My Way to Hell

by Dakota Cassidy

  “I’m not condoning it. I’m just offering understanding. Had I known what Vincent was, what he’d done to my mother and Delaney, I’d have killed him myself. Seeing as you won’t give me the full story, and I just know there’s more to this than you’re letting on, I’m opting for the lesser of two evils.” He said the words with no haughty arrogance to them. Simple and clean.

  “Oh, Mother Teresa—you’ve been sorely missed.”

  Kellen’s chuckle was deep. “And my new body’s rad, don’t you think?”

  She tried not to think, though it had become a chore, with him looming all up in her personal space. “There’s supposed to be a thank-you in here somewhere, right? My groveling is rusty. Refresh me.”

  “Nope. C’mon. I’ll drink a beer, you won’t. I’ll probably fall asleep, you’ll be wide awake—but we’ll be doing it together. It’s gotta be better than being alone.”

  She threw her shoulders back and gave him her best smoldering stare, kittenish and seductive. “Are you inviting me to sleep over, Kellen Markham? You playa, you.”

  “I’m inviting you to stay here until we figure out how to get you back to the other side. It has to beat wherever you go every night. C’mon, you know you don’t want to miss Project Runway,” he coaxed, holding out his hand in invitation. A hand of temptation.

  She was skipping down a path of self-destruction. There were plenty of warning bells clanging in her head, telling her not to do it. It would only make leaving harder. They went off like DEFCON 5 in her head, chiming in loud, raucous warning.

  But it was Project Runway. Marcella teetered between the cold, hard bench of the park where her thoughts and guilt were all she had to keep her company, aside from the occasional drunk, or Kellen and the warmth of Delaney’s old apartment in the back of the store. The comfort of memories.

  Giving him a haughty grin, she asked, “This is your last chance to back out. I mean, aren’t you just a little afraid I might take you out in your sleep if I stay here? It doesn’t take much to get me all riled. I did kill my husband for leaving the lawn unkempt.”

  “So much so, I might need some No-Doz and three pots of coffee. But then I remember you can’t pick anything up—at least not yet.” He grinned, and it was like a cool balm, blanketing her heart. She knew enough about him to know he was giving her acceptance, acceptance for her dastardly past. Part of that acceptance came from knowing what a man was capable of when he walked among the land of the living, yet had sold his soul prematurely to Satan. Vincent had taught Kellen a thing or two about evil. But she sensed something else in his silent approval.

  And the sticky-sweet warmth it garnered was dangerous.

  Hot and dangerous.

  She placed her hand in his extended one, savoring the light caress of his thumb on her knuckles as he pulled her back into the living room, where Vern and Shirley slept in a ball on Delaney’s old couch and the call of an almost normal evening awaited.

  Marcella floated behind him like a helium balloon.

  Though, she reluctantly acknowledged, her hand, wrapped in Kellen’s, had she been a mortal girl at this very moment, probably would have made her feel like she was floating anyway.

  How incredibly high school.

  nine

  Somehow, after episode three of Project Runway, Kellen had landed headfirst on her shoulder, snoring so loudly she was certain the afterlife felt the tremors. His heavy weight slumped against her in a not-so-unpleasant way. Little by little, she’d been able to accomplish small things like sitting on furniture, though picking things up still eluded her. Earlier, she’d just been grateful to have the ability to sit beside him.

  Now, with her hormones in four-wheel drive—not as much. She shifted, hoping to avoid disturbing him, only to find his lips precariously close to her breast. Warmth flooded her. Just a sixteenth of an inch more and he was going to be where she’d fantasized many a night away. Her breathing hitched on the way out of her lungs when he mumbled something she couldn’t hear, but vibrated against her nipple.

  A low groan threatened escape, a moan of pleasure she’d never be able to take back. Placing her arm on the back of the couch, she attempted to inch away from him, only to have him settle in deeper, tightening an arm around her waist and pulling her to him.

  Her pulse skittered sideways when he muttered, breathing out a sigh.

  If she hadn’t been clear about the man upstairs shunning her before, this cinched the deal. If He were merciful, He’d never have allowed her to put herself in this position. This was the scenario of all her dreams come true. Kellen hadn’t come this close to her ever, and now he was suddenly comfortable enough to slap up against her like they’d always done this. In fact, she’d be superduper pissed that he was taking liberties, if the liberties weren’t so damned liberally nice. She grew angry at how easily she was accepting his turnabout. Why now, when she was about as mortal as a vampire, had he decided to take a liking to her? Why not when she’d been, if not of the living, at the very least able to wear cute dresses and heels?

  She warred with the urge to burrow beneath him or drop his ass flat and hightail it out of the apartment.

  Kellen stirred. “Marcella?”

  “Mmm-hmm?”

  “My head seems to be buried in your . . .”

  “Boobs. Go ahead. You can say it.”

  “Boobs.”

  “Freeing, right?”

  “No doubt. But this presents a problem.”

  “Or two, maybe three. We should tally them. I’ll get paper.” She made a move to get off the couch, but he gripped her tighter, forcing her to arch her body into his.

  “Do you know why this presents a problem?”

  “Because I’m a killer, and no good, morally sound man should have his face in a killer’s boobs?”

  “That wasn’t where I was going.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “This presents a problem because I like having my face in your boobs.”

  Madre santa. Words she’d waited a decade to hear, now said, were more powerful than she could have ever imagined. Fireworks shot off in every direction behind her closed eyes. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re not the first man to find himself in a dilemma such as this.”

  “That didn’t make me feel better.”

  “Apologies.”

  “Accepted. So here’s the thing—what are we going to do about the fact that I like having my head in your boobs?”

  “Move my boobs?”

  Marcella felt his grin against the thin, torn material of her dress. “Let’s not be hasty.”

  “Right. Proceed with caution.”

  “Question? Just off the cuff.”

  “I’m on pins and needles.”

  “Do you like me having my face buried in your boobs?”

  To the millionth power, baby. She fought a squirm at how direct his question was. To confirm would be to show her cards, and she wasn’t sure if she’d had the chance to catch her breath at his change in attitude toward her yet, let alone express her darkest fantasies. Her response was noncommittal. “It isn’t unpleasant.”

  “Would you venture to say you like it?”

  She bit the inside of her cheek. “I wouldn’t say I hate it.”

  He snickered. “It’s good my ego’s healthy.”

  “Everyone should have an ego as healthy as yours.”

  Kellen cleared his throat. “So the problem.”

  “Yes. The problem . . .”

  “I really don’t want to move my head.”

  “Maybe that’s because it’s been a long time since you had your face in someone’s boobs and any boobs’ll do? Even a killer’s?”

  “I’d like to chalk it up to that, but in truth, I was seeing someone a few months ago.”

  Jealousy clawed at her tongue, making her want to say hateful things. But she refrained, ever the lady. “And she didn’t like your face in her boobs?” Twit.

  “She didn’t seem to mind, but her boobs w
eren’t your boobs. So I called it off.”

  A warm glow fluttered over her ego. “You broke up with someone because she didn’t have my boobs?”

  “No, not exactly. What I’m saying is her boobs weren’t as . . .”

  “Nice as mine. I understand. I have been gifted as racks go.”

  “Modest.”

  “Honest.”

  “How about we do this,” Kellen said, still unmoving. “I’ll tell you where I’m at, then you can tell me how you feel about it.”

  “Are we going down the path of the warm and squishy?”

  “I can’t say for sure. I’d settle for honesty.”

  She nodded her agreement. “I’m in.”

  “There’s always been tension between us.”

  “An understatement if ever there was one.”

  “True that. We’ve fought many a battle.”

  “Like fierce warriors,” she agreed.

  “We haven’t always been pleasant in word or thought.”

  “You had unpleasant thoughts about me?” She pretended astonished disbelief.

  “Several that involved various degrees of manslaughter.”

  A wince made her lips pucker. “Harsh.”

  “Truthful.”

  “We have a checkered past. If I seem shocked by your sudden generosity of spirit toward me, and I credit that to your just wanting to wonk, I don’t think that’s unfair,” she offered.

  “So we’re clear, I’m not the kind of man who’d ignore his morals just to boff.”

  Gallant. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

  “Anyway, that very tension also translates into something else we both know exists, but haven’t ever acknowledged because I despised your demonic origins and you despised me for despising you.”

  “Interpretation?”

  “Some of the tension has to do with your attraction to me—”

  Her eyes rolled. Truth or not. “Modest.”

  “Honest. It also has to do with my attraction to you.”

  Yeah, tha’ssright. He’d said it. Her hormones shook their pom-poms. If she still had her heart, it’d surely shifted farther left of center.

  “I’ve denied it for a long time. I’ve told myself it was only lust, because, let’s face it, you’re not exactly ugly,” he teased. “And screwing for that purpose alone isn’t really my thing. But I don’t feel that way anymore.”

  “That screwing for screwing’s sake isn’t your thing?”

  “No, Marcella. That my attraction to you is based solely on lust.”

  “What’s it based on now? And be careful what you say—your face is in my boobs. It’ll be hard to believe you’re not just trying to get to first base with me.”

  “What I’m saying is I like you.”

  “Do you still have your class ring?”

  “Why?”

  “Isn’t this the moment where you give me your letter jacket and class ring so I can wear it around my neck?”

  “I think you’re way too far past high school to hope for a class ring.”

  “Ow.”

  When Kellen’s head lifted, he wasn’t smiling anymore. His eyes flashed dark in the glow of the television, serious, and above all, with sincerity. It was stark and crystal clear. Pulling her down beneath him, he took her chin between his fingers. “I like you, Marcella. It’s been easier to get along with you finding that out. I’m not sure when it happened, but it did. I don’t know how long you’ll be here, so I’m going to skip the bullshit we slam each other with and cut to the chase. More than that, I want you in a way I can’t put into words. But that presents a problem.”

  And the screwing just kept on coming. “Because I’m a ghost,” she said, fighting the deflation her heart felt.

  “That and we don’t know how long you’ll be here on this plane.”

  “And you’re afraid you’ll be so much fabulous I won’t be able to get over you when I go back. That I’ll spend the rest of my eternity mourning you while I ignore personal hygiene and wear dark clothing?” She’d laced it with a hint of her usual sarcasm to ward off the truth to her words.

  Kellen stared at her for a moment, deep and penetrating. “No. I’m worried, if we do this, I won’t be able to get over you.”

  There weren’t many moments she could recall, in all the time she’d been around, that words escaped her. Yet at this very particular moment, when she was finally hearing what she’d spent pathetic night after pathetic night longing for, she was suddenly in the red with her word-bank account.

  Kellen’s declaration, such a severe contrast to the heated words they’d snarled at each other over the years, was almost too much. The crash of her heart, the catch of her breath, the rush of her pulse didn’t help facilitate communication.

  His dark eyebrows rose. “You’re surprised.”

  Like that word even remotely defined how she felt about his confession. She fell instantly into the mode she was most comfortable with. Defensive and catty. “If this is just about getting into my Victoria’s Secrets, it’s not necessary. I don’t need pretty words and promises. As you so enjoy telling me, I’ve been to the rodeo. I know how to ride the horse without getting thrown off. You don’t need to woo me all right and proper.” Because it would only haunt her for eternity. If he just wanted to get it on, honesty would be premium right now.

  “I’m not making promises, Marcella. I’m stating facts.”

  Damn him and his sincerity. “Or feeding me a line of crap so you can get in my panties when you know full well you won’t have to eat those words because I can’t stick around to make you.”

  Leaning toward her, he brushed her nose with his lips. “Don’t be hostile. It’s not how you really feel about me.”

  She swatted him away, ignoring the desire to sever all communication via her mouth plastered to his. “Do you find it at all coincidental that this revelation’s occurring while you have a very noticeable condition pressed against my thigh?”

  “I see your skepticism,” he offered magnanimously while repositioning himself against her so they were clear on why she was skeptical.

  “Good, then how about we don’t talk feelings anymore? It won’t change what will eventually happen to me. It might just make it worse. I’ve had enough of worse. How about you?”

  “I just want my thoughts on the subject clear.”

  She made a bold move by reaching down between them and pressing the heel of her hand to the cause of her buttload of skepticism. “So I won’t think you’re the kind of man who’s capable of a one-night stand?”

  Running a thumb along her jaw, he whispered, gravelly and low, “No, so you won’t think I’m capable of a one-night stand with you.”

  When his finger traced her lower lip, she grew skittish, afraid now that the barriers between them were tumbling down, she’d never be able to survive it. “So you’re capable of a one-night stand with someone else?”

  “I’ve had my share of encounters—not all just one-night, no, but there were a couple.” He placed a light kiss on her forehead, leaving his lips there to linger against her skin. The security that represented, the overwhelming bliss it brought her soul, frightened her.

  Kellen had just been a sexual fantasy. Or so she’d thought. The mistake she’d made was believing that was her only fantasy where he was concerned. She’d thought leaving behind his rock-hard abs and teacherlike, sexy appeal were all she’d mourn.

  Yet, lying here, circled in his embrace, the warmth of his breath on her skin was so intimate, it physically hurt.

  Freaking out was in order.

  “Kellen?”

  His lips moved against her forehead. “Yes?”

  “Snap out of it, right now!” She gave a shove to his chest to dislodge him from her. He didn’t budge.

  “Is this the part where you freak out as a defense mechanism against my admission of like? Before you do that, I just want you to know, it’s perfectly natural. I read in a medical journal that some react—”


  “Psst!” She put her fingers to his lips. “I don’t want a scientific explanation for why I’m freaking out. I just want a good, old-fashioned shot at it. Now get off of me. This can only lead to bad feelings. What would Delaney say? Omigod. She’d be so hacked off if I slept with you. She’s my best friend. Best friends don’t sleep with each other’s brothers. Ever. Now move.”

  “Delaney has no say in what I do. I’m an adult.”

  “Yeah. That’s not what you were saying when she was crying over me and my predicament, pansy-ass.”

  He smiled down at her, infuriatingly so. “I can promise you, she won’t cry if we sleep together.”

  No, but I might. Because as of late, if producing tears was a job, she’d be head crier. “We shouldn’t do this. It’ll only make everything worse. Sex shouldn’t be our primary focus. Helping Carlos should.”

  “He doesn’t need our help right now. He’s safe at home.”

  “Spoken like a man whose little head has the reins.”

  Kellen yawned then grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Marcella Acosta so rattled. I like it. It makes me feel a little superior.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “As if you didn’t always feel that way.”

  Pushing off from her, leaving her lying on the couch sprawled out like a fish out of water, he grinned again. “You’re right. I behaved badly. I suck. Now, I’m going to suck while I sleep. I have to open the store early tomorrow. I say we go to bed. I’ll keep your side of the bed warm. No pressure. We can just snuggle. I’d bet that appeals to the girl in you.” Turning on his heel, his sudden change in direction obviously amusing him, judging by the grin on his smug face, he headed for the bedroom.

  Just snuggle . . . she snorted to herself.

  Spite kept her ass on the couch for a long time after Kellen had turned off the light.

  Curiosity made her waffle.

  She consoled herself with the notion that she’d done the right thing by turning him down. Call it crazy, but after her demonic life of excess, living day to day on mostly impulse and her selfish need to gather material things by the ton, the only thing she had done right was that she’d done right by Delaney. That was one line, no matter the coup, she would try not to cross. Delaney wouldn’t want Kellen involved with her. She’d want someone who was innocent, earthy, tofu-loving. Sweet, considerate. Not some hard-assed demon jaded by decades of the demonic high life.