Satan

by Jianne Carlo

  “You were unconscious when we dug you out of the grave. Came to a few times on the ride here. That was an hour ago. We’re at a private clinic in Port-of-Spain, Trinidad’s capital city. According to Rutger, Trinidad doesn’t have our HIPPA rules. If Angel’s your wife, and she’s unconscious, you’re in charge.”

  “Gotcha. And I’m officially with the embassy. We’re gold.” Satan managed to settle into a reclining position on the pillow.

  Volac straightened when a doctor entered the hospital room. “Doctor?”

  “Brent Michaels. I understand you’re with the U.S. Embassy, as are these two patients?” Dr. Michaels shook hands with Volac.

  “Yes. We’d like them treated in the same room. They’re husband and wife.” Volac’s blatant lie felt like truth to Satan. And he intended to make the statement the truth ASAP. But his utmost priority was getting Angel healthy.

  Satan grunted through the throbbing aches and stings. “Treat my wife first.”

  The doctor raked him in a quick assessment, glanced at Angel, and signaled the nurse standing near the doorway. “Curtain.”

  Satan slumped back onto the pillow when the nurse drew the drape around the bed Angel lay on. “Bring me current.”

  Volac pulled up a chair, sat, and gave Satan a quick summary of how he, Jinn, and Nikar had rescued them. “We’d never have found you in time, if that ‘mystic’ friend of Angel’s hadn’t told Lucifer she had a vision of Angel being buried alive.”

  “Guess I’ll have to revise my opinions on that shit.” Satan shifted and winced when his ribs protested the action. “Where’re Nikar and Jinn?”

  “Cleaning up.”

  It hurt to smile. Satan fingered his split lip and narrowed his eyes. A flashed image of two thugs holding him while Yaman Moses beat him unconscious reared. “Moses?”

  “Whereabouts unknown. I can’t get ahold of anyone. It’s this Carnival shit. Even the U.S. Ambassador’s unavailable.” Volac plowed his buzz cut with one hand.

  “My GPS still working?” Satan didn’t have the energy or the wherewithal to check his armpit. From the way his lungs burned with every inhale, he figured a couple of ribs were broken.

  “Yeah.”

  “I counted thirteen tangos.” The surge of adrenalin that fueled his regaining consciousness started to fade.

  “Fifteen. Ten left. We’re working on making them all vanish.” Volac’s malevolent smirk held the promise of tit-for-tat retaliation.

  “You got pics?” Satan knew both Yaman Moses and the other hooded man who’d silently watched his torture would've escaped.

  “Of all save three. Those three wore hoodies. We have partials of them. Nikar believes he’s seen one before, but can’t place him.”

  Satan motioned for silence when the nurse reappeared and drew the curtain around the bed next to him. The doctor approached them.

  “My wife’s condition?” Satan asked.

  “No broken bones, but she’s severely dehydrated, so she’s on an IV. We’ve treated the burns. Not much we can do for the bruises.”

  Satan swallowed. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second and forced the question out. “Any evidence of rape?”

  “None. We did a swab, but her genitals aren’t swollen or bruised. You can rest easy on that score. I don’t expect the lab results to be positive for seminal fluid.” Dr. Michaels met Satan’s stare head on.

  Satan blew out a relieved, audible sigh and his tensed muscles went slack. “Thank you, Doctor Michaels.”

  “Thank me after I’m finished examining you. Do you mind?” Dr. Michaels addressed the question to Volac, who rolled his eyes but stepped aside.

  “I’ll be here when he’s finished,” Volac declared when the nurse pulled the curtain around Satan’s bed.

  Satan nodded.

  The doctor’s examination didn’t take long. He checked the x-rays that had been taken earlier and determined that Satan had three broken ribs, a fractured sternum, a broken nose, and a cracked jaw. After advising Satan not to exert himself and to stick to his bed for at least two weeks, the doctor departed.

  Volac, Styrofoam coffee cup in hand, stepped back into the room. He crooked a brow.

  “Peasy stuff. Couple broken ribs. What time is it?”

  Volac checked the steel watch on his wrist. “Sixteen hundred. Why?”

  “It’s still Carnival Monday, right?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  Volac had the tenacity of a pit bull and the dogged stubbornness of a mule. Satan smiled and immediately flinched. He knew from experience that the split lip would be the most inconvenient of his injuries. He figured it would also be the most frustrating because he yearned to kiss the stuffing out of Angel. To wrap her in his arms and heal her with his love and devotion.

  “I want us stateside pronto. Any chance of us finding a jet?” Satan didn’t hold out any hope for them leaving ASAP. He remembered the chaos of Carnival and that had been over two and a half decades ago.

  “Rutger’s ready and waiting. All it takes is one call. The U.S. Ambassador’s residence has a helipad, and it’s ten minutes from here—even with all the fucking Carnival traffic.” Volac pulled out his cell.

  “Do it.” Satan relaxed. He wanted Angel to awake in a familiar environment, in his home, and in his bed.

  They landed at the Long Island executive airport at midnight.

  Angel surfaced briefly when they transferred her from the stretcher into the limo. “Satan?”

  He hunched over her and gently grazed her cheek with his palm. “Right here, my Angel. We’re all good. Back in the U.S. and heading to our house. No worries.”

  She tried to smile, moaned, touched a finger to her cut lip, and grimaced. She blinked a couple of times and then looked right at him. “You forgive me?”

  “I love you. And there’s nothing to forgive. Rest easy, darlin’. I got this.” He lifted her head into his lap.

  “Me too. Love you,” she mumbled and promptly fell asleep.

  Forty-five minutes later, he had Angel tucked under his arm, and they both were lying on his bed. The adrenalin mission-high that had sustained him thus far slowly drained away. He fell asleep in the middle of composing a to-do list.

  Satan awoke when Angel shifted in her sleep and draped an arm over one of his broken ribs. He sucked in air, captured her wrist, and placed her palm near his collarbone. The slight adjustment interrupted her snoozing. She craned her neck, and met his gaze.

  He smiled, stifled a flinch, and kissed the top of her head. “Promise me you’ll be right here a year from now. In case you didn’t guess, I’m taking in front.”

  She grinned and immediately winced. “Ouch. It hurts to laugh, damn it.”

  “I know.” But he couldn’t stopper a grin. “It’ll take a week to heal.”

  “I guess you’ve had this happen before.” She trailed a finger over her injured lip.

  “A few times. Are you going to promise me?” He didn’t intend to let her change the subject.

  “So, just like that all is forgiven?” She frowned up at him.

  “I almost lost you, Angel. That fact straightened out my priorities and sure as shit made me face my feelings. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want—need to be able to protect you. I have issues to deal with, my PTSD claustrophobia, unresolved anger—”

  “Stop, stop. I love you, too. And I know we have things to resolve, but can we take this one day at a time? I need to sort myself out and I don’t know if I can do that around you.” She bent her head and pointed to his morning wood. “I’m not feeling very sexual right now and I’m well aware of your strong sex drive.”

  “Hush, my Angel. What you’re looking at is a simple physical reaction. You’re covered with bruises and burns. You can’t believe I’d expect you to want to make love right now. As for taking it one day at a time, that’s fine. But there’s no way in hell that I’m going to allow you out of my sight. I need you near me. I need to know you’re safe.” He sna
red her glance. “Yaman Moses is still alive and right now, we don’t know his location.”

  She shuddered, closed her eyes, and her mouth trembled. “I was trying not to remember. He’s a monster. He enjoyed hurting me.”

  “And he’ll pay for that. You feel strong enough to tell me what happened?” He thumbed a circle on the cusp of her shoulder and stamped down a gnawing rage simmering in his veins. The purpling bruise on her chin, the reddened burn circles on her cleavage demanded revenge.

  “I want to have a shower first. I need to feel clean again. He made me feel so soiled and dirty.” She eased into a sitting position and fingered the hem of the pajama top she wore. “I don’t remember much after they buried us.”

  “It’ll come back.” With a vengeance, but she didn’t need to know that right then. He braced himself for the pain, rolled off the mattress into a hunched standing position, and helped her to get off the bed. “A shower it is. I’ll also draw you a bath. It’ll help you to heal faster and will also ensure the burns don’t get infected.”

  Her eyes lit up. “A bath sounds heavenly.”

  They walked slowly to the bathroom.

  Angel stopped suddenly. She turned to look up at him. “You really did buy a black sheepskin rug.”

  Satan had totally forgotten about the dammed carpet. His face warmed. He smoothed a lock of hair behind her ears and their stare locked. “I should’ve known then. I never act on impulse.”

  Angel’s mouth curved. “Ouch.”

  He hated her hurting. “Let’s get you in the tub. The steam will help your dry lips.”

  She nodded, unbuttoned her top, and eased the cotton off her arms. “This isn’t mine.”

  “Nikar, he led the Hades Squad team that rescued us, got it for you.” He wasn’t about to let her know Nikar actually stole the garments and a few others from the Down The Islands’ home he had commandeered.

  He insisted on showering with her to ensure she didn’t hurt herself. While she brushed her teeth and pinned her hair on top of her head, he drew a lavender-scented Epson salts bath. After settling her in the sunken tub, he joined her, his movements slow, but steady. He twined their fingers together and they soaked in silence for a while.

  “I promise.”

  The soft whisper fueled Notre Dame bell-ringing in his head. He opened his eyes to find her staring at him. Tears streamed down her cheek. She had been crying in silence. Her agony stabbed his heart. He gently wiped away the moist tracks. “Say it for me. Please.”

  “I promise you a year from now I’ll wake up in your bed.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “I realized that the reverse was true. That I had almost been the cause of your death. You risked your life to save me.”

  He frowned. “Don’t stay with me because of gratitude or a debt you feel you owe. Stay with me because you want to. Because you love me.”

  “I do love you, and I want to stay with you.”

  “But?”

  “You don’t do relationships. Not for long anyways.”

  “I hadn’t met the right woman. I have now. And I’m not letting her out of my orbit.” He kissed the back of her hand and glimpsed the wrinkled tips of her fingers. “You’re pruning. It’s time to get out. We can have another soak tonight.”

  He got out first, helped her, grabbed a towel from the warmer, and gently wrapped the soft cotton around her. “I’ll get you a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.”

  She smiled and flinched. “I have to remember not to smile.”

  “Vaseline will help ease the stiffness and the pain.” He opened the medicine cabinet. His battered ribs complained when he reached for the tub of Vaseline and handed it to her.

  He snatched the other towel, dried himself, tied the cotton around his waist, and they both traipsed back to the bedroom. They helped each other dress and when they were clothed, Satan insisted Angel sit on the bench for a few minutes.

  “I’m fine, Satan. I don’t need to be coddled. What’re you doing anyway?”

  He had walked around to the short table on his side of the bed and was digging in the drawer. A quick over-the-shoulder glance revealed her pushing to a standing position. Satan retrieved the angel pendant and chain and strode to stand in front of Angel. He dangled his Christmas gift. “I’d like you to wear it again. Will you?”

  A lone tear crawled down her cheek. She nodded. “I hated taking it off.”

  She shifted to give him her back and gathered her curls high.

  Satan hooked the necklace, kissed her nape, and whispered, “I love you, Angel.”

  She pivoted and his breath caught at the love shimmering in her blue eyes. “I love you too, Satan.”

  He slid his thumb over her uninjured top lip and then his own. “That’ll have to do for a while, darlin’.”

  “I know.”

  He laced their fingers together. “Food?”

  “Please.”

  They slogged down the stairs, and plodded to the kitchen.

  Right after he brewed two cups of coffee his home security alarm pinged.

  “What’s that?” Angel asked, her eyes wide and wary.

  It would take a while for her not to startle at any sudden or new sounds, Satan knew. He hated that she now knew violence first hand. No longer would she wallow in the safety of those ignorant of the horrors that could befall them.

  “My alarm system. I arranged to have Jess do some shopping for you until you feel well enough to shop for yourself. Jess has a key. So do Destiny and Jacinta.” He handed her a mug.

  “Hello, hello.” The cheery greeting preceded the arrival of Destiny, Jess, and Jacinta, followed by Demon, Devil, and Sinner.

  Satan had ordered his team to stay away until he signaled otherwise. Angel knew and liked Jess, and that was why he’d asked Jess to shop for Angel.

  Jess, he had expected, but not the others. Stifling a string of expletives, Satan shot Angel a quick dart, and let out a relieved exhale. She appeared more curious and puzzled than upset or angry.

  “You’re traveling in packs these days?” Satan knew the arrival of the squad meant crap had happened. He addressed his question to Sinner. “What’s wrong?”

  Sinner grimaced. He ignored Satan entirely and concentrated on Angel. “Hello, Angel. How’re you feeling?”

  “Alive. I don’t believe we’ve actually met. Which one are you?” She extended her hand.

  Sinner ignored Angel’s outstretched hand, placed his hands on her shoulders, leaned down, and kissed her forehead. “We’re family now. I’m Sinner, and this is my better half, Destiny.”

  “I want to hug you, but Sinner warned me not to until your bruises heal. Are you in a ton of pain? I made chicken soup.” Destiny exuded a vibrant energy, and the large tub of soup she carried bounced in time to her rocking motion.

  “If you made it, then I’m sure it’ll be astounding. I’ve wanted to thank you for all the yummy meals I ate here. Why don’t I put the soup in the fridge for later?” Angel made as if to rise.

  “You stay put, Angel. Believe me, I know this kitchen. I’ll put it away. Jess, why don’t you show Angel all the goodies you bought?” Destiny spun about and headed for the fridge.

  Jess set a dozen large plastic bags on the island’s counter. “I bought everything I could think of that you would need starting a wardrobe from scratch. Satan told me to spare no expense. It’s been a long time since I’ve had so much fun spending someone else’s money. This is my better half, Dominix, aka Devil.”

  Satan swept Angel a surreptitious peek, and repressed a grin when he caught her giving Devil a folded-arms once-over.

  “Nice to finally meet you, Devil. Your reputation precedes you. But in spite of that, Jess loves you to death, so you must have some redeeming qualities.” Though Angel started her statement with a glower, by the time she finished, a hint of a grin played at the corners of her mouth.

  “That was his rep before he met me, Angel. I have absolute faith in my husband.” Jess
kissed Devil’s cheek. “I expect you two to get along terrifically, so find some middle ground pronto.”

  Satan realized Angel was feeling protective of Jess. The notion warmed his heart. His Angel was going to be a way over-protective mom.

  Devil marched to Angel and he too kissed her brow. “Welcome to the squad, Angel. If this big lug gets on your nerves, give me a call, and I’ll go a round with him.”

  “Don’t you dare go there. Satan’s injured. What kind of friend are you?” Angel glared at Devil and darted Satan a glower.

  “She defended Jess, and now she’s defending you—ain’t that cute? I like her.” Devil flicked Angel’s nose.

  “Pay no pardon to Devil. I’m Jacinta. Devil loves to be the coquette.” Jacinta tossed her dark waves back over one shoulder and shifted to stand next to Devil.

  Angel’s brows crooked. “Coquette?”

  “I’m Demon. English isn’t Jacinta’s first language, and she delights in bastardizing the language. What my wife means is that Devil loves to tease.” Demon, twice the height of his petite wife, bear-hugged Jacinta from behind.

  “Is not a coquette a tease? Truly, the English makes less and less sense to me.” Jacinta threw her hands in the air. “You are from Trinidad, no Angel? Perhaps you speak Spanish?”

  “Speak the language? Not really, I have no grammar, but I can get the gist of a conversation if you speak slowly.” Angel’s expression had morphed from curious to puzzled to befuddled.

  Satan knew it was time to play quarterback. “I’m guessing this isn’t a short visit. Shall we retire to the library?”

  Satan linked his hand with Angel’s and finger-tipped her chin. “Do you want to go back upstairs?”

  “No. I’m good. It’s nice to finally meet everyone.” Angel didn’t appear to be in pain or uncomfortable.

  “Since when don’t we count as part of everyone?” The booming declaration came from the kitchen’s doorway.

  Satan glimpsed Nikar and Jinn, followed by Volac strolling toward him and Angel.

  Nikar halted in front of Angel, and he studied her from bare toes to the top of her damp curls. “You’ve got your color back. That’s good. Here’s the rest of the pain pills the doc prescribed. I’m guessing, since you’re both up and around, that last night’s morphine shots haven’t worn off.”