She caught it and pressed it to her face, saying, “Thanks,” on her way to the front door. She really didn’t want to face an audience of nosy neighbors, but as it turned out there was no one hanging around the front yard. That’s odd. Most of the neighbors would’ve been all excited to hear about Jake getting his ass handed to him. He wasn’t popular with the old crowd, and a backyard brawl should’ve brought people out of the woodwork.
“There’s my girl!” her dad boomed from his wooden chair on the porch. He waved her over and stood up to give her a light hug and a pat. No major displays of affection from Captain Reilly Glass. Instead, he bussed her cheek, and then cut his eyes back to Koivu. “Do you see my beautiful baby girl’s face? This ever happens again and I’ll bury the sonofabitch in the middle of the landfill. Understand?”
“There’s no reason to threaten me, old man.” His eyes darted to Micki’s. A spark of annoyance glittered in their depths, but he seemed to be handling her father well enough. He lounged in one of the other chairs, his body tense, but not overly so. He dropped the leash so Leo could get to her. “She’s a nice woman. I’m on her side.”
She shrugged with apology and scolded her father, “Dad, seriously, enough with the mobster threats. Koivu’s not like Jake.” She rested her butt on the railing and patted her stomach. Leo wrapped his paws around her in an enthusiastic doggy hug. His tail swung back and forth so fast his whole hind end swayed. His unrestrained affection lightened her heart a bit. It was impossible to be upset when there was an adorable dog worshiping her every move. She rubbed his silky patched ear between her fingers and felt her emotions settle down again.
Unfortunately, her dad was just getting started. His lips twisted with temper. “Jake ever hit you before?”
“No! Never!”
“That’s my point. Out of nowhere your ex gives you a beat down. It could happen with any of the violent men you keep dating. Boxers, UFC, whatever. All these men are jacked up on drugs. Unstable. We see ‘em in the precinct all the time. Assault, battery, murder. You know it’s true. I don’t know why you keep picking these losers.”
Koivu’s pale brows drew together and he shared a frown with her. It was time to reel her father back in. He was in full blown police captain-father mode. The next thing she knew, she’d find herself grounded and Koivu hauled in for interrogation.
She laid a calming hand on his arm and soothed, “Dad, you know that’s not true. Not all fighters are using drugs, nor are they always violent. Brody fought for years. He’s your son. Have you ever known him to be violent out of the cage? No, you haven’t. When I was with Jake, I lived in that world. Believe me; I’ve seen everything, good and bad. I don’t know what happened with Jake, but I feel safe with Koivu. Besides, we just started seeing each other. It’s not like we’re a couple.” She rested her gaze on Koivu’s powerful hands and focused in on the odd tattoo. She hadn’t given it any thought before, but now she wondered what it was. For all she knew, it could be a gang tat.
Koivu had been listening intently to their conversation, and had apparently heard all he wanted to because he stood abruptly and retrieved Leo’s leash. He squared his shoulders and told her father in a strangely intense tone, “Look, I don’t beat women. I love women. Women are great fun. Micki’s safe with me.”
She snorted with half a laugh that hurt her face. Ow! “Come on, Koivu. Let’s go back to my place and we can talk. My house is only a couple of blocks from here.”
To her dad, she said, “I’ll be fine. Tell mom I’ll check in later.” She blew him a kiss and led Koivu and Leo to her car.
After she climbed in and started the engine, he stopped her from putting it in gear. “Micki, wait.” His eyes were frozen like artic ice when they rested on her swollen cheek. A wave of fury engulfed her like a physical presence. A tic worked in his jaw; he seemed to be counting under his breath. Finally, he said in a cold, precise tone, “If he touches you again, I’ll rip his motherfucking head off. What kind of a pussy beats a woman?”
She flinched away from the vehemence in his words. He was epically angry. His entire body vibrated with furious tension. She nervously moistened her lips and started, “I’m sor—”
His voice lashed at her, “Don’t you fucking apologize! This isn’t your fault!” He leaned towards her, but checked himself partway. Throwing himself back into his seat, he raked his fingers through his hair, huffing in frustration. “Fuck. I’m sorry, baby. I don’t want to scare you.” He turned back to face her, his eyes softer now but still glittering and hot. He lifted his hand towards her face, stopped, and asked, “Does it hurt?”
She nodded over a sudden thickening in her throat. Tears welled up in her eyes and she turned away, blinking quickly. I’m not going to cry, damn it!
“Come here,” he ordered softly with his arms spread in invitation. He pushed his seat back.
She climbed over the console to sit on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her into the solid muscle of his chest. One of his hands restlessly smoothed up and down her back. “I’m fine,” she whispered into his shirt. “My face will heal. It’s not that bad.”
He didn’t respond right way, but when he did, he asked, “What about your heart? You were in love with him.”
She fought back a rush of emotion, saying thickly, “Love? Obsession? I don’t even know anymore. It’s been over for years.”
“Has it?”
His question hung between them with the weight of another crossroads. She raised her head, looked into his eyes. Her mother was right. There was an odd wisdom gleaming in their depths. An old soul? He’d seen more than he wanted to see. Old scars, pain, and the knowledge that comes from true sacrifice and loss . . . there was no innocence lingering there. No innocence, but no cruelty either. She pressed her mouth gently to his, sighing as his warmth thawed her cold lips. He threaded his fingers beneath her hair to cup her nape, drawing her just a little closer. Carefully, so carefully, he played his seductive mouth over hers until she forgot the question.
“Well?” he asked once he’d broken the kiss. “Is it over?”
“Yes, it’s definitely over.”
Whining for freedom, Leo tumbled across the console and landed in the driver’s seat. He barked out the side window and grinned at them with lolling tongue. It was time to go. The drive to her house took about three minutes. Neither mentioned Jake or the drama at her parents’ place. Once they got inside, Leo bounded through the rooms with his nose to the carpet and his tail wagging happily.
“I’ll get us something to drink.” She headed to the kitchen for iced tea.
Koivu wandered along behind her studying her space with interested eyes.
Koivu straddled one of the kitchen stools and sipped at the cold tea. There was a comfortable silence while she cleaned up some dirty dishes and got a bowl of water for Leo. His eyes lingered on her marble-topped island. Cluttered with unopened mail and a plastic shopping bag now, it had once been swept clean by their unbridled passion. Even at two in the morning, she’d been ravenous, her blood firing beneath his hands, her body arching in his arms. Fuck, they’d been hot together. He’d expected her to use him once and discard him like a condom, but she’d surprised him. Once she’d let herself go, she was all in. Holding nothing back, she’d wrung him dry. He couldn’t get enough of her that night and hadn’t stopped thinking about her since.
“How’s your shoulder feeling? I could give you a massage.”
“Hurts like a bitch, but I’ll live.” He grinned over the rim of his glass, considering her offer. “Are you asking me for sex? I’m shocked, Dr. Glass.”
Her eyes twinkled, but she didn’t smile. Instead, she feathered her fingertip over the bruise blooming across her upper lip and extending to her cheekbone. Her lip had been split in two places. The cuts were knitting closed now, but they had to hurt. Her fair skin and dusting of freckles did nothing to camouflage the discoloration. The whole side of her face would be a colorful mess in a few more hours.
He was pissed off all over again. What kind of motherfucker beats up a woman? Jake better hope he didn’t see him again.
Still not smiling, she approached him with a light step. “Raincheck on sex?” She linked her fingers with his and laid her head on his shoulder. His arms automatically went around her slender back, tucking her closer. She shifted her position between his legs and relaxed against him. “God, I’m exhausted. I could sleep for days.”
Her hair smelled like coconut. He breathed her scent and tightened his hold. Her fragile human heart beat against his chest. He liked the feel of it . . . of her . . . maybe a little more than he should. If he thought she could be serious about him, he’d leave her alone. Hell, he’d run in the other direction. She was too good for him. There was no way she’d ever consider him seriously. She was the marriage and babies type. Her heart was too big for him, but that was okay. She was only using him for sex. She might not realize it, but her choosing him was a big fuck you to her ex. It wasn’t a big deal. Everyone used sex to forget. He was more than happy to help her out.
Even though he knew she didn’t feel well, he couldn’t resist her bare throat so close to his mouth. Bending closer, he explored her warm skin with his lips, tasting her sweetness, reveling in her pulse tripping beneath his tongue. Nibbling lazily, he worked his way from the tender skin beneath her ear, down to the dip above her collarbone. Despite her exhaustion, she leaned back to present her breasts. He dragged her tank top over her head and peeled her bra strap down her arm. Her gorgeous green eyes studied him as he moved. He recognized the hesitation lingering within them.
“Relax, baby. This is all about you,” he told her. “I’m going to make you feel good. You don’t have to do a thing.”
“Mmmm,” she murmured with a dreamy smile teasing her lips. “What about your shoulder?”
“I’m not using my shoulder.” He plumped her breast in his palm, smoothing her nipple until it was a sweet, rosy bud. She sighed with satisfaction and squirmed closer. Her eyes had drifted closed as she let herself feel. Fuck, she was responsive! Every time he touched her, her breath hitched with pleasure, her heartbeat jumped a bit faster. Her breasts swelled under his hands demanding more attention. Lost in the moment, she probably didn’t realize her pelvis was busy brushing his cock in a sensual rhythm that had him aching to lay her out on the bar. The way she responded to him . . . the way she moved against him. Damn. This woman was made for fucking. She was made for him.
“You’re gorgeous, Micki, stunning . . .” He let the word linger while he captured a nipple between his teeth, using his tongue to tease her while he bit down. She yelped and stiffened in his grip. Chuckling around it, he drew it farther into his mouth, sucking rhythmically, loving her reaction. She gasped and stumbled. Her hands clutched his thighs, holding on while her legs trembled. Perfect. He unclasped her bra and slid his mouth to her other breast, worshipping it until she was panting with desire. She was close—too close. He wanted her to come with his tongue buried deep inside her sweet pussy. He wanted to feel her tight, hot channel pulse around him while he swallowed everything she had. He took her hands and said, “Let’s get you into bed.”
Chapter 8: The Devil Inside
Hell:
Ah, the sweet agony of tortured souls. It was truly music to his ears. Lucifer allowed the symphony to surround him as he finished his preparations. Twenty-first century technology was useful indeed. Built-in speakers and a credit card sized remote allowed him to pipe in the audio feeds from any level of Hell. How had he lived without this? The instant gratification was damn near miraculous. Right now, he was in the mood for something, well, something a little more raw; angry, perhaps. He put his toothbrush into its gold holder, dabbed at a smear of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth, and changed the channel. Hoarse, guttural pleas filled the bathroom. The cries built to a spine-tingling crescendo that crashed with the force of an orchestra of snare drums.
Much better. Definitely more his mood today. He’d moved so far beyond angry there was no word to describe his feelings. The blistering rage bubbled just beneath his skin even now. His manicured fingers crushed the edge of the obsidian-topped vanity to silt. The satiny particles drifted to the tops of his polished Italian loafers. Hell and damnation! He needed to settle his mood before he accidently smote someone useful. Taking a deep, centering breath, he studied his reflection and smoothed down a contrary hair in his left eyebrow. The wiry, black hair flipped to the right again, determined to stick up. With the exception of that eternal cowlick in his eyebrow, his face was perfection. Square jaw, straight nose, full but shapely mouth, arresting sea green eyes—they were stunning features he blamed on his ego. He could appear as anything he wanted. Why wouldn’t he choose to be as beautiful as he was powerful? Flowing midnight hair rested regally on his shoulders. His skin was fairer than his heavenly brothers, but that was due to living without a real sun. The sun he’d created on this astral plane wasn’t capable of tanning his skin. Still, he found no fault with his face or his magnificent body. Like Raphael and Uriel, once he’d created it, he paid little attention to his physical shell since it could be shed at will. They chose to be seen in imposing human facades to instill respect and fear in the lesser creatures they had to manage.
The hoarse pleas continued to escalate; the wretched sound now beginning to grate on his nerves. It was time to go. He muted the speakers and glanced back to the mirror for a last minute adjustment. He could’ve made the trip in less time than it took to complete the thought, but he wanted time to get his head together. This was a delicate task. He had to handle it just right. So rather than teleporting, he slipped into his private elevator. As he descended to the place where Hell began, he lounged against the golden wall and drew his sword. The wicked blade slid free with a hiss and burst into flame. “Hello, my pet,” he greeted it with a fond smile. The mesmerizing fire held his gaze as he waited for the trip to end. Twenty minutes later, a soft ding alerted him that he’d arrived. During those twenty minutes, he’d formulated his plan.
The elevator doors whooshed open into stygian darkness. “Light.” A set of torches promptly lit themselves. The illumination revealed a rough-hewn corridor about five feet wide. Narrow, winding, and normally pitch black, this had once been his tomb. How far he had come since that day.
When he fell from Heaven, he tumbled for eons before his consciousness gradually revealed the black rock surrounding him like a casket. It had taken years to gather his strength and power back. Once he was strong enough, he borrowed a page from his father’s playbook, and set his mind to creation. By the time he’d formed his origin demons, this particular hunk of Hell was a bad memory that he usually avoided. Protected by magical wards and invisible to everyone but him, this place only served as a reminder of his humble beginnings, and was a convenient place to imprison those he wanted to keep quiet.
Fifty yards down the corridor, he stopped outside a two-foot thick door and listened. Ah, there it was. The beast’s heart was beating. Its lungs were expanding and contracting nicely. It was about time. He waved the door open with a thought and unfurled his luxurious wings.
It was like looking in the mirror again. Uncanny. Unacceptable!
The Black Angel sat with his back to the wall, knees pulled to his chest. When the door opened, he lifted his head and scowled without a word. No longer naked, the abomination was dressed in jeans, a Metallica sweatshirt, and combat boots. Combat boots? Leave it to Raphael to raid his freakin’ Primani’s closet. As tall and powerfully built as Lucifer, the angel rose unsteadily to his feet and snapped open his raggedly wings.
“How dare you!” Lucifer slammed the beast into the wall, smashing his head into the stone twice, before letting him crumble to the dirt floor. “You will never display your wings in my presence!” He extended his hand and the wings started smoking.
Snarling and frothing like a rabid dog, the Black Angel rolled to his feet, frantically pressing his wings to the wall to put out the flames.
&
nbsp; Lucifer watched without sympathy. This was his doppelganger? This beast was named angel but was really pure demon. He was the boogieman that Lucifer-fearing demons warned their babies about. He was pure fantasy. He shouldn’t exist. How in the fuck was he standing here?
After the fire was out, he stood panting, hunched over with his fingers curled into claws, clutching at his thighs for balance.
Lucifer circled back around with his sword extended. “Sit!”
The Black Angel went sailing to the floor with surprise all over his face. His lips curled into another snarl, but he stopped drooling.
Lucifer studied him for a long moment and then got the party started. “Cut the insanity act. I’m not buying it. My brother would’ve told me if you’d lost your marbles. They call me the Great Deceiver, but here’s the thing. I’m not going to lie to you. No one knows you’re here. Everyone thinks you’re dead. You’re alive because I want you to be. That can change if I have no use for you.”
The snarl dissolved into an uncertain frown. He swung his head towards Lucifer’s voice.
“Yeah, that’s right. Dead.” He broke into an ugly laugh and forced his apocalyptic fury to stay under control. “I’m going to ask you some questions. You’re going to answer truthfully.”
The Black Angel shook his head and bared his teeth, showing a healthy set of fangs. Fangs? He crouched to attack, and hissed. Hissing? Seriously? His hellhounds were better behaved.
“Fine. We can do this the hard way.” He threw his prisoner against the wall and spread him out like a dissected frog. Once he was nicely frozen in place, Lucifer pressed the tip of his favorite sword into the demon’s belly and started again. “I’m going to ask you some questions. You’re going to answer truthfully.”
“Akine di septina! Akine!” the Black Angel growled. His rusty voice was harsh, but the defiant words were understandable.
He torqued the tip until blood bloomed on the grey sweatshirt. “Where have you been living?”
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