Devil's Tango (Running with the Devil Book 1)

by Claire J Monroe

“Yeah, like a two for one special that I’m really not ready to deal with.”

  Trace waved aside his comment. “I’m not worried about that. You manage your team fine. Kids will be easier. But you’re absolutely positive he said sons?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fuuuuuuuck me.” Trace gripped his head, paced away two steps, then spun back around. “I know what you are. And I wished to hell I didn’t. Because that… you… changes everything.”

  Tango was shocked. He’d spent years trying to figure out just what the hell kind of other he was. If he’d known a simple conversation with Trace would have clued him in, then he’d have done it years ago. “What am I?”

  “Something I never should have fucked with back in Madrid.” Trace pointed a finger at Tango then waved it back and forth between the two of them. “From now on, you, me, we don’t fight ever. Get that straight now. It can never happen again. Shit, I can’t believe it happened the one time. Do you have any idea how bad that would have messed everything up? One wrong move and then… that can’t happen again.”

  On a normal day, seeing his mentor freak the fuck out over a past event that was for the most part long forgotten would have derailed Tango’s train of thought. Because that kind of thing didn’t happen to Trace. Ever. But it was and Tango damn sure wanted to know why. “It will happen again unless you read me the fuck in.”

  Trace stopped, his back to Tango. “I do that and you can never—” he spun around, “never tell anyone. Not your team. Not Ben. Not Archangel. And never under any circumstances can Sinclair know what you are.”

  “Fine, whatever, I get it. Tell no one. Now spit it out.”

  Trace considered him for a long minute before rubbing a hand over his face, nodding more to himself than anyone, then moved closer. With each step his image shimmered with a slow motion phase out for teleportation out of there, but before he fully disappeared he gave Tango the answer he’d been seeking his entire life.

  “God slayer.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Tango stared at the empty space Trace had vacated and tried like hell to coerce his inner badass to fill in the gaps. What the hell was a god slayer?

  He got nothing. No comment. No… nothing.

  Not a flare of recognition. Enlightenment. No angels singing hallelujah the idiot finally figured it out… no… nothing.

  Nor did he get closure. Or peace. Or… whatever the hell he’d expected would miraculously happen once he heard, learned, or was told he was a… god slayer.

  A slayer of gods.

  A war mongering, blood thirsting, destruction delivering… killer of gods.

  Yep, still… nothin’.

  Tango shook his head on a shrug then resumed the hike to get his car. He shouldn’t be disappointed, yet he was because somewhere inside him had been this beacon of gleaming, pulsing, hope that if he had a name to describe what kind of other he was, he’d feel… whole. As if his identity crisis had finally been answered. And it had. If he could count having a name to go with a beast?

  Sure, fine. He could count that. After all, he was what he apparently was—a god slayer—and he was damn good at what he did. He could function with his beast trapped inside him—majority of the time—unlike some he’d worked with in Sinclair’s other teams.

  Like the vamps. Majority of them couldn’t pass for human and had to be relegated to “special” missions. Yeah, there were a few who could handle daylight and not feeding off the hoof, but they were… vampires. Not god slayers. Like him.

  Whatever that meant.

  And what was up with Trace ordering him not to tell anyone? Or fight him? Seriously? Did he think that shit would fly? Tango almost snorted to himself. Not likely.

  He and Trace were two alphas. They would fight. That was a given. Always had, always would. It was the nature of the hierarchical beast of their job and how one got nominated for promotion. Not that Tango was really interested in a promotion, he wasn’t. But to say that they couldn’t fight, ever again, because it’d ruin everything?

  What everything? What wasn’t Trace telling him about the status quo? Given that Trace had him by a few centuries… probably a lot, but still? Finding out he was a god slayer had turned his mentor into a panicked mess freaking out over a past event that was mostly already forgotten?

  Made no sense. None at all.

  Lost in his own thoughts, Tango almost missed the shadow that dropped from the sky and stopped him from turning a corner. One thing led to another, a scuffle, few well timed punches between both parties and suddenly he had the intruder pinned against the wall. A knife at the dude’s throat.

  “Nightshade.”

  Tango recognized the murmured voice and almost groaned, but didn’t and instead kept his blade nestled right below Michael Black’s Adam’s apple. “Archangel.”

  Red eyes blinked closed, then opened and the black shadowy shit surrounding one of his oldest and truest friends evaporated. “Nice to know some things never change.” Michael Black’s now normal blue eyes flickered down to look pointedly at Tango’s knife. “You mind?”

  “Not at all.” Tango mirrored the move and glanced down at Archangel’s hand and the blade angled towards his gut. “That new?”

  “Family heirloom I dug up.” Michael Black opened his palm and the dagger disappeared. “You’ve got company out front.”

  “Shit.” Tango released him and stepped back. “How many?”

  “Few dozen. They’re focused on the main entrance and your car.”

  Tango activated his earwig and called in to his team.

  Fox answered. On speaker. “Haven’t found her brothers, yet. Still—”

  “Check the front entrance cameras,” Tango ordered.

  “Give me a second. Have to get Maddie to—”

  Tango muted the earwig and nodded at Black. “Why are you here?”

  “Besides saving your ass from walking into an ambush?” Black smirked. “Ivanov sent me.”

  Tango frowned. “Since when do you work for Ivanov?”

  “Not for. Try with.” Black shrugged. “Long story.”

  That was news to Tango. Probably wouldn’t have been had he and Black met up more often, but it was and damn if that didn’t make him wonder what else he’d missed out on while he’d been disconnected from his old life. “Can’t wait to hear the details. Amelia okay?”

  Black didn’t soften or smile like he’d expected when he’d mentioned Black’s girl. If anything he looked… annoyed. “Even longer story. Your team confirmed the scene, yet?”

  “Probably.” Tango switched the comm link back on just in time to hear Maddie go off.

  “Those sons of bitches,” Maddie shrieked. “They tagged my dog’s collar and… grrrrr. They need to go. Now. Do you hear me, Van? They put a tracker on our Lily’s collar and no one uses our Lily-pup that way. I want them dead. Now.”

  Tango couldn’t help it. He smiled. Bloodthirsty, mama-bear protective Maddie sounded cute as hell. She’d make a fantastic mother. In nine months. Holy shit. Nine months. That was a sobering thought. “I hear you, babe. Fox, stay with Maddie. You do not leave her side nor do you leave the bunker. Understood?”

  “Copy that,” Fox said. “Whiskey’s guarding the rear. Dell and Bravo are moving out to intercept. Count twenty. Maybe more.”

  “In full gear,” Tango asked.

  Michael Black nodded as Fox said, “Yep.”

  Tango muted his part of the conversation and looked at Black. “You in?”

  “Depends,” Black said. “We doing this the easy, hard, or… fun way?”

  Tango grinned, knowing exactly what Black was talking about. “I’m hurt you even needed to ask.” He switched back to speak to his team. “Tango team sweep the building. Archangel and I have the front.”

  “Did he say, Archangel,” Fox sputtered.

  Whiskey groaned and it came across the line loud and clear. “Yes. Dammit.”

  The rest of the team started their bitching and griping about be
ing kicked out of the night’s festivities. Tango pulled out his ear com and tucked it into his cargo pocket, then tossed his phone to Black. “Let’s do this.”

  Maddie’s eyes were glued to the monitors watching for any sign of Van. There. He was coming around the corner of the front building and… what was he doing? Nonchalantly strolling into an ambush? What the hell? He was virtually bullet proof, not indestructible!

  She jumped in her seat, startled as Fox laid a hand on her forearm, then said, “Relax. He’s got this.”

  “Relax? I can’t relax when that idiot is walking into an ambush, alone, unarmed, and—”

  Fox gave her arm a squeeze, then nodded back to the screen. “Not alone.”

  Maddie’s head swiveled back to the screen and squinted. “Where? I don’t see anyone.”

  Fox pointed at a space right behind Van. The space was inky black. Like a dense shadow that was… ohmigod. She knew that shadow. “Sinjun?”

  “Who?”

  She pointed at the screen. “That’s Sinjun, not… Archangel or whatever you called him.”

  “Don’t know a Sinjun,” Fox murmured as he pulled up more camera angles. “But Archangel? Yeah, he and Tango go way back. Met him in Madrid when Tango—” He froze then abruptly turned to her. “Shit. Forget I said that.”

  She started to ask press him for more info on the Madrid slip, but stopped when all hell broke out on the screen giving her a front row seat to the type of violence her husband was capable of dishing out. Seeing the data and being cognitively aware of his abilities was one thing, but this?

  Maddie wasn’t prepared for the full impact of watching her Van use extreme force on his enemy. He was quick, lightning fast. Bullets riddled the air around him and he didn’t flinch. Not once. Instead he grinned like a maniac with a death wish and lunged from one bad guy to another, kicking, punching, slicing and—slicing? Where was his gun? He was only using a knife, what?

  He grabbed one guy by the arm, yanked then tore his arm off and—ewe! Maddie averted her head, but didn’t stop looking at the screen. She couldn’t. It was like poetry in motion. A beautiful dance of the macabre, violent, and—Bam!

  Maddie gasped and gripped the arms of her chair as a grenade exploded at Van’s feet and he went flying. “Ohmigod, Van!”

  “Shit,” Fox muttered. “Tango’s down. Dell, confirm location.”

  Maddie leapt up from her seat. “We have to get him. He can’t be—please tell me he’s not—Dell! Get to him now!”

  “He takes a licking and keeps on… there,” Bravo’s voice murmured over the speaker. “Tango’s good. Cover me. I’m going in.”

  “Negative,” Whiskey ordered. “Sweep the building. I want survivors.”

  “Where is he,” Maddie demanded.

  Fox flipped through the monitors until he found the cloud of smoke. Surrounding Van’s car. “Aw shit. They hit the car.”

  “The car can take it, but Van? Where is—” Maddie’s desperate plea to find the love her life was interrupted when suddenly the ground shook and a distant echo of a roar vibrated through the room.

  Maddie stood rooted to the spot and watched as a being she’d only heard of pried itself out of the mangled metal that’d once been the hood of Van’s precious muscle car. “What. Is. That?”

  There was no response from Fox.

  “Is that…?” Maddie leaned in closer to the screen and squinted. Whatever it was, it was the same height as Van and similar build. Except, it glowed. With power. And white light. And had a sword. A flickering, white hot blade that looked like… “Pure energy.”

  “Front door secure,” Bravo announced. “Shit. Nightshade’s out. Dell, respond?”

  There was no response.

  Whiskey burst through the back door and came up behind Fox. “Where?”

  Fox pointed to the screen. “Third floor. He’s down. Bravo—”

  “On my way,” Bravo huffed over the line as he started hustling up the stairs. “Fox, need eyes.”

  “Hallway’s clear. Exit, turn left and he’s—”

  “Not alone,” Whiskey interrupted pointing at another screen. He tapped Fox on the shoulder. “Go. Now.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll handle Tango and keep Maddie safe. You get to Dell. Now. Bravo fall back. Clear the stairwell.”

  Fox leapt to his feet and ran for the door, then disappeared.

  “Maddie,” Whiskey said. “I need you to take the controls. Can you do that for me?”

  “What?” Maddie’s eyes were glued to the screen and she couldn’t have looked away if her life had depended upon it. Her Van was… not her Van and he was slowly walking towards three men with machine guns unloading on his person and… it didn’t faze him one bit.

  Suddenly hands gripped her by the shoulder and spun her around until she was face to face with… Carter. Yeah, he’d said his name was Carter. He lowered his head and got in her face. “Dell’s down and Bravo needs your help.”

  She frowned. “He is? Ohmi… yes, sure. Go get him. I’ll be fine.”

  Carter shook his head. “Fox will take care of Dell. Bravo needs you to be his eyes. Can you do that?”

  “He’s inside the building, right?”

  Carter nodded and lifted a hand to point behind her. “North side stairwell. There.”

  Maddie followed his direction then nodded. “I got this. Go help, Dell.” She sat down and flipped a mental switch that had her falling into an old routine. One that she’d practiced with her brothers during another one of their family weekend warrior—urban warfare style—challenges that had her barking out orders and commands to Bravo directing him from one room as he swept the building for intruders.

  Whiskey didn’t leave, but stayed by her side, behind her chair, and occasionally patted her on the shoulder with a soft words of encouragement.

  His words weren’t necessary, but were a welcome distraction that kept her focused on helping Bravo that almost made her miss the jaw dropping info that splashed across her screen.

  Electrical grid failure. Shutdown. In progress.

  “Shit,” Whiskey muttered. “Can you stop it?”

  Maddie pulled up another window and started typing fast and furious. “Trying to.” She hammered at the keys, desperate to reroute the power drain and shut down access points and… “Dammit, Van. Quit outflanking me!”

  “Shut him down, Carter,” Bravo yelled over the line.

  “Not until—,” Whiskey started.

  “Dammit!” There was a loud bang, then a scuffle followed by sounds of Bravo in hand to hand combat. “Shut. Him. Down. Carter.” Thud. “Now.”

  “Tsk, tsk,” came a deep voice over the speaker. “Did he not tell you Archangel was here to save the day?”

  Tango used his sword and cut down the last fucker who’d dared to storm the castle holding his mate. Yeah, so he’d gone a little overboard and indulged some. It wasn’t a complete blood bath. Not like Madrid had been.

  But it had been an effective means in letting his god slayer out for some much needed stress relief. He felt a million times better already.

  At least he did until Michael Black walked up behind him then dropped a hand on his shoulder and did that shit that sucked all the fun and energy out of him.

  “Son of a….” Tango didn’t finish the curse. His knees buckled and hit the pavement.

  Above him he heard Black chuckle and tsk whoever he was talking to. On Tango’s phone. “Did he not tell you Archangel was here to save the day?”

  Power poured out of Tango and back into the earth.

  Black ended the call then moved so his boots were in Tango’s line of sight. “Damn, Gabriel, I haven’t seen you make this much of a mess since—”

  “Don’t.” Tango sucked in a breath as another surge pulsed out of him. “Say Madrid.”

  “Was gonna say Columbia. Madrid was way messier.” Black crouched down in front of him and held a gun clip in his hand. “Live rounds.”

  Tango nodded and strug
gled to push up off all fours to his knees. “I know. Someone put a kill order out on her.”

  “Any idea who?” Black asked as he put Tango’s phone on the ground then rose.

  “No. You have any idea?”

  “Maybe,” Black said as he pulled out his phone. A second later he was speaking in Russian. His conversation was brief. “Cleanup crew is on its way. Be here in an hour.”

  “That Ivanov?”

  “Yeah. He’ll be here in less than an hour.” Black sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Damn, Gabriel, you’ve got one helluva mess on your hands.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “She knows.”

  Tango frowned and swiped his phone off the ground then pocketed it. “What?”

  “You asked me to tell you something you don’t know. So I am.” Black shrugged. “Maddie knows.”

  “About…?”

  “The suit, your missions, everything.”

  Tango’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  “Did you not learn anything from me? Smart chicks are not stupid.” Black paused for effect and to lend a hand and help Tango to his feet. “Dumping them for no reason never ends well. They dig and dig until… they find a reason.”

  “She knows,” Tango repeated, stupefied. Saying it out loud almost helped with processing it. Not really, but if he kept saying it over and over again his brain might start working to process it. Because he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “She. Knows,” Black repeated.

  And it sunk in, then exploded in typical shit fairy bomb style. Right in his face. “Shit. Fire. Fuck. Me.” On the heels of that was another blasphemous string of blasphemes that made even Black wince. “How? Did you tell her?”

  “Not me. Your girl figured it out all on her own and got herself in a helluva mess that Andrei and I helped her out of.”

  “What mess?”

  “Go ask her. Me and the boys will start clean up. And, Gabriel?”

  Tango stopped and waited.

  “Maddie is under Andrei’s protection. Hurt her or cross him and I can’t protect you. No one can protect you.”

  “Are they…?” Tango stopped himself from his own insecure stupidity of asking the question he prayed like hell he knew the answer to. He’d believed Maddie when she’d said she hadn’t been with anyone else, but that didn’t mean her and Andrei weren’t… involved. A growl reverberated in his chest.