Satan

by Jianne Carlo

  A door slammed. The sound came from outside. Angel pried apart the curtains and peered out. She caught a glimpse of Satan’s profile when the lights on the porte-cochere clicked on.

  In a mad panic to hear what had happened, she scrambled her robe on, and dashed out of the room. She ran down the hallway, took the stairs two at a time, and arrived on the bottom landing right as Satan walked through the door.

  He caught sight of her, grinned, and stretched his arms wide.

  She flew into his embrace, titled her head back, and asked, “Yaman Moses?”

  “Dead. Heart attack.” He finger combed a curl behind her ear.

  “Heart attack? No kidding? Where? When? How?” It was finally over. The Ghost was dead.

  “Everyone will want to know. Come on. We’ll join the others.” He tugged her to the living room. All the Hades Squad members and the wives were already seated, as were all the adult Chapmans including, Gavin and Colleen.

  Angel tiptoed to whisper, “Gavin and Colleen are supposed to be here?”

  “You bet. They’re family.” He led her to an oversize chair, sat, and pulled her onto his lap.

  Heat scalded her cheeks, but when she peeked at Gavin and Colleen, they didn’t seem surprised by Satan’s actions.

  When his cock hardened beneath her bottom, her face flamed. She whispered, “Satan. Not in front of Mr. and Mrs. Chapman.”

  “They can’t see my boner,” he teased, and brushed his lips to the tip of her nose. “Nikar, why don’t you do the honors?”

  Nikar turned red. “Not much to tell. We were on our way to intercept Yaman Moses’ boat, when the coastguard flew by us. They’d had an emergency call from the yacht. Apparently Yaman Moses and a few friends were heading up to The Hamptons—he owns a home there. He was having dinner with the four couples travelling with him and collapsed during the dessert round. They called the coastguard, but he died before they got there.”

  “Why were you gone all day, then?”

  “We recognized some of the crew. Hung around because we wanted to talk to them.” Nikar’s color heightened with each word he uttered.

  “Translation—we broke the fingers and the odd arm or wrist of every man who touched you.” Satan’s soft whisper belied the menace in his tone.

  She digested the information in silence. A thought occurred to her. “Who were the couples on board?”

  “Dr. Harry White and Mrs. Prudence White, he’s a Philosophy professor at the University of the West Indies. One Frank and Bridget de Souza, Lionel and Madge Field, and Amit and Rita Singh. Know any of them?”

  “Not really. I’ve heard of Dr. White. The de Souzas are a large family and I’ve met a few of them, but I don’t remember either a Frank or a Bridget. You think any of them knew about Yaman? About who he really was?” Yaman Moses was dead. Dead, as in not alive, her brother was avenged, and she was gloriously alive. The dread that had tensed her muscles all day dissipated, but what if any of the people on the boat were part of his terrorist cell? What if they knew Yaman was after her and Satan? Would they be coming after them, too?

  “That was another reason for our delay. We sat in—without them knowing—on the coastguard’s interrogation of all of the passengers and crew. I checked out all of them. As far as I can tell, Yaman was using the couples as cover,” Lucifer answered her question.

  “Nikar also identified one of the crew as one of the men who was tailing Satan. Once we had a handle on him, things fell into place.” Satan explained.

  “It’s obvious in hindsight. Malik Mansoor hated Satan for helping Farida. He captured Satan and almost had him executed for raping Farida, when he was the one who raped her in the first place. Satan took out Malik. The Ghost, aka Yaman Moses, was obsessed with torturing and killing Satan because Satan killed his son, Malik,” Devil clarified.

  Angel couldn’t believe her ears. She caught Satan’s jaw. “Who is Farida? You didn’t really rape her, did you?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Four hours later, Satan asked Angel, “You really thought me capable of rape?”

  They were in the master bedroom lounging on the bed. He wore sweats. She wore one of his T-shirts and socks, her glorious hair tumbled in a wild disarray over her shoulders. The post-mission adrenalin that had resulted in a wham-bang-thank-you-ma’am fucking was slowly dissipating from his veins.

  “Of course not. But Malik made Martin execute five sets of prisoners. Every morning he’d bring Martin ten women and children and tell him they were all going to die if Martin didn’t carry out the executions. To prove he meant it, he would pick the youngest of the batch and shoot him.” She shot him an anxious glance. “You’ve read Martin’s letter.”

  “I have.” Satan didn’t intend to tell her that if he were in Martin’s place—he simply would have killed himself with the sword used for the beheadings.

  “I think I’m ready to hear everything now, Satan. I think I need to know everything.” Angel sidled closer to him on the bed and sat in a cross-legged position so she faced him.

  “You realize much of what I’ll divulge is guesswork on our part.” Satan would’ve preferred to hold her while explaining everything, but knew she needed to see his face, to see the run of emotions playing over his features.

  He told her about Afghanistan, about Farida, the medical center, and Malik’s rape of Farida. “Malik somehow discovered that Farida had confided in me. He knew I’d take him out. He and his men stormed the medical facility while we were there. They then took over Farida’s village. They put me in a box that was four feet square, and six inches deep and only let me out twice a day—mainly to torture me.”

  She leaned forward to rub her lips over his cheek. “That’s where your claustrophobia comes from.”

  It was more a statement than a question. “Yes. You kept me sane in that coffin, my Angel.”

  “You came for me. We’re even Steven. Go on. What happened next?”

  “Farida accused Malik of rape and Malik charged me with the crime. He forced the local judge to try the case—of me raping Farida. The judge had no choice, Malik literally had a machine gun to his head. Farida was sentenced to death by stoning. They forced everyone in the village to take part, and made me and Farida’s family watch.” He closed his eyes. He would hear Farida’s screams and see her crumpling for the rest of his life.

  “You killed Malik.”

  Her soft declaration surprised the crap out of him. He studied her features. She didn’t appear in the least bit perturbed.

  “Over Thanksgiving last year. I had feelers out for Malik after Farida’s stoning, and got a promising hit the week before Thanksgiving. Malik was in Afghanistan. I took out him and most of his men. Three escaped. I’m guessing that’s how Yaman Moses found out it was me.”

  She scooted onto his lap, framed his face, and shot him a look so filled with love and empathy, his chest ached. “I love you for hurting for Farida still. But you got Malik. He’ll never rape or kill again.”

  “Thank you, my one Angel.” He kissed her palm.

  She straightened and sighed. “Like father, like son. It’s rumored that Yaman raped his employees at whim. Only he favored young males. When Yaman had me, every time they came to take me to him, I braced myself for a gang rape. It never happened. You’ve never asked me that question, Satan. Why?”

  “That was the first question I asked the Trinidad doctor, Dr. Michaels, after he finished examining you. He said your genitals weren’t bruised or swollen, and though he did a rape test, he expected it to be negative. I called him the day after we came back stateside. It was negative. Did anyone hurt you, sexually?” He kept his focus on her, checking for any telltale signs of guilt or shame.

  She glanced at him. “The man who made me sign the legal documents to give control of my shares in the bank over to Yaman Moses felt me up. I spat at him.”

  “Did you see any of Yaman’s men?”

  She glowered at him. “I told Rutger when he debriefed me, no. Ex
cept for Yaman, everyone wore hoods. You think we’ll ever find out what happened to those documents?”

  “No. But. I can guarantee you that they’ll destroyed them. It’s too dangerous to keep those documents.”

  He didn’t intend to let her know that he was actively hunting the English accented man she’d described and the asshole who’d felt her up after forcing her to sign the documents. There was a slim to none chance of finding them, but he’d keep trying for the rest of his life.

  “I’m curious about something. Why did you still have a disposable cell when we met?”

  She blushed. “Because the telephone sales guys kept coming onto me and they confused me. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure what plan or service provider to choose. I hate stuff like that.”

  “You’re so cute when you’re annoyed.”

  “That’s so condescendingly macho. Short people are cute. It’s impossible to be tall and cute.”

  Her narrow-eyed glower proved cuter than a button, but he wisely refrained from saying that. Instead, he changed the topic. “What’re you going to do about Haven? And your ‘Hostess with the Mostest’ stint at WBCN?”

  She ducked her head and shot him a side-peek. “I spoke with Indira a couple of days ago. She’s pregnant, much to her surprise. She’s been married for eight years and they’ve been trying for most of that time. She’s ecstatic, of course, and she’s decided she wants to be a full-time mom.”

  “How do you feel about that?” He burned to ask her how she felt about motherhood.

  “I’m thrilled for her. She’s wanted a baby for as long as I’ve known her. And I fully understand about her needing to stay home. I’d want that too. I’m going to take back the helm of Haven, for the time being. I’m going to continue to actively search for a new CEO though.” She grabbed a pillow and squished it into her lap. “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

  Satan wondered why her cheeks had gone red and why she suddenly found the black satin pillowcase fascinating. “I’ll bite. Why?”

  “Because when I get pregnant, I want to be a full-time mom, too. At least until our kids start school. Then, maybe—”

  He grabbed her into his arms and shifted so they both lay on their sides and face-to-face. A humungous lump in his throat prevented him from uttering a single syllable and an embarrassing wetness blurred his vision for a few seconds.

  “Satan?” The tentative whisper together with the wariness in her blue eyes brought him back to the present. But the image of a little baby girl with Angel’s features swarmed his brain. “We, we haven’t talked about, you know, kids. Do you want children?”

  “You bet.” He didn’t recognize his own croaky voice.

  A tremulous smile crooked her lips. “I kind of envied Colleen when I was at the Chapmans. I mean, I don’t want eleven kids, but—”

  Jesus, he loved her. Satan slanted his lips over hers and lost himself in the magic of their fused mouths. No frantic mating this time, but a slow, languorous loving instead, the cherished joining he’d been yearning to have with her in forever.

  Much later, when dawn began to thread faint peachy rays through the slight part in the curtains, Satan cuddled Angel close to his side, and dropped a kiss on her hair. “So, if not eleven, how many?”

  She tipped her head back to look at him. “Four or five? Of course, I’m saying that without knowing what pregnancy and delivery will be like. And I may change my mind totally after the first one.”

  He smirked. “It looks like we’re doomed to play our relationship by ear. Sounds good to me. Let’s work on the first kid and then figure things out.”

  She averted her gaze. “We sort of already are.”

  “What?” He caught her chin and forced their stares to collide.

  “I had the doctor take out the implant the week he gave me a clean bill of health.”

  His glance dropped to her stomach. He splayed his hand over her belly. Their child could be growing inside her right now. There wasn’t a fucking thing he could do to prevent the tear that leaked from one eye.

  “Are you angry with me?” Her fingertips grazed his cheek.

  “I never dreamed I could be this happy. I had always thought I’d be the last of the Metaxas line.” He brushed his lips over hers. “Thank you, Angel, for this most precious gift of all.”

  “I’m not pregnant yet. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I mean, it took Indira eight years—Metaxas?” She pursed her mouth. “I seem to remember you saying that before. Now, I’ve got. It was when you told me about your father and his horrible abortion tale. I don’t get it.”

  “Metaxas is my father’s surname. McGuillycuddy is the surname of my great-great grandfather. When I told my father I was going to enlist, he gave me a choice—enlist and be disowned—or join the family firm and inherit the Metaxas fortune. I changed my name and then enlisted. It was a stupid adolescent reaction.” The Chapman family were the only ones privy to Satan’s legal flipping the bird at his father.

  Her eyes went wider than a round spaceship. “But you inherited the fortune, didn’t you?”

  He grimaced. “I did. My father left everything to my mother and my mother left everything to me, provided I retook the Metaxas name. There’s no stipulation that I have to use it.”

  “Is this you giving your father the finger?” She placed her warm palms on either side of his face.

  “Not any more. I’ve simply been too busy to decide what to do about the whole bizarre surname situation, but if we’re going to have a baby, that’ll have to change.” He picked up her hand, kissed the vein throbbing on the underside of her wrist, and set both their hands over her belly. “I don’t care either way.”

  She flashed him a lop-sided grin. “Neither do I. You never cease to amaze me, you know that? So, I could be either Mrs. McGuillycuddy or Mrs. Metaxas? Hmmm…”

  “Have you given any thought to a wedding date? Or a location?” He knuckled her cheek and marveled anew at the soft, silky texture.

  “Not really. Have you?

  “I have. What about a wedding in the Alps? I own part of a quaint lodge in the mountains of the Swiss Alps. We could honeymoon there and you can tick off all your winter to dos.”

  She shrieked. “We could have a winter wedding with candles and snow falling and then have a great dinner before a roaring fire…but, don’t you want to have the squad there? It’ll be too expensive. And what about all the Chapmans? Good Lord, if there are eleven grown brothers and sisters, how many little Chapmans are there?”

  “A dozen and a half at last counting. Darlin’, I’m rich. I’ll hire a jet, and we’ll take everyone.” He had to smile when her face glowed, but then her mouth canted down. She went from ecstatic to distressed on a breath.

  “What? What’s wrong now?” He nibbled her ear.

  She batted at him. “Stop that. I can’t think when you do that. I kind of feel guilty about such extravagance. Why don’t we go to Utah instead? It’ll be a ton cheaper.”

  He killed himself laughing. His belly ached he guffawed so hard.

  Angel frowned at him, then chuckled, frowned again, and finally shook her head in exasperation.

  When he finally regained control, he swiped the laugh-tears away.

  She planted her hands on her hips. “What was so funny?”

  “All my adult life, and even during my adolescent years, women have thrown themselves at me. For my money. To spend as much of my money as they can. Or have me spend my money on them. And then I find the woman I love, and she tries to penny-pinch our wedding. That settles it. Colleen Chapman and I are going to plan this wedding. Next thing I know you’ll be putting everyone up at a Red Roof Inn.”

  “Are you nuts? A bride’s supposed to plan her own wedding. Are you going to choose my wedding dress for me too?” Her offended expression transmitted into her plaintive tone. He checked to make sure no smoke spewed from her ears.

  “Have I told you how adorable you are when you’re annoyed?” He kissed the t
ip of her nose.

  “I am so going to brain you if you say that one more time.”

  “I hate having to leave you.” He knuckled her cheek.

  “Where are you going?” She looped her arms around his neck.

  “Work, darlin’. You can come if you want?” He captured her wrist and nosed her palm.

  “No. Thanks for the invite, but I think I need to get a few things settled. Like maybe putting my condo on the rent market?” She studied him intently.

  “Yes. Sell it if you want. Angel, you know that I need to have you here with me, right? For always?” His heart pounded his chest so ferociously he couldn’t think.

  “I couldn’t be apart from you if I tried. I love you, Satan. I want to be with you forever.” She caressed his jaw.

  “I’ll be back around six-ish. Dress up. We’re going out for dinner tonight.”

  Forty minutes, Satan met with the entire team in the boardroom of the Hades Squad corporate headquarters. He glanced down the table and wondered what the guys would think of his news. Clearing his throat, he said, “Nikar, you called this meeting, want to take the reins?”

  “I’ve been going through the recordings and pics from the rescue in Balmoral Bay. Suffice to say, as we suspected, one of the hoodie tangos was Yaman Moses.” Nikar pointed a remote and a screen descended from the ceiling. “Get the lights for me, Jinn.”

  Jinn, who was seated closest to the door, tipped his chair back, and fist-checked the switched on the wall. The room darkened, save for the reflection of Nikar’s laptop’s display on the screen.

  Nikar’s fingers flew over the keyboard.

  “Okay. This is the tango who wore the black hoodie. I put together his profile by combining different angled pics. This is the composite.” He paused for a few seconds. “This is Yaman Moses profile. Now, these are the two side by side.”

  Devil whistled. “One and the same. Good work. Moses is dead, and he was black hoodie tango. One tango down, two to go. I’m assuming there’s more than the confirmation of the identity of a dead man, Nik?”