“Put me down.”
“Shut up.”
Erin laughed. She didn’t know why, but she was finding this whole thing weirdly entertaining. Maybe it was seeing how Stieg Engstrom handled things out on his own. No backup from his Raven brothers. No Rolf handling the more subtle refinements of negotiation. Or Vig terrorizing everyone without saying a word, just standing there . . . being horrifying. Or Siggy being the goofy entertainment.
This was all Stieg.
Erin was impressed and startled at the same time.
Below them, the car pulled to a stop. To the men inside, Erin had just disappeared, so she was assuming confusion.
Then something shocking happened.
The doors opened . . . and women came out. All gang members if Erin was to go by their tattoos, but still. She’d automatically assumed it was men trying to kill her. Look at that. She was guilty of reverse sexism or . . . whatever.
“Uh-oh,” Stieg mumbled.
“What?”
“They’re women.”
“So?” When he didn’t answer, she knew he’d have a problem fighting these broads simply because they were women. “They tried to kill me,” she reminded him.
“Yeah. I know.”
“You’ve tried to kill me. I’m a woman.”
“Yeah, but you’re like me. You don’t need a gun.”
“So?”
“It just feels weird and wrong.”
“Oy,” Erin muttered. Then she unleashed her wings.
“Ow! Bitch!” Stieg roared as the power of her wings sent him flipping back several feet.
The women below heard him, but before they could look up, Erin dropped to the roof of their car.
Shocked, two stumbled back. Two others gave a small horrified squeal. And a fifth, spotting Erin’s wings, wisely made a run for it.
Once the shock wore off, the women attacked. They raised their guns, but Erin moved to the car’s hood and caught the closest arm to her and twisted until the bone cracked and splintered. She yanked the gun away and used it to bash in the woman’s face, sending bone into brain.
To stop the others from firing, Erin extended her wings, shoving two of the women away. And then brought her wings down and up. That made the dirt in the alley swirl like a tiny tornado, temporarily blinding the attackers. With her body still on the hood of the car, she placed her hands down and kicked out with one leg, her foot crushing the windpipe of one woman. She side kicked another across the jaw, so that her neck snapped at the base.
Erin bounced off the car and caught one of the last two women by the throat. She yanked her close and wrapped her other arm around her neck, lifting and twisting at the same time until she’d separated head from spine. She dropped the body and caught hold of the gun aimed at her by the last female.
The Nine Clans were not allowed to use guns. Their gods thought it was a sign of weakness. They preferred edged weapons or hand-to-hand, so Erin didn’t take the gun. She simply twisted it around and made the woman pull the trigger herself. The first two bullets hit her in the gut. Eyes wide, she helplessly watched as Erin readjusted the weapon until it was under her chin—then Erin made her pull the trigger one more time.
Stepping back, Erin tried to wipe the splattered blood from her face. Finding that futile, she went into the car to see if she could find a cloth to do the job.
And that’s when she saw it.
* * *
She was running blindly. No idea where she was going. She just knew she had to get away.
Christ almighty, what had they done? She’d not been okay with killing a woman in the first place. Maybe beating the hell out of her. They’d done that before. To teach a girl a lesson. She was okay with that.
But their orders had been clear and the money too good to ignore. So they’d gone to do the job. But she’d never expected this. How could she?
She turned blindly down a street, her tears making it hard to see. And yet she felt him. Even before he landed in front of her. She knew he was coming for her.
As soon as he slammed into the ground, black wings out, big body in a crouch, she dropped to her knees and prayed to God for forgiveness for all her sins.
So many sins.
Slowly, he stood. He was so big. Massive. And terrifying.
“Please,” she begged, holding her hand up, arm out. “Please.”
He walked toward her, towering over her—and, shaking, sobbing, she waited for death.
* * *
Erin turned the corner and saw Stieg speaking to the last gang member. The one who’d made a run for it.
But that’s all he was doing. Talking to her.
So, Erin charged her. To be honest, she didn’t really have a plan or intention of killing her. The woman looked kind of young. Not quite a kid, but not a seen-it-all, done-it-all broad either.
Still, Erin shot toward her, just to teach her a lesson, but Stieg turned in time to see her.
“Run,” he ordered the little gangbanger, then he faced Erin and came at her, taking her out like a goddamn right guard protecting the quarterback.
They didn’t hit the ground, though. Instead he lifted Erin up and held her in his arms in order to give the murderous little bitch a chance to get away.
Instead of trying to get out of his grip, Erin moved toward him, wrapping her legs around his neck and her arms around his head.
“Hey! Cut it out!”
Laughing, she used her chest to smother the big Viking.
He tried to swat her off, trying not to hurt her, which she appreciated. Still, she didn’t let him go.
Finally, Stieg grabbed her waist and yanked her off. “Stop it, you crazy—hey!”
She maneuvered out of his arms and climbed over his head until she was wrapped around his back with her arms around his ridiculously thick neck and legs around his chest.
“What are you doing?” he bellowed.
To which she replied calmly, “I don’t have shoes.”
Stieg twitched a bit, confused by her response. He’d been worried he was in a fight for his life with an out-of-control Crow, but Erin wasn’t like her sisters. She didn’t lose control. Why should she? She didn’t let shit bother her. She left the rage to everyone else.
“What?”
“I don’t have shoes. I took them off on the street near the club so I could run from that car.” She stretched out her legs so he could see her feet. “See? No shoes. And I’m not a hippy. I’m not walking around goddamn Hollywood without shoes if I don’t have to.”
“There had to have been an easier way for you to tell me that without attacking me.”
“I’m sure there was . . . but this was more fun.” She tapped his shoulder. “To the car, James!”
“Shut up.” But he did start walking.
“What did that little twat tell you anyway?”
“There’s a hit out on you.”
“Oh. Well that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“This. I found it in the bangers’ car.” She handed him a picture.
Stieg stopped walking and stared at it. “What the fuck is this?”
“My picture from that dating site.”
He glanced back at her. “You’re on a dating site?”
“Yes. But not to find a date.”
“Because that would be too normal for you?”
“That and it was a test.”
“For?”
“Me and my sister-Crows wanted to test something. So I was chosen to set up a profile on the site. We wanted to avoid the models and the actresses because we didn’t want anyone too pretty. But we also wanted to avoid Rachel and her crew because we didn’t want guys with a fetish for large muscular women who could twist them into pretzels. I was right in the middle.”
“What were you testing?”
“To see how many guys would send pictures of their penises without prompting.” She leaned in and added, “Short answer . . . all of them.”
Stieg sighe
d. “Is that what the Crows get up to when you don’t have anybody to kill?”
“Yes.”
“Come on,” he said, walking and still holding the picture.
“Where to?”
“To find the guy who may be able to give us an idea of what the fuck is going on with you.”
“Going on with me? I didn’t do anything!”
“God, Amsel, you’re such a liar.”
Erin laughed. “Yeah . . . I know.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Craig heard the knock on his office door and frowned. His protection knew he didn’t want to be bothered when he was counting money. Thinking maybe the cops were coming into his club—not a big deal since he had a secret way out of there—he walked to the door with his .45 held tight in one hand.
He threw open the small sliding piece that allowed him to look out into the hallway. When he saw who was staring back in, he quickly closed it, and stumbled away, his weapon raised.
The reinforced steel door was torn off its hinges with one hit of that ridiculous shoulder and before Craig could get off a shot, the big bastard was standing right beside him rather than in front of him. But Craig had no idea how that was possible. No one was that fast.
“Hi, Craig.” Stieg Engstrom smirked at him. “How’s it goin’?”
With the much bigger man still next to him, Craig rested his ass against his desk. “Did you kill all my guys?”
“Nope,” a short redhead replied as she leaned against the now door-free opening. “They’re still breathing.”
She sucked on a red lollypop until Stieg snarled, “That’s a pot-pop. It’s probably filled with THC.”
The redhead lowered the pop to study it a moment before shrugging her shoulders and tossing it back into her mouth.
“Erin!”
She pulled the lollypop out again and tossed it into the trash while sighing dramatically. “Such a goody two-shoes.”
Engstrom put his massive arm around Craig’s weak little shoulders and held up a picture. “That idiot over there”—he motioned to the redhead walking around Craig’s office and being goddamn nosey—“is this idiot.” He held the picture closer to Craig. “So what do you know?”
“There’s a hit on her,” Craig admitted. “Million bucks. They want her dead.”
“And they’re sending out local talent? Why not professionals?”
“Don’t know. Something to do with her. Professionals won’t go near her.”
The redhead gave a little twirl and announced, “It must be my adorable charm.”
“Quiet,” Stieg snarled. “Who put the hit out?” he asked Craig.
“Have no idea.” Craig tried to stand up at that point, but Engstrom pulled him right back down to the desk with a slight tug of that arm.
“I don’t believe you.”
The redhead sat down on the other side of Craig. “I don’t believe you, either,” she said, resting her cheek on Craig’s shoulder.
Craig had known Engstrom for a long time. He’d hired him back when he’d been just an oversized kid. Gave him a few bucks off the books to bring in deliveries or work the door. He was so big, the cops never questioned his age but he’d had to be watched. He used to have a bad temper. The slightest insult and he’d take a guy down, putting him in the hospital for days. One time weeks, when he thought the guy was getting a little too “handsy” toward the girls in the club.
Then Engstrom had disappeared. It happened all the time with street kids. Sometimes they went home. Sometimes they moved to another city like Seattle or Portland.
Sometimes they ended up dead.
That’s what Craig had expected. That the kid had gotten physical with the wrong guy and gotten his head blown off. He’d believed it until a few years back when Stieg Engstrom had walked into Craig’s club again. He’d been even bigger, meaner, and for once, not alone. He’d come in with a small group of equally large white guys who looked like extras from that Nazi propaganda film Triumph of the Will.
They’d come in for drinks and Craig had made sure his staff took care of Engstrom and his friends. Keeping him happy had seemed like a prudent thing to do.
And now, with Engstrom’s arm around Craig’s shoulders and the redheaded woman on his other side, Craig understood why.
These were people trained in the art of terrifying others. They knew they were strong. They knew they were willing to do things others weren’t. And Craig knew that no matter what happened tonight, no matter what they did to him, they’d wake up in the morning and feel nothing about it, one way or the other.
So Craig’s problem wasn’t in telling them the truth. His problem was whether they’d believe him. Because the truth had sounded ridiculous when he’d first heard it.
“It’s some religious group out of Riverside.”
“The Catholics?” Engstrom asked, startling Craig.
“The Protestants?” the redhead asked.
“The Muslims?”
“The Sikhs?”
“The Evangelical Christians?”
“The Jews?”
Engstrom leaned forward a little and the redhead shrugged at his unasked question. “My people have had some issues with me in the past.”
“I sense almost everyone can say that about you.”
“Well?” the redhead pushed, leaning in close to Craig. “Which is it?”
“I have no idea. I just know they’re religious and out of Riverside.”
“Maybe a cult,” Engstrom suggested.
The redhead sighed. “I’ve already been shot in the head by a cult once.” She shrugged. “This can’t keep happening.”
“Seriously,” Engstrom asked, “is there anyone who doesn’t want you dead?”
* * *
Sister Theresa Marie Rutkowski stared at the two men from the Vatican and she didn’t bother to hide her disdain. “You couldn’t stay out of sight of one tiny Crow?”
“She blindsided us.”
“We didn’t even ask you to do anything. Just watch her. How hard is that?” Disgusted, she looked over the men.
One had gotten his face broken—nose, jaw, forehead, eye socket. The other was wearing a collar around his abused throat, the Crow’s fingerprints still visible on his skin where his neck was bare.
“I don’t even know what to say,” Theresa admitted.
“We should have gone ourselves,” one of Theresa’s girls mumbled behind her. Girls who weren’t nuns but who trained to be the sisterhood’s eyes, ears, and fists on the streets.
“No, no,” Theresa argued. “That would not have gone well. Especially when it comes to Erin Amsel.”
Sitting across the room, Sister Mary Marie leaned forward, her cell phone in her hand. “We have a problem.”
“Another one?”
“Amsel’s heading over to that cult.”
“Please tell me it’s not Braddock’s cult.”
The man that even the pagans referred to as the “false prophet” had tried and failed to do what the sisters of the Chosen Warriors of God had attempted more than six hundred years ago—to wipe out the Crows.
Of course, at that time, it hadn’t gone well for the sisterhood, either, and led to repercussions that the Chosen Warriors still cringed over although they were never publicly discussed.
“No. The one in Riverside. It’s just her and some Raven.”
Theresa spread her hands out. “Do you see, gentlemen? What happens when you can’t do your job?”
“You’re blaming this on us?”
“This won’t go well.” Mary Marie looked down at her phone again. “That cult is out of control and well-armed. Should we—”
“We’re not doing anything,” Theresa said.
“If she dies—”
“I know. But if the world ends . . . we’re golden.” Theresa pointed at the two men. “I don’t know about you two, of course, but the sisterhood is golden.”
Theresa grabbed the salad she’d been meaning to eat all day from the far s
ide of her desk, moved it to a spot in front of her and opened the container. “We’ll use this as a test,” She dug out a fork from her desk drawer and took the bottled water handed to her by one of her girls.
“A test of what?” the useless man asked.
“If she dies . . . she dies. But if she doesn’t . . .” She shrugged. “Then we see if the sisterhood can assist her in other ways. Perhaps with the help of our friends since we know the Crows won’t trust anything directly from us.” She pointed her fork at the men. “But we won’t be using any of you. In fact, your job is over. Let the Vatican know we no longer need your services.”
“But—”
“You’ve proven yourself useless. Let’s just leave it at that.” She glanced at Mary Marie. “But help from our more”—she shrugged—“valuable and less-seen friends. That those pagans might accept.”
“You think our friends will help?” Mary Marie asked. “The Crows may have quite the reputation but Amsel . . . oy. She has enemies in nearly every pantheon.”
“I know,” Theresa said with a sigh, sadly choosing the low-fat dressing to put on her salad.
Honestly, it wasn’t just actresses who felt the judgy-ness of this town.
“Although I have to admit, if she weren’t a pagan and a Crow, I would kind of love her. She’s such an unabashed dick.”
CHAPTER NINE
Erin stood in front of the makeshift sign that led into the rundown but expensive property of the church that had put out a hit on her. “Nice to know that while they’re busy trying to have me killed, they still have time in their hectic schedules to openly disparage homosexuals with their fancy signs.”
Stieg grunted, his usual response to most of her observations.
But then he suddenly added information. And used words! “When I lived on the streets, Karen and I ate at a lot of church soup kitchens. Most just wanted to help, make sure we ate. But we learned to actively avoid some.... because their bologna sandwiches came with a huge side helping of indoctrination and hatred.”
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