“Whatever. I only had three glasses last night. That’s not enough for a hangover and you know it. Just drop it. What are you doing here?”
“No big reason. It’s just Brody’s in the ER with a smashed hand and a couple of broken ribs. Mom told me to come get you since you weren’t picking up the phone. She thought you’d want to know.”
“Seriously? What happened?”
“The usual.” Completely unruffled, Danny poured a cup of coffee and blew over the rim before saying, “He got in a fight. You should see the other guy though.” He cracked his knuckles and took a sip.
“Anyone I know?”
“Maybe. I don’t know everyone you know.”
“Oh, damn . . .” A sudden wave of dizziness brought her to her knees.
Concentrating on staying conscious and not puking, she barely heard the rest of his words until he crouched beside her and asked quietly, “You want to tell me what happened yet? Brody’s getting patched up and it’s going to take a while. We don’t need to race over to the hospital and you look like shit.” He wrapped his arm around her, drawing her against his side. “You’ve always been a terrible liar. Tell me what’s got you drinking alone with expensive pizza.”
The dizziness quickly passed, but her stomach still felt unsettled. She sagged against him and sighed. “Koivu’s gone. It’s over. That’s all. I’m fine. I just needed to wallow a bit and get my head together.” She forced a wan smile and added, “It wasn’t meant to last.” But it would’ve been nice to see if it could have. She wasn’t ready to watch him walk away. Things had been good between them.
I’ll stay here and use you until you’re so dried up and dead inside that even the crackheads won’t fuck you.
She swayed when another wave of dizziness swarmed over her. Danny gently pushed her head forward. “Breathe, baby girl, just take a breath.”
It was impossible to ignore her overwhelming emotional pain. It pierced her chest and cramped her stomach. How could he say something so cruel? It was completely uncalled for. She’d made no demands on him, hadn’t tried to force him into a commitment, hadn’t said I love you. There was no logical reason for him to act like such a dick unless she’d completely misjudged him. Thinking back on their time together, she honestly couldn’t find any red flags. She accepted him at face value. He was a fighter. He was aggressive, intense. True. But he’d always treated her with respect and kindness. His blunt honesty was one of the things she liked about him. He’d always said what he thought and played no games. He’d been obnoxious but never mean. Why the sudden change?
“You’re not fine.” Danny enfolded her in a tight hug. “You have the worst taste in men, babe. First Jake and now Koivu. Next time you need to get laid, call Joey. At least he’s too stupid to hold your interest. No risk of getting too attached.”
Chapter 13: No Love for the Wicked
When Koivu was very, very young—before his father died, before his mother abandoned him and before his siblings disappeared—he believed in love. Love was the sticky glue that held families together. It was the mysterious fire that kept his parents locked in their private rooms even when their youngest son pounded on the door crying for food. Love was rare and valuable. It was earned by only the most worthy.
As he grew into his warrior’s body, he learned that love was also the reason for the desperate groping and furious fucking of teenagers. Being the son of a legendary warrior, he was tall, athletic, and powerful, even before he entered his teens. His origin blood ensured his physical beauty and virility. By the time he was old enough to wield a sword, he’d been loved by every marriageable female in their region. His dick had seen the inside of more females than he bothered to count.
He was barely an adult when the glue that held his family together cracked and turned to dust. His family collapsed into a scattered pile of gilded demons who couldn’t stand each other, and who left him sitting alone on his father’s gravestone. Love, he learned then, wasn’t for everyone. Only heroes and champions were given love.
Once upon a time, he’d been a hero. Little demons looked up to him. He’d been a champion twelve times. For 200 years, he’d worked his ass off to be worthy and in the blink of an eye, he was nothing.
If it wasn’t for the makeshift gym, he’d lose his freakin’ mind. Thank Lucifer there was a punching bag and a sparring ring. He needed to fight like he needed oxygen. Check that—he needed it more!
Channeling his careening emotions into punching another fighter was more acceptable than, say, picking a fight with that asshole Primani Sean O’Cahan, or fucking his way through midtown. Nash threatened to lock him in his room if he even thought about going after the Primani. As for wearing himself out with mindless sex, well, he’d hit a snag there too. He tried to drown himself in bourbon and pussy last week, but his dick wouldn’t cooperate. It stiffened into a half-hearted erection that mirrored his interest in the blonde he was kissing. Since those two options were off the table, he was left with tearing up the treadmill or sparring until he was tired enough to sleep without dreaming of Micki. Unfortunately, he was beginning to run out of willing opponents like Derick. At the moment he was seriously kicking his ass and Derick was beginning to get pissed.
Koivu’s perfectly timed leg sweep sent Derick flying face first onto the mats with a thud.
He rolled onto his back, clenching and unclenching his right fist. Shaking it slowly, he glared up at Koivu. “Shit! I think you broke my hand.”
Koivu shook the sweat out of his eyes and slicked his hair back. Hunching over to catch his breath, he scowled down his nose, sneering, “Don’t be a pussy. Get up.”
“Don’t be a dick.” Still flexing his hand, Derick got to his feet and staggered to his water bottle. He rinsed his mouth and spit bloody saliva into the mop sink. “It’s been a week. Why don’t you just call her?”
“Because that’s the opposite of cutting her loose. She’s supposed to move on now, remember? That was the whole point. How can she move on if I call her?” He swallowed a few gulps of water and waved Derick back into the sparring area. “Besides, there’s no point in calling her. Nothing’s changed. We’re not safe. I’m not staying.”
“Nothing’s changed, but you’re reverting back to pre-human Koivu.” Derick bounced on the balls of his feet to find his balance, and warned, “You’re going to end up shot if you don’t stop picking fights in shitty bars. You’ve been in four already and it’s only been a week. I know you’re working shit out, but I’m starting to wonder if you’re losing control. Maybe Lucifer’s mojo flipped a switch you can’t deal with as a human.”
“I can handle myself, and I’m not losing control. Are you ready to go or do you need a nurse?” He made the universal crybaby gesture next to his eyes.
“Fuck you, idiot,” Derick snarled before plowing straight into Koivu’s gut.
The momentum carried them back a foot until Koivu dug his feet in and reversed direction. He drove his fist into Derick’s torso and landed a wicked left hook that sent him stumbling. Before he could get back to solid footing, Koivu knocked him on his ass with a roundhouse kick. Bleeding steadily from a cut lip, Derick raised his hand to stop the fight. Red faced and pissed off, he glared at the blood on his fingers. “What the fuck, dude? What happened to the no punches to the face rule?”
“Sorry, man. Forgot I wasn’t in the Pit.” That was mostly true. He’d give anything to be in the Glory Pit, but that wasn’t the whole reason he got carried away. He was so twisted up inside he didn’t know what he felt anymore. Raw guilt and seething rage filled equal shares of his headspace since he’d walked out on Micki. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her stricken face, heard her heart break. Telling himself it was for her protection didn’t make him feel any less guilty.
He offered Derick a hand to help him up, but he refused it, stating flatly, “We’re done. Find another partner, man. I’m not in the mood to pick my teeth up off the floor. I managed to keep them for my entire hockey career, and
I’m not letting you knock them out because you’re in a pissy mood.”
“Are you serious?”
Derick scooped up his shirt and used it to stop the blood flow. He gestured with a shirt-wrapped fist and said, “Yeah, I’m serious. You need to chill the fuck out,” on his way through the door.
Koivu whistled to Ramses who lay curled on a blanket out of the way. “Let’s go, boy. We’re leaving.” The snoozing dog’s ears perked up and he got easily to his feet. Koivu locked the door and trotted to catch up with Derick. Ramses happily paced him. “Come on, Derick. Cut me some slack.”
The gym was in a separate building so they had to walk through the freezing cold to get to the main Expat facilities. None of them minded though. It was better than trying to jog outside in winter temperatures and snow.
Halfway to the main building, Derick held up his injured hand and shouted over the wind, “My wife loves this hand. Thanks for breaking it!”
He rolled his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. If Derick was making jokes, he wasn’t really pissed off. He needed his best friend if he was going to stay sane and out of jail.
They ducked into the nearest door which happened to lead to the kitchen. Nash and Nikita looked up when they hustled inside. Turned out Nik was one hell of a good cook. They were all grateful he survived since he was feeding them now. The dog headed straight to the stove where Nik was stirring something in a big pot. The spicy, garlicky smell made his mouth water. Nik crouched to pat Ramses on the head, asking, “Do you want a snack?”
The dog sat regally and nodded his head with some grumbling, growling noises that sounded suspiciously like talking. Micki had laughingly claimed the dog understood English. Sometimes Koivu thought that was true. It was amazing how fast he adapted to the amputation. He was fully healed and got around without any trouble. Koivu envied the dog’s acceptance of his new life. He wished he could find that kind of peace. Grumbling some more, Ramses nudged Nik’s hand until he tossed him a dog biscuit from a box on the counter.
Nash leaned against the opposite counter, his long legs crossed at the ankles. He seemed especially grouchy. He ran his eyes over Koivu and Derick, took in the bloody gym clothes, and frowned more deeply than usual. “Are you two done beating each other?”
“For now,” Koivu said. “Why? Something going on?”
“Tallia stopped by earlier. Micki’s been sick,” Nash said.
“Sick, how? What’s the matter?”
Nash lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Stomach bug. Tallia wanted to know if you were sick too.” His sardonic tone changed to amusement as he added, “I told her you were fine. I didn’t tell her you’ve been drunk and hungover all week.”
“Is that all she said? Did she mention how Micki’s doing besides the stomach thing? Is she okay?”
“Oh, she said a lot of things.” Nash cracked a smile. “She also asked me to punch you in the face.” He stood up straight and rolled his neck in a stretch. A couple of purple bruises showed just beneath his hair. They’d been doing more than talking. “I told her she should punch you herself, so you might want to watch your back. That woman’s ready to kill you. She’s a little protective of her friends.”
“Noted.” That was good. Micki deserved protective friends. Her family and friends were important to her. After what she’d been through with Jake, he was relieved to know she wasn’t alone right now. He had no illusions that she was in love with him, but he deliberately hurt her and that would leave her reeling—hopefully enough for her to hate him and move on.
Hell:
It was three o’clock in the morning. Carrick adjusted his ceremonial hood to completely hide his face and blew out the torches. It was time. The storm was dissipating, but its winds still shrieked through the Cave of Souls and sent a tremor of unease across the back of his neck. The high-pitched wailing sounded entirely too much like a demon strapped to a rack with that Painkiller, Vanek, peeling his scales off one at a time. He shuddered at the visual. He needed to be more careful. Lucifer was nosing around again. He sensed something was going on. Had he underestimated the boss’ intelligence? The leader had insisted that Lucifer had become complacent in his ruling. He’d gotten soft and let demonkind drift away from their proud heritage. To think there were actually quotas for new souls! Perhaps the leader was correct. He hoped so. If Lucifer suspected him of treason, surely he would have brought him to his favorite rack for some satanic playtime. He was suspicious, but he clearly didn’t know anything yet.
A sudden flash of light brought his eyes straight to the cave’s entrance. He remained pressed into the thick shadows until he identified the visitor. “Douse your light and state your name,” he demanded.
The light winked out. “It’s Hakin. I have a report.”
“Step forward, Hakin.” Carrick waited until his enforcer walked into the cave and stopped near the ancient altar.
Hakin glanced around nervously. He scrubbed a fist against his jaw and repeated, “I have your report.”
Carrick drew his athame and approached him from the rear, asking coldly, “Are you nervous, Hakin?”
Hakin jumped and started to turn around. Carrick pressed the blade to his spine and snapped, “Do not turn around. Now, I will ask you again. Are you nervous?”
Hakin twitched and ducked his head respectfully, stammering, “I . . . I’m—” he jumped suddenly and clamped his lips together. Speaking in a rush, he said, “It’s the cave. That’s all. This place gives me the creeps. I hate it. I always have.”
He narrowed his eyes. Something felt off. “Are you positive that’s it? Were you followed?”
Hakin nodded quickly and shuddered. “Yes, sir, that’s it. Do you want my report now?”
He studied the demon for another minute, watching him sweat bullets and fidget. Perhaps he remembered the fate of the last enforcer who disappointed him. The blood still stained the earth only a few feet from where they stood. “I assume you have good news or you wouldn’t be here.”
“You assume correctly. The sacrifice went smoothly. The decani Alyx is dead. The next one is Nikita and I’ve already begun my preparations for him. You can tell the leader that we’re on schedule. The timeline’s been preserved.”
He pressed the blade into Hakin’s back again. “Do you expect any complications from the others? Did anyone see you?”
“No, sir. I conducted the ritual in a remote location. There were no humans there. I was able to work in complete secrecy. The next one will be the same.”
“Very good, Hakin. I’m impressed. Your reputation is well deserved. The leader will be satisfied to hear we are back on schedule. Go now. I have other matters to attend to.”
Hakin froze; his hand came up and then dropped again. He cleared his throat, and asked haltingly, “Sir, can I ask why you have, er, um, increased security precautions? You don’t normally use the hood.”
“Lucifer is becoming suspicious. The moron might actually be able to put the pieces together if we are not careful. We cannot afford to be discovered now. The day of reckoning is too close. I cannot risk him identifying me or anyone else in the inner circle. From this point onward, you will not see my face or mention my name. He may have eyes watching us. Is that clear?”
Hakin swallowed hard but nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir. I understand. May I go now?”
“Yes, go.” Carrick stepped back against the wall and said piously, “Da’vinRa’.”
“Da’vinRa’.”
A small fire burned the curtains in Lucifer’s palatial living room. The couch was also ablaze. Shards of rare stained glass sparkled like so many rainbows across the plush carpeting. The windows themselves were blown out completely. Lucifer wasn’t exactly on fire, but he was definitely smoldering with apocalyptic fury. Hearing things you don’t like is a downside to spying.
Whirling to Raphael, he roared, “Moron? Moron!!! Did you hear that?”
Smothering a grin, Raphael wisely only nodded and lifted his scotch up and out of the w
ay as the end table melted. He sipped his drink and finally interrupted Lucifer’s ranting. “Luc, you might want to bring Hakin back now.” He gestured to the flat screen they’d been watching. “Looks like Carrick’s dismissed him. He’s standing there looking suspicious while he’s waiting for your word.”
“Oh, he can wait until Hell freezes over!” Growling moron under his breath, he stomped away from the flat screen before he shoved his friggin’ sword through it. He sent mental instructions to Hakin to leave the cave. “Hakin, heel!” he snapped aloud.
Hakin appeared between the two archangels. Raphael unsheathed his sword and rolled unfriendly eyes over the idiot demon. Lucifer’s eyes were a touch more than unfriendly. If he didn’t need this idiot, he would smite him before he could blink, but since he had to keep him around, he planned to keep torturing him until he got bored. With that thought, Lucifer sent Hakin to his knees. Another thought and the demon’s head flung back far enough to snap his neck with a puff of air. His traitor eyeballs bugged and he started making that irritating mewling sound he made every time he got tortured.
“Shut the fuck up, traitor! I’m sick of your whining! You’re a demon, for crying out loud! Sac up and shut your mouth.”
Hakin stopped whimpering, but his eyes still bugged out. One of them began to bleed as Lucifer stared at his new puppet. The more he stared, the more the eyeball bled until a nice, fat stream poured down his neck. Hakin’s body trembled from head to toe, but he kept his mouth shut.
Raphael sheathed his sword and crossed to Lucifer’s side. “A word?” Taking him by the arm, he steered him to the bar, speaking quietly in his ear. “Are you satisfied with the plan now? It worked perfectly today.”
“It did, didn’t it?” He sheathed his sword too. No need to tie up his hands now. He had some fun torturing to do after his brother left for New York. “It’s been ages since I personally possessed anyone. Giving Hakin the ability to speak for himself was risky though. He came close to blowing it.”
Koivu (Demons After Dark Book Three) Page 19