by Leia Stone
James was going to hook up Archangel Michael’s bank account, to a credit card that I would be permitted to use to buy slaves. I’d have to make up fake buyers from other countries, and ”broker” the sale by paying the demons real money. Afterwards, I’d transfer the kids to the fake buyer—when in reality they would be going back to Angel City, in Los Angeles, to be reunited with their family. I already felt giddy at the prospect of helping get these women and children out of here.
“But there’s a catch…” James added, in an ominous tone.
Wasn’t there always a catch?
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
James sighed, looking over at Mathew sadly. “You have to sell the first one for real, so the demons learn to trust you.”
My eyes bugged and Catia’s spoon dropped into her bowl. “What? Like actually let some sick fuc—freak take a kid?” she hissed, changing her language mid-sentence due to Mathew's presence.
James nodded. “Yes. They track your first sale, following up with that client. From then on, it’s a trust basis. They don’t have the resources to follow every sale, and really only care about the money.”
Silence descended on the room then. I looked down at my bowl of soup with a frown.
I’d suddenly lost my appetite.
Chapter Eleven
James let us crash on the couch. Well, Catia crashed on the couch and I took the floor. I couldn’t fall asleep for a long time that night, and I knew by the way Catia kept tossing and turning that she couldn’t either. When morning came, I was sluggish with sleep, and feeling pretty depressed about my situation after hearing what I’d have to do while I was here. Sacrifice one kid to save many? It didn’t sit well with me. But after hearing Catia’s firsthand story about her little sister, I made a vow to save as many kids as I could in my short time here.
It was a catch 22.
James appeared in the doorway. “Tray, I’m going to introduce you to the Abrus demon in charge today. If you impress him, he could make you a broker by the end of the day.”
I nodded. Broker. Brokering humans. It was revolting. “How can I impress him?”
James sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Bring in a person.”
My eyes bugged. “A person, like … to be sold?”
James nodded. “I’ve got a Fallen Army friend who will pose as a slave. She’s looking to get out of the city. It turned out not to be her cup of tea.”
Yeah, I don’t think this was anyone’s cup of tea. “And selling her to a demon is going to help her?”
“She’s a badass. We will sell her to someone outside the city. She’ll kill them and break free. Head back to Angel City.”
Catia stirred next to me. “That’s the only way to get out of here?”
James nodded. “Unless you’re a Celestial and you fly out. The exits of the city are more heavily guarded than the entrances. There is an underground tunnel, but it’s shady and not a guarantee. A lot die down there. Getting sold and breaking free is her best bet.”
“So I’ll be doing her a favor…” I hedged.
That made it a bit easier to swallow.
James nodded curtly. “Exactly. Think of it that way.”
Think of it that way. Wasn’t too confidence-inspiring.
“And me? How do I get inside?” Catia looked raring to go, eager for a position as well.
James shook his head. “You need to get a job cocktail waitressing, and set up an apartment for you and Tray. Once he’s trusted and inside, he can bring you in and it won’t look suspicious.”
She looked ready to rage on James for daring to even insist she waitress and set up an apartment. That was far too domesticated for Catia. I knew that, and I’d only known the girl a week.
I rested my hand on her shoulder. “We’ll set up the apartment together, and as soon as I’m in I’ll bring you in too.”
With a sigh, she consented to that plan.
“Breakfast is ready!” the boy called from the kitchen.
Catia shot James a dark look. “For a boy who is a fake slave, you sure have him cook a lot.”
James chuckled, taking Catia’s attitude in stride. “I keep telling him he doesn’t have to do anything unless demons are around. But it turns out he wants to be a chef when he grows up. I think cooking keeps his mind calm.”
Catia lowered her gaze in shame. “Oh.”
James looked at me standing in my boxers and a t-shirt. “Come on, get dressed. I’m taking you in first thing.”
I nodded.
This was my moment. My time to shine. My moment to atone for letting Brielle get taken.
After eating breakfast, showering, and getting ready, James took me to meet the girl who would act as my “slave.” Her name was Brit, and it was clear to see from her sleeveless shirt that she was packed with muscle. I felt less bad about putting her in a dangerous situation, after seeing she could probably hold her own in sparring with me.
“Thanks for doing this, man,” she told me as she pulled a sweater over her muscular arms.
“You’re helping me out too, so thank you,” I told her. I still had a hard time believing the only way out of this city for a woman was being sold.
James instructed her to cut her hair in a jagged manner, and wipe off any makeup. The story was that she was a prostitute I’d “acquired” last night at the motel. She looked like a prized cage fighter right now.
“These demons won’t wonder why on my first night in a new city, with my supposed girlfriend, I’m sleeping with a prostitute and snatching her to sell?”
James full-on laughed, grabbing his belly and everything. “Are you kidding? These guys are so sick in the head they would think it was weird if you were faithful to your girl, and not looking for any way to make cash. Trust me, the darker you seem, the more they trust. It’s weird.”
Great. This was hell on Earth.
James suggested Brit put on a tiny skirt that barely covered her ass cheeks.
“Alright, Brit’s cover here is that she’s human, so magical cuffs aren’t needed, just regular ones. You’re my buddy from a long time ago, got to the city, and I told you a bit about my line of work. You’re ambitious. Want a new car or some shit, so you snatched Brit and you’re ready to make your first offering.”
I nodded. “So, this will be my first sale?”
Relief flooded through me. Brit could clearly take care of herself. They’d follow up with her owner, and after that she could break free. We’d both be in the clear.
James shook his head. “This is a freebie for Marx to trust you. You will give this offering as a gift to Marx in order to try and get him to make you a broker.”
I gulped. “Marx?”
Brit growled. “The freakiest Abrus demon you’ll ever meet. I swear that man can read minds.”
James rolled his eyes. “He can’t read minds or I’d be dead, but he is … different. He’s definitely got some screws loose. Just roll with whatever he does.”
Oh God, that sounded awful. “Okay.” I didn’t want James or Brit to know I was slightly scared. Best to shove that shit down, and act like I was ready for this.
James checked his watch. “Let’s roll. I can’t be late.” It was nearly 9AM.
We slapped cuffs on Brit, and then James instructed me to manhandle her a little, and above all, for her to be meek and timid. He also instructed her to act drugged and sluggish, since that’s how they lured most of their victims.
“I’ll try,” she growled.
Hooking my hand under her armpit I hauled her up. Today was the first day of my double life. Tray Fox ... the asshole who wanted to sell humans to make more money.
God help me.
Chapter Twelve
It was about a ten-minute walk to an industrial warehouse that looked rundown from the outside. A few windows were broken on the upper floor; the rest were blacked out with paint. I had my game face on, but I had no weapons, and no using my angel magic. I was at the mercy of fate. Catia had g
iven me a bit of that spell potion to drink that allowed me to do basic magic for about twenty-four hours. Hopefully this guy wouldn’t test me.
James walked up to some keypad on the side of the building and put in a code. The steel door hissed open a moment later, and I yanked Brit inside.
“Hey!” Brit slurred groggily, trying to fight me.
My eyes darted around the space as we stepped inside. What looked rundown in the outside, inside was a completely different story. There were a bunch of security TV screens up, with cameras pointing at various parts of the city. Against the far wall was a kitchen with sleek metal countertops, where a human female slave looked to be cooking.
“Willow! Who’s this?” Someone growled from the couch, and my head snapped in that direction.
There, in a swanky little living room set up, was a Brimstone demon, casually reclining on a leather sofa.
James clapped me on the back. “This is my buddy Tray. He just got into town, and he’s brought Marx a gift. He in?”
Another grunt came from the Brimstone demon, before he stood and disappeared into a back room. I couldn’t take my eyes off the woman cooking in the kitchen. She was petite and blonde, reminded me a bit of Kate, Bri’s mom. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to pull out my wings, grab the woman, and fly her out the nearest window and back to Angel City.
Big Picture. Focus.
She didn’t look abused or malnourished, just overworked.
“Willow!” a deep gritty voice called from behind me.
The hairs stood up on my arms. An Abrus demon, with jet-black hair, walked out of the back bedroom with a Succubus demon hanging on his arm. She was willowy, tall, and deadly looking. In the field, when I saw either of these creatures, I shot first and asked questions later. Now, I was casually going to have a conversation with them.
“What have you brought me?” the Abrus demon cooed.
He was smooth talking, dressed impeccably, and reminded me of the Devil himself. Marx carried himself with an air of superiority, and from the look of the Succubus’ tattered appearance, they’d just had sex.
Gross.
You have to be all kinds of hardcore to sleep with a woman that spit razor blades for fun. I couldn’t even bring myself to think of the Legion that would spawn from those loins.
“Marx!” James greeted the man jovially. “My new buddy Tray just got into town and he’s brought you a gift. He’s hoping to become a broker. Make some extra cash.” James was all smiles, but I could see the tension in his body, although barely noticeable to my trained eye.
The Abrus demon watched me with yellow eyes, taking in my appearance and that of Brit’s.
Marx slapped the Succubus beside him on the ass, dismissing her curtly. She shot him a nasty look, but left the room, and retreated back to the bedroom. The Abrus demon stepped closer to me, face completely void of emotion. “Everyone and their mom wants to be a broker. It’s the only way to earn a decent living in this city. But why should I choose you?”
I gripped Brit hard under the armpit and dragged her closer to him. “Because I’m not afraid to bang a hooker and then capture her as a slave. I’ve got balls of steel, and I’ll do a good job for you.”
The Abrus demon burst out laughing and looked at James. “Where did you find this guy?”
James grinned. “I knew you’d like him.” He avoided giving any detailed information about how we knew each other. Smart.
“James, sell the slave and keep a ten percent finder’s fee for yourself. Brak, bring me a bottle of tequila!” he shouted behind him, where the Brimstone demon had suddenly appeared. He looked at me with a darkened gaze. “I want to get to know my new friend here.”
James nodded and forcefully removed Brit from my grasp. “Thank you, sir.”
He met my eyes only for the briefest moment, but there was something there. A warning. This was my moment. I needed to play the part or I’d be in trouble.
As James left with Brit, I found myself alone with Marx in his living room, and a bottle of tequila. The kitchen slave and the Brimstone demon had scrammed, and it was just us.
Abrus demons were powerful. No one really knew the extent of their magic, but I’d seen some crazy shit in my time. They were second only to Lucifer himself in the power structure. I needed to tread carefully.
Marx poured two shots of tequila and pushed one at me.
“I assume you drink?” he asked.
I grabbed the shot and tipped my head back, taking it down in one big swallow. “Like a fish.”
I’d actually weaned myself off before coming here. I’d seen the possibility of me becoming an alcoholic, and I’d made a pact with myself not to drink my troubles away anymore. But I needed him to trust me, so I was going to have to break my rule.
He grinned, and flashed a set of pointed white teeth. That, coupled with his pointy red horns that sat atop his forehead, had my stomach tying in knots.
He eyed me coolly. “James has proven himself to be trustworthy, but still … I’m wary about you.”
My heart rate escalated, but I kept my face calm. “Why is that? What would an Abrus demon have to worry about? You guys are badass.” I slipped into the role of starry-eyed ego fluffer, hoping he’d take the bait.
Pulling a knife from his boot, he leaned closer to me. “Because we’ve got a good thing going for us here in the city. I don’t need the Fallen Army Resistance coming in, and fucking it up for me.”
Shit.
“You think I’m Fallen Army?” I laughed, and poured myself another shot, trying to conceal my shaking hand.
What the hell was he doing with that knife?
When I pulled my hand back from pouring the bottle, his arm snaked out and grabbed my wrist. Turning it over, he looked at the thick white scars there.
“Tough life?” he asked.
Bastard.
I found myself wondering why Raphael had left these scars for me, if maybe he knew a moment like this would come, and it might sway the Abrus to trust me. Not many Fallen Army soldiers attempted suicide.
I nodded. “Something like that.”
If he tried to kill me, I could jump out the kitchen window and fly, but dammit I wanted this gig. Now that I’d seen what they did to the slaves, that they made slaves out of kids, I wanted to help. Bad.
“I need you to prove to me you aren’t a Celestial.” His hand was still on my wrist, other knife poised for cutting.
I looked down at his firm grip. “What the hell, man? Know many Celestials that try to kill themselves?”
He shrugged. “I know a lot of angel blessed sneak into my city and try to mess with my business, but the Celestials … they’re the worst. I can almost smell them.”
He sniffed my wrist and I started to sweat.
“Dude, you’re freaking me out. James said you were cool. I’m not an angel. I’m a half-assed mage that has a problem with authority.” I tried to yank my wrist back, but his grip tightened.
Marx held the knife over my forearm. “I’m going to need you to prove it.” With lightning- quick reflexes he slashed the top of my arm, cutting it wide open.
I jumped up, cradling my arm to my chest. “What the hell, dude!”
This guy was insane.
Marx just sat there eyeing my injured arm. “You know, I’ve tried dozens and dozens of ways to try and find out if someone is a Celestial. The truth spell is good but not foolproof. What I’ve discovered is that if you injure a Celestial, their skin regenerates and heals the cut within five minutes.”
Oh fuck.
He was absolutely right. My arm was going to heal and that would be that. I’d be killed on the spot. I eyed the window, but then Noah’s face came into my mind.
Noah. A healer. I was part healer too, something I often forgot, and neglected. I’d always felt like more of a warrior, more like Michael, no matter how much Raphael tried to mentor me. If I could heal a cut, couldn’t I somehow halt the cells from healing? Keep them frozen so that
this looked real?
Calming my mind and my frantic heart rate, I focused on the pain in my arm. Noah was better at this stuff, visualizing nerve endings, cells, and all that, but I did my best. I sent my healing awareness to the cut in my arm and pushed the energy there to keep it open, keep the blood flowing. The slow dribble of crimson trickled down my fingers, and onto the carpet.
“Can I get a towel, man?” I asked Marx, who watched me like a hawk.
He checked his watch. “In three more minutes.”
I growled, thinking that would be what a normal person would do in this situation, and he just grinned.
A few more minutes passed and I held that healing energy at bay, forcing it to actively keep my skin from forming a scab. I needed to look before he did, so I could plan my exit if the skin was looking healed. Peeling my fingers back, I nearly sagged in relief as I saw the open cut slowly dripping blood.
“Come on, man! It’s been five minutes. I’m going to pass out here,” I urged him.
Marx stood then and his black oily wings snapped out. Slowly, he strode across the floor toward me. I stilled and held my breath. He reeked of sulfur and oil as he reached out and peeled my hand back. One glance at my deeply cut and bleeding arm and he grinned, clapping me on the back.
“Welcome to my team, son. You’re my new broker.”
The relief that poured through me was short-lived. What had I just done? My life now officially had an expiration date.
Chapter Thirteen
“Honey, I’m home!” I called out to Catia as I entered our new, shared apartment. I’d been a broker for a week now, and it was about as horrifying as I thought it would be.
Catia peeked her head out of the living room, where she sat on the floor with a game controller in her hand.