guy’s name or what he looks like or where he might be now?” He spits on the floor. “Fuckin’ useless.”

  A look of panic crosses Henrik’s face, and I’m sure he can see the stacks of cash disappearing in his mind’s eye. Well timed, Ford.

  “No! Not useless! I don’t know his name, but I know he goes to Heaven’s Gate a lot. He’ll probably be there tonight!”

  “Good.” I nod. “Then we will be too. We’ll find this guy, grab him, and make him close the portal permanently.”

  A sly look enters Henrik’s eyes, and he grins, revealing bloodied teeth. “Then you’ll give me my reward? You’ll let me go?”

  “No.” I chuckle softly as I pull back on the greed I’ve been feedin
g into him. Phoenix steps away too, yawning as he goes to lean against the wall. “You were right. You are useful. And we’re not in the habit of letting useful things go. Especially since we don’t even know if your information is good yet.”

  Henrik’s expression transforms from avarice to anger, and he sputters, little droplets of pink spittle flying from his mouth. “What? You can’t do that! You have to let me go! You have to—”

  “We don’t have to do shit,” Ford snarls, stalking over to get up in the demon’s face. “Not even keep you alive. So thank your lucky stars all we’re doing is keeping you tied up in this room a while longer.”

  Another small squeak comes from behind me, but when I look over my shoulder, Trinity has her lip clamped between her teeth, obviously keeping herself from saying anything. I half-expected her to argue, to plead on the demon’s behalf. She seems like the kind of bleeding-heart optimist who would do something like that.

  But she doesn’t say anything, and I can see in her eyes that her silence is a conscious decision. She must know that if we let the demon go now, he could turn around and rat us out to whoever set up that portal to Hell. Then our target would know we were coming—and whether they chose to run or fight, it wouldn’t bode well for our mission.

  Her gaze flicks to mine, and I nod absently as I gaze into her dark eyes, finding a newfound level of respect for her.

  She may be an innocent goody-two-shoes, but she’s no fool.

  She’s smart.

  And she’s just as determined as we are.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Trinity

  I can’t wear this dress. I absolutely can’t.

  Since all the stuff Beckett stocked my closet is of the more practical and casual variety—jeans and tops, that kind of thing—he had one of his assistants deliver a dress for me to wear to the casino.

  But I can’t wear it.

  I mean, I can’t possibly pull this off.

  Groaning, I peer into the full-length mirror in the guest bedroom, shaking my head at the woman in the reflection. Nope.

  I’m not sophisticated or sexy or any of those things. I’m an awkward geek who spends all her free time watching movies and television. I can’t even hold down a job, it seems. And I’m supposed to actually wear this the way it was meant to be worn?

  There’s nothing wrong with the dress itself. It’s a beautiful bright blue color, a color that contrasts perfectly with my own dark brown skin. It’s also a color that’s designed to be shown off, to get attention, to draw the eye, and uh—I am not good at that whole thing. At having people’s attention on me, I mean.

  As if the color wasn’t bad enough, it’s eye-catching in another way too. The entire dress is made of finely detailed lace with a slit up the leg, the kind that’s only visible if I walk or stand a certain way. The fact that the lace is covering my skin but is also revealing a lot, making it both coy and sexy, demure and provocative, feels like a study in contradictions that a model would have a lot of fun pulling off.

  But I am definitely not a model.

  I strike a few poses in the mirror, but I just feel ridiculous and awkward.

  Darn it. I don’t feel right in this at all. I don’t look sexy, I look dumb. What am I supposed to do here?

  A snort comes from behind me, and I freeze, my stomach falling all the way to the floor. Oh no.

  Turning around, I see that none other than Ford is standing in the room, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. We’re all supposed to dress up for this mission, but he hasn’t changed yet. He’s wearing dark jeans that hug the thick muscles of his legs and a plain white t-shirt that stretches indecently over his chest. He looks annoyed at me.

  “Um, can we just pretend you didn’t see that?” I shift uncomfortably, smoothing down the dress.

  “What, that I didn’t see you trying to act all provocative and looking like you’re fuckin’ constipated instead?” He grins, a feral stretch of his lips. “Not a chance.”

  His words actually sting, and I hate that. He’s been a jerk to me more times than I can count since I met him, but there’s something different in his words this time. As if they’re not coming from his Wrath. They’re just coming from him.

  “You’re a jerk. You know that?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been told. Actually, that’s one of the nicer things I’ve been called.” He walks closer, stepping around me, examining me. “I gotta admit, I don’t see how you can be so good at seducing my brothers if you’re also this fuckin’ ridiculous.”

  The anger burning in my chest flares brighter, and I glare at him. “I’m not seducing anyone! I was hit by that—that stuff, and they were trying to help me get it out of my system.”

  He makes a noise low in his throat, almost a laugh, and I clench my hands into fists.

  “You know what?” I blurt. “I’m glad you weren’t in that room with us. At least the others have been nice to me about it. The whole thing was awkward and strange and embarrassing”—and hot—“but at least they took care of me! They didn’t try to make me feel bad for something that was out of my control, and they haven’t kept bringing it up like you are. Even Beckett was nice about it, and he’s almost as big of a jerk as you are!”

  My chest is heaving, my whole body trembling with anger. I’m at least a foot shorter than this man, and after being chased around the living room and pinned like a bug beneath him, I know I’m no match for him physically.

  But I kind of want to hit him.

  Just one good punch. Just to wipe that look off his face.

  Ford puts his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes at me. He’s so intense, his gaze dragging up and down my body as if he could burn away the lace with his eyes alone. Or maybe he wants to burn away more than that, to peel away my outside layers and see all the way down to my heart.

  “Someone sent you to seduce us,” he announces finally, certainty coloring his voice. “It’s the only goddamn explanation.”

  “No, it’s not,” I grit out through clenched teeth. Because there’s another explanation, and that explanation is that I’m trying to redeem you all. “Nobody sent me to seduce you or your brothers.”

  And that is technically true. In fact, I’m pretty sure Anderson would be horrified to learn about what I did with the other sins. Not that I’m going to ask him for his opinion on that. If I can manage it, my angelic boss is never going to hear about that whole… thing at the club.

  Ford lunges again, the same sudden burst of movement as last night when he chased me around the apartment—and the next thing I know, I’m pinned against the wall.

  I yelp, shoving against his hold. “Let me go!”

  But he doesn’t. His entire muscular body is pressed against mine, his head tilting down as mine tilts up.

  “I know you’re hiding somethin’, angel. I’m gonna find out what it is. Mark. My. Words.”

  His words feel like they fall into my mouth, his breath ghosting over my face, and I can’t suppress the shiver that runs through my body.

  He’s dangerous.

  Deadly.

  Suspicious.

  But he’s also only an inch away from me, all of that hard, unyielding muscle pressed against me. Adrenaline is spiking in me, but my body isn’t turning it straight into fear. It’s like my wires are crossed, and instead of beating harder because I’m terrified, my heart thumps wildly in my chest for another reason.

  It’s not the lust dust this time. There’s nothing that I can blame it on but myself.

  Ford and I stare at each other for a beat—and then at the same moment, like we’re starting a duel, the two of us lunge forward, and our mouths smash together in a rough, passionate kiss.

  I haven’t kissed many people in my life. In fact, before today, that number was embarrassingly low. But it doesn’t really matter, because I don’t think anybody in the entire world kisses like Ford does.

  His lips move against mine like we’re at war, like he’s trying to conquer me, to evisc
erate me. His entire body seems to dominate mine, pinning me to the wall as the scent of leather and sweat invades my nostrils. It’s a wild, masculine smell, and it brings back vivid flashbacks of seeing him fight that werewolf in the ring.

  It’s the scent of violence and chaos, of a man who takes what he wants and makes no apologies, who lives his life on a knife’s edge.

  And it’s as addicting as a drug.

  My breath comes in short gasps every time our lips break apart, and I cling to his thick arms in an attempt to keep myself upright as the world spins around me. He shifts his body again, somehow pressing himself even closer to me as he slants his head, changing the angle of our kiss.

  One powerful thigh slides between my legs, and my dress gives way easily, the high slit up the front parting to allow him entrance. The broad muscles of his leg grind against my core, and I let out a shocked whimper as a jolt of sensation zaps through me like a lightning bolt.

  I rock my hips against him, pressing away from the wall to force my body closer to his, chasing the incredible feeling.

  He’s hard. I can feel his thick length pressing against my lower belly every time I move, can feel him thrusting in time to my movements, our bodies falling into perfect sync as we use each other to find the satisfaction we need.

  And I do need this.

  Right now, it feels like I need it more than anything in the world.

  “Ford!”

  I gasp his name, and he shuts me up with another bruising kiss. Our teeth crash together as his tongue invades my mouth, warm and wet and just as demanding as the rest of him.

  It’s like he both loves and hates hearing his name on my lips, and I honestly can’t tell if this kiss is a reward or a punishment for saying it. Maybe a bit of both.

  His hands slide down my body, following the curve of my butt and hiking me against him until I’m riding his thigh, my sensitive bundle of nerves grinding against him.

  “Ford—”

  I can’t help it. His name pours from my mouth again, but this time he doesn’t even let me finish before he’s kissing me like a man possessed. Our bodies are gyrating against each other, and my feet are barely even touching the floor anymore. Somehow, my arms have ended up wrapped around his shoulders, and when he bites my lower lip, my grip tightens around him as a wave of sensation explodes inside me.