Of Blind Fate (Operation: Middle of the Garden Book 5)

by Micah Persell

  “It is not called Sin City for no good reason,” Anahita said. “And I said that was one entrance to Hell. There are many. That one is closest.”

  As Max strapped on a belt full of grenades, Anahita looked over at him and frowned, her eyes flickering from gold to blue in rapid succession. Oliver barely spared them a glance, knowing he would be going into this alone.

  There was no way he was going to let his mated friends die. The suffering that would overtake this entire operation as their women dealt with the loss would cripple everything they’d been working toward.

  “A word, Anahita?” Oliver asked, slipping his semi-automatics into the holster he wore across his back and shoulders.

  With visible effort, she tore her gaze from Max as he continued to prepare himself for battle. She nodded and stepped out into the hall with Oliver, who closed the door to the armory behind them.

  “I know he is a warrior, but I do not like this,” she muttered, seemingly unaware that she spoke.

  “Of course you don’t,” Oliver said. “Which is why you are going to take me to my woman, now. Alone.”

  Anahita’s attention snapped to him. Good. “That is very…unwise,” the angel said. “My messenger carries word now to the heavens. Angels who have not claimed a side in this battle will now that innocent humans are being harmed.”

  “Okay, fine,” Oliver said. “So the angels can join me when they pick sides. But neither one of us wants Eli, Jericho, or Max in this battle, Ana. This is a suicide mission.”

  Anahita hesitated, visibly weighing his words. Oliver held his breath, hoping against hope that the angel’s love for her Ward would cause her to side with Oliver. “If you would only wait a bit longer. A few hours maybe….” She drifted off as she saw Oliver’s expression.

  “Could you wait one more minute if you knew Max was suffering?”

  Anahita’s expression fell, her eyes turning full gold. “He will be impossible to live with after this,” she muttered.

  He’d won. The relief he felt was tempered by anxiety. He most likely would not come back from this unscathed, but he had to try. “Take me to her,” he demanded. “Now.”

  Anahita scanned Oliver from head to foot, pausing on each point of his body at which he was armed. He carried more going into this battle than he ever had for any other, and he knew he was dismally prepared nonetheless. She stepped toward him, urgency in her movement. “You cannot kill her,” she said quickly and in a low voice. “Humans cannot kill demons, only angels can. However, you can still hurt her and slow her down. She will have the same vulnerabilities you are used to, but she will recover from any damage you inflict, no matter how severe.”

  Oliver forced himself to nod as dread wriggled its way into his stomach.

  “If you can delay the inevitable, there is a chance,” Anahita said. “I will go to the heavens myself as soon as I deliver you to Farrah’s location. I will return for you with whatever forces I can muster; we must pray that it is enough.”

  “Well,” Oliver said, “that sounds cheerful.”

  Anahita gave him a sad smile. “I have always liked you.”

  Pressure built in Oliver’s chest. “Now, angel. Take me to her now.”

  She nodded once, stepped toward him, and enveloped him in her arms.

  The scent of lilies overwhelmed his senses just before they vanished.

  27

  Farrah focused on the woman’s fingers against her skin, quickly calculating the likely location of the rest of her body.

  If she was to be tortured, she must attack before she was restrained somehow.

  She tried to remain calm—panic never helped her focus—but she didn’t know enough. Not about whom she faced, where she was, or if there were more than one person nearby to join the fight.

  “So,” Farrah said, channeling her best Oliver attitude. “We going to sit around all day, or are you going to call in your lackeys and get this party started?”

  A low chuckle. “So…much…spunk,” the woman said, tapping Farrah’s nose. “But there are easier ways to fish for information.”

  Caught. Farrah nibbled her bottom lip harder, which sent a jolt of pain through her.

  “And, baby,” she continued, “believe me. I don’t need help.”

  Farrah raised her chin. Neither do I. She’d been on her own almost her whole life. So she was again. Big deal. She’d manage just like she always did.

  Just as she tensed to attack, her captor straightened. Her touch left Farrah’s cheek. Damn. Her eyes roved wildly. She didn’t know where her target was anymore.

  “Remind me,” the woman said, her voice honey smooth in a way Farrah knew denoted trouble. “Where were we?”

  Farrah tensed moments before the hit. Her captor backhanded Farrah across the same cheek she’d been stroking seconds earlier.

  Farrah caught herself with her hand just before falling sideways, turned her head slowly, and smiled. She could feel the warmth of her own blood fill her mouth, and she spat it out while focusing on where she now knew her target stood.

  Without another thought, she attacked. She caught the woman around her ribs and brought them both crashing to the ground, exactly where Farrah wanted them.

  She seemed to have stunned the other woman, because for precious few seconds, Farrah was the sole attacker. Plenty of time to straddle the woman’s chest and go straight for the kill. Farrah lunged forward, wrapped her hands around the woman’s neck, and squeezed as hard as she could. Delicate bones snapped beneath her grip, and Farrah immediately backed off, knowing she’d done enough damage to end the other woman.

  Farrah had to move quickly. She still didn’t know if there were other potential targets around.

  She scrambled off the woman and stalked forward, looking for a wall, but stumbling on uneven ground. Behind her, her captor’s losing struggle with breathing served as a mark for where she’d been and what she needed to get away from.

  She found the wall and hurried along it, one hand on the uneven stone, one out in front of her.

  A door!

  Behind her, the other woman’s breathing ceased, and Farrah sighed, allowing herself to relax a fraction more and take a moment to press her ear to the door.

  A rumble of activity filled her senses. Voices—many of them—raised in high emotion. Even…was that the clash of weapons?

  Her hopes fell. She was in a war zone. God, how was she going to get out of this?

  The attack caught Farrah completely unawares. Arms wrapped around her from behind, and suddenly, she was airborne. She had only the opportunity to grit her teeth in preparation before she was slammed into the ground.

  She cried out as ribs snapped along her side, but she rolled into a crouch, waiting for some indication—any indication as to where to move next.

  “Kitten has some skills,” the woman said. “I do so look forward to this.”

  There was no hiding her shock. Her attacker was…alive. Farrah’s mouth dried out, and she scooted back, momentarily more horrified than she could stand. There was no way she should have survived that. “What…are you?”

  “The hottest devil with a blue dress on you’ll ever see.” The woman clicked her tongue. “Oh, that was impolite wording on my part. My bad.”

  A demon. Farrah swallowed the lump in her throat that threatened to choke her. She was going to die today. Probably in a ghastly way.

  Then I will go down strong. With a roar, Farrah sprang from her crouch. The demon chuckled a heartbeat before they collided. The demon was strong, taking Farrah down to the ground this time. Farrah’s head clashed against the stone with a crack that dazed her.

  Fight dirty. Farrah reached up, her fingers as claws, searching for the demon’s eyes. When she found them, she dug in as hard as she could.

  The demon hissed and backed off, only to squeeze Farrah’s sides with her knees and lay into Farrah’s own eye with a punch that would have knocked anyone unconscious.

  Farrah groaned and clutched the
ground with her fingers, fighting as hard as she could to stay conscious. If she blacked out, who knew how she’d find her situation upon awakening. If she awakened.

  There was a sudden noise outside the door. Shouts filtered through the stone walls, and the cacophony of war grew to unbearable decibels.

  As the demon tensed above her, the door blew open with a crash. The sounds of many footsteps pounded into the room.

  “Farrah!”

  Her heart leapt at the sound. Oliver! He was here!

  Oh, God. He is here. With demons.

  Farrah sucked in a breath, placed her hands on the demon’s chest, and shoved with all her might.

  ***

  In between swapping blows with the two demons he was fighting, Oliver caught sight of the pin-up demon, who had been holding his mate to the ground, as she flew through the air with the force of Farrah’s wrath.

  She hit the wall so hard, her perfect curls fell into her face. As Oliver blocked a blow to the head, the demon smiled slowly, her eyes trained on Farrah.

  “Oh, shit,” Oliver said, picking up the pace of his punches. He needed to get to his woman. The demon had something dangerous in her expression.

  He landed a lucky hit, and one demon crumpled to the ground, but before he could disengage from the other, and before the pin-up could get to Farrah, five more demons rushed into the cave-like room.

  We’re fucked.

  Oliver knew he shouldn’t have fought so dirty on the way in. It looked as though each demon he’d incapacitated along the way was now recovered and pissy.

  The demons took a moment to survey the current situation, and then three headed toward Oliver while the other two went to aid pin-up girl.

  No time. He desperately palmed his KA-BAR, managing to fling it in the direction of Farrah’s assailants only moments before his own attackers reached him.

  Oliver’s eyes widened as, in a brilliant stroke of luck, his knife sank into the lollipop-scented demon’s throat all the way up to the hilt with a sickening sucking sound.

  Everyone in the room froze, their gazes pinned to the demon who now struggled for air. She sank to her knees and her eyes glazed over before she fell on her side, momentarily out of commission. But not for long. Never for long.

  She was too strong for that.

  The three demons who had aimed for Oliver broke from their frozen postures and sprinted in his direction once more as did the two remaining ones headed for Farrah.

  “To your left!” Oliver bellowed at Farrah. His final word cut off in the middle as three angry-as-hell demons collided with him and took him to the ground.

  Oliver threw messy punches, more concerned with maintaining eye contact with Farrah than defending himself. When he saw Farrah widen her stance and engage the two demons with a crushing punch to each one’s solar plexus, Oliver breathed a tad easier and began to fight his own demons in earnest.

  He grabbed one by the throat and used that grip to bring his head crashing into the temple of one of the other demons. Both moaned but were quickly back in the game as the third did something particularly nasty to Oliver’s leg.

  Oliver shouted and managed to raise his head enough to spy his KA-BAR, the one that had been in Lollipop’s throat, sticking out from his thigh.

  Needed that, actually. Oliver twisted around and reclaimed his knife, frowning at how heavily he was bleeding— it seemed as though the demon managed to hit his femoral artery. He took several hits to the face but hefted the knife and slit the throats of two demons in a manner of seconds. As they fell away, Oliver tightened his grip on his knife handle and glared at the third demon. “Stab me with my own knife?” He thrust into the demon’s abdomen and yanked upward, the momentum of his rage enough to take the knife high through the demon’s sternum until it finally lodged in a rib, sending a numbing shockwave through Oliver’s forearm.

  He allowed his body to drop it, rolled to his feet, and palmed his other knife as he sprinted toward Farrah.

  Even in the midst of a fight for their lives, he was overcome by her. She more than held her own against her two supernatural attackers. Her braid flew around her shoulders as she miraculously blocked each blow meant to destroy her.

  “I’m here, beautiful,” he said, engaging one of her enemies just as the bastard lunged for her neck.

  She made a noise he couldn’t take the time to evaluate before renewing her battle with much more deadly accuracy. With them fighting one-to-one, they were quickly able to disable the two remaining demons.

  As soon as they crumpled to the ground, Oliver lunged forward, grabbing Farrah’s hand and turning to charge the door.

  “They’ll recover soon. We’ve gotta get out of here,” he said, running as fast as he could.

  She was right there with him. “You came,” she said breathlessly.

  Oliver stopped so suddenly, Farrah skidded into his back. He grabbed her face with both hands and planted a searing kiss to her lips, plunging his tongue inside quickly before breaking away. “I will always,” he whispered.

  That was all the time he could take, though he longed to kiss her more. He grabbed her hand once more, and they were off.

  For the first time since entering Hell, Oliver thought they may actually have a chance of getting out of here alive. His gaze roved over every shadow; his grip on his knife was tight. He knew he could have one of his Sigs in his hand at a moment’s notice. He could do this.

  “I…was not betraying you,” Farrah said, panting from the speed of Oliver’s pace.

  “Baby,” Oliver tossed over his shoulder, “we can talk about this when I get you out of here, I promise. If you distract me now with what an ass I was, I can’t make any guarantees, okay?”

  “Ass?”

  “Farrah!”

  “Right. After.”

  They rounded a corner, and Oliver’s hopes died. At least twenty demons blocked the exit, and all twenty of their gazes zeroed in on Oliver and Farrah with deadly accuracy.

  Oliver yanked Farrah back around the corner, pressing her into the rock and covering her with his body. He lashed out and struck the stone above her head.

  “It is bad, isn’t it?” Farrah whispered.

  The sound of many booted footsteps started. They were moving slowly; they could afford to. Where were Oliver and Farrah going to go? More demons were behind them, recuperating from their wounds.

  Oliver closed his eyes for a moment before opening them and hungrily drinking in the sight of his Farrah. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed, leaning in and pressing his lips to Farrah’s forehead.

  “Oliver,” she said, her voice cracking.

  He gathered her into his arms, crushing her face against his chest. Sorrow for the life he could have had with her overwhelmed him, and he felt his eyes grow wet. “Given the chance,” he rasped, “I would have loved you so hard.”

  He knew it was true the moment the words left his mouth. She was it for him and would have been for the rest of his life, even if he had lived forever. The way his chest hurt right now, he suspected he may already love her despite the short amount of time they’d spent together.

  He tipped her face up to his and brushed his lips across hers, allowing himself to linger, knowing it would be his last taste of her. When he drew back, he pressed the hilt of his knife into her hand and squeezed her fingers around it.

  As the footsteps suddenly broke into running, Oliver dragged Farrah to the ground and covered her with his body. There was no way they both would make it out alive, but if he could take the brunt of the attack himself, maybe there was a chance she would.

  The blows landed on his back, and he grunted as a blade of some kind sank into his kidneys and another into the base of his neck. As he gazed into Farrah’s terrified face, he realized he would always choose to die for her.

  If it meant that she could— “Live, beauty,” he groaned.

  There was a blow to the back of Oliver’s head, and his world went black.

  28

 
Something hot and smelling of copper sprayed across Farrah’s face, and Oliver slumped on top of her. A scream clawed its way up through her throat, and when it hit the air, it was Oliver’s name.

  They were pulling him from her, strange hands grabbing indiscriminately, not caring that they snatched at her flesh. Her death was their aim; minor wounds mattered not.

  She grabbed back, clutching as much of Oliver to her as possible. Even now, she cradled him, suspecting—knowing—they had killed him.

  Do not think of that now. Panic would overtake her, and she would be worse than useless. She would not cheapen Oliver’s sacrifice in such a way.

  With one arm wrapped around Oliver’s shoulders, her skin slipping in his blood, she struck out with Oliver’s knife in her other hand.

  One of them cried out and fell away, and Farrah surged into the void, stabbing as quickly as she could.

  Oliver’s head rolled back and forth on Farrah’s shoulder with each of her movements, and she stifled a sob.

  “Oliver?”

  One of the demons laughed at her broken plea; Oliver said nothing. It was confirmed, then. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she cut and sliced through several demons. And, yet, they continued to come, and she knew it was a losing battle.

  Their blows began to overcome her. She and Oliver’s body were thrust back to the ground, and, reflexively, Farrah closed her eyes and turned her head to the side.

  When the hit she was bracing for never arrived, Farrah blinked and slowly turned back toward them.

  None of the demons were moving; the sudden absence of battle sounds echoed in the cavern.

  But it was definitely not silent.

  The ruffle of feathers. The sound of sandaled feet pounding on stone. The clash of steel.

  “Angels!” cried one of the demons.

  Immediate panic met the announcement, and Farrah heard what she was sure were several demons fleeing the scene. A few remained—she could tell by their harried discussions of battle formation—but they were no longer paying any attention to her.