The Bastard (Baddest Boys in History)

by Inez Kelley

  “Damn, Zale, that’s cold,” Myth muttered.

  “It’s the truth.”

  Zale couldn’t voice a lie. But he could side-step the truth better than a pro. Gen died and Vike had done nothing but his job. He’d protected the Scion. Losing Gen had been like swallowing barbed wire. It hurt and would hurt for a long fucking time. Guilt was simply a bonus.

  Locking his furious gaze on his general, he vowed revenge. “But you can die, asswipe.”

  Zale stood, wobbling a bit before his shoulders pulled back. The bloody towel fell away, hitting the floor with a wet smack. “True, but I’m not that easy to kill. Your enemies have less to worry about than your friends.”

  He calmly walked to the elevator and pressed the Up button, oblivious to the wet red cascading down his spine. Before the doors slid shut, he saluted Vike.

  “It wasn’t my fault!”

  Frustration erupted with his battle cry. Frenzy fueled his muscles and he powered up, shaking both Rex and Myth like a dog shakes off fleas. The Forsaken backed away as his sword formed in his hand. They darted out of the room as he hefted the blade. He felt the madness blazing in his eyes, burning like hot coals. Every ounce of pain over Gen’s death poured into him and he lashed out.

  The couch was his first victim, guilty only of being closer than anything else. His blade flew and destruction fell. The coffee table exploded, sending shards of wood into the air. The plasma screens crashed from the wall in piles of sparking wires and electric fizzles.

  Memory slammed into him. Gen’s laugh, his battle cry, the fear in his eyes as Second Death approached. It morphed to flashes of Lacy, the two blending in his heart. He’d lost them both. Vike screamed and swung. Balls scattered like rats as the pool table was reduced to patches of green felt and Plexiglas. DVDs flew in all directions and the sound system split into several chunks. Nothing went unscathed but it wasn’t enough. He still hurt. He needed more damage.

  Moonlight streamed in the kitchen window, filtering over the divider. He turned with a snarl. His feet moved, propelling him through the doorway. Hot pants dried his mouth as he fixed on the bright splash of color framing the window. Confusion swarmed in, then cleared with a slam of his heart.

  Lacy’s curtains.

  The kitchen was her domain though it had stood in numerous variations for decades before she was born. His hand curled in the fabric and her face filled his mind. The swags were ruffled frilly things with garden flowers along the border. He’d watched her add them to the online shopping cart along with cotton bras and sweatpants and tee shirts but said nothing, merely handed her his credit card, enjoying her delight.

  Why curtains? His index finger brushed a yellow bloom. She brought color and life to this room, to this place, to his life. Realization smacked him upside the head. This fabric garden was Lacy’s stamp, a stake to say she was here and this was where she felt in control.

  He looked around. A dishtowel hung on the oven handle to dry. A grocery list was stuck on the corkboard. Beside it was a directory of the Forsaken’s cell numbers, both lists in purple pen. The kettle sat ready to fill in the morning and the mug he’d bought her, the deep green one, waited beside the pot. An old portable radio was tucked in the corner. He pressed the ON button and country music burst to life. Lacy’s station.

  His blood still pumped, but clarity descended. Lacy had irrevocably changed H2Q. He could never enter this room and not smell bread baking or a stew simmering, not see her smiling face as she measured and scrubbed and laughed while taking care of them all. This kitchen was hers and could never belong to anyone else. Just like him.

  He wasn’t a hero. He was a Viking. He was a Forsaken. It was time to stop believing in fairy tales and accept the truth.

  Fear grabbed hold of his gut. She was out there where the Third could get her. Dray stood guard but it wasn’t right. Vike had vowed to protect her. He was going to protect her whether she liked it or not. Nothing could repair what they’d lost. But he could keep her safe, damn it.

  He would make sure she lived long enough to build the natural Immunity that prevented Leeches from hurting her again. Then he’d let her go, let her curse and hate him until she was old and gray. His love would last long enough for the both of them.

  He called his weapons to his tattoo and bolted through the common room, dodging the debris and heading for the medi-room. The glass-fronted cabinet was an antique Nomad had bought when it was new. It had no lock. Vike rummaged through the vials and bottles, boxes and packages until he found what he wanted. It was in the back, half-full and with a fine layer of dust along the bottle top. He blew it away and grabbed a handful of cloth.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Rex stood, one hand on the doorframe.

  “It’s time to go a’viking.”

  “And that means what? Does it involve killing another pinball machine because that was so not cool. It was vintage, dude.”

  Cold liquid sloshed over his hand as he slammed the bottle to the counter. “I can’t bring Gen back, but I can Lacy.”

  “And she has no choice in the matter, I see.” Rex eyed the soaked cloth Vike was shoving into a plastic bag. “Nothing says ‘I love you’ quite like chloroform.”

  Vike ignored him. He jammed the bag in his pocket and moved toward the patio. Rex fell into step with him. “Two thousand years and I’ve never been involved with a kidnapping. Should be fun.”

  They Leaped into the vacant lot beside Annie’s new rental. The house was smaller, cheaper and less well maintained. Vike’s senses skyrocketed. This area wasn’t safe for a human woman and could be a death trap for a Scion on Samael’s radar. A low vibration of evil warmed his Mark. The non-descript sedan from H2Q sat one house away and the driver’s side was empty.

  The muscles in Vike’s jaw knotted. “Where the fuck is Dray?”

  “Behind you, dipshit.”

  Dray sat on a rusted barrel top eating Skittles. With his black hair and black clothing, he was more disembodied voice than physical presence.

  “At least one Leech is watching but they haven’t shown themselves. Other than a stray cat, haven’t seen shit. Lacy’s about two-and-a-half sheets to the wind and her sister is playing bartender. So what’s the plan?”

  “Bring Lacy home,” Vike breathed. “No matter how much she resists.”

  Dray emptied the bag of candy into his mouth. “And the sister?”

  “Don’t need her. Take the bedroom window. Rex, check for a way in the back. I’m going through the front door.”

  Rex melted into the dark as Dray hopped from the barrel. His teeth flashed in the moonlight. “Fair warning. I’m copping a feel of that sister’s ass.”

  Samael punched the End button. He wouldn’t have answered, but he had millions of dollars riding on that deal. Although he could afford to lose it, he despised losing anything. He rubbed his thumb against the bridge of his nose, trying to massage away what was quickly becoming a headache. It might be time to hand this business off to one of his Chiefs and move on. The excitement of controlling wealth, of moving behind the monetary scene to shape things, had long since lost its allure.

  His second in command, Ashmedai, could take over easily, Sam mused as his gaze caressed his bounty. Finely cut crystal soul-boxes lined the shelves twenty high on three sides. This was but one of several of his Scion soul-box depositories. Satisfaction carved his smile bone deep and he chuckled, reaching out to stroke one cold box. Inside, the soul he’d stolen shrieked in terror. His eyes closed at the wonderful sound of suffering.

  Ash had done well with this one. This Scion feared heights and so Ash had placed him at the top of a pinnacle, the tip not more than three inches wide. Below him waited a drop of miles, the bottom a distant black of nothingness. Just for pure fun, he’d send sharp, hard winds to rock the Scion on his precarious perch. Or maybe pelting ice to numb his gripping fingers. Or a swooping dragon diving and snapping fierce teeth causing the Scion to flinch and sway.

  If he ever tumbled
off the peak, Ash let him fall, let him choke on the fear of falling for three excruciating days before his body slammed into solid granite. The pain would last for a week without end and then in a blink, his Holy ass would be back on top of that pinnacle. It was simple, pure, evil genius.

  Early in creation, the Vangelus had been randy bastards and spread their Holy seed far and wide. Unfortunately, most of the Seven’s bloodlines had died out before he’d began his quest to reclaim Paradise. So he’d made-do and gathered countless numbers of regular weak human souls to up his fighting chances in his bid to take over Heaven, stealing that precious dust before the Heavenly Gleaners could swoop in on invisible wings and whisk their Holy asses to paradise to await the End of Days.

  He’d focused his Chiefs on living Scion. His legions had killed most of them, or caused their death. Slowly, his soul-sleeping intended army grew, one by one, Minion by Minion and Leech by Leech.

  Sam’s hand fell to a waiting spot, a void in the line of soul-boxes. Every single one of his secret hiding places boasted such a spot in anticipation of finding the elusive Scionim. He had waited so long, hoped so hard.

  And then, he’d stumbled across Lacy Cooper.

  She’d handed him change for a twenty when he’d stopped for cheap coffee at some trashy diner after a weekend skiing with his latest banking clients. One touch and he knew. She was special. The song of the Scion was a beautiful blood tune, but hers was different. It was stronger, on an unusual octave, carried a more resonating cadence. Not just Scion, but Scionim. She belonged to one of the glorious Seven. She was his Unholy Grail.

  He’d nearly danced with glee when he discovered she had a sister, but of course, that hadn’t worked out. The other was defective. It merely placed Lacy higher on his ‘must possess’ list. In fact, she was his number one goal at this minute.

  Although his Chiefs were powerful, they had lost some of their gifts when the Creator cast them from Paradise. He alone could hear the difference in her blood song. The sweet melody of Holy blood pumping in Lacy’s body was a precious secret he kept. She was his Scionim and his alone. He would share her with no one, not even his Chiefs.

  Ruefully, he realized he’d made an error when he sent the Soul-Leeches after her. He’d wanted her alive, just dazed enough to not cause problems as they carried her to him. It would have worked if he’d factored in the Forsaken. Damn, he hated those bastards. Always taking what he’d stolen and generally being a thorn in his ass-crack. Why wouldn’t they die off already? One of his greatest wishes was to have all of them reduced to dust with Sela on her knees before him. He bet she gave great head. She’d been with Michael long enough and there was no bigger dickhead in the universe.

  They’d found his oldest stash, the one beneath the sacred Jerusalem mount. A laugh echoed back to him. He’d have paid to see Sela’s face when she realized there were no Scion there. He was always one step ahead of the Vangeli and always would be. The Forsaken had claimed some soul-dust but no pearls. Those belonged to him, as Lacy Cooper would soon be his for eternity.

  His phone rang out with INXS’ ‘Devil Inside’. His eyes narrowed. Ramiel, his Chief Enforcer, never called him unless… His heart raced.

  “Remy?”

  “We’re ready, Master.”

  “Where?” His body quivered in eagerness.

  “Cairo.”

  “How many?”

  Remy’s grin was loud in his voice. “Nine. I’ve been busy this decade.”

  Nine. Nine more Scion who’d broken under Ramiel’s sadistic thumb, who begged for mercy and vowed to obey Samael’s every command. An irritating holdover from their heavenly ancestors, Scion were stubbornly hard to crack. But once they made that vow, he owned them. A few years and they would be well trained Minions in his army.

  “You’ve done well and will be rewarded for your service.”

  “My only wish is your pleasure, Master.”

  As it should be. Sam grinned. “But…”

  Remy coughed, a sound others might mistake for shyness but Sam knew better. Remy’s deviant sexual tastes paled only to his own. “It has been a long time since we’ve celebrated together.”

  Remy’s version of celebrating made orgies look like Sunday school brunches. The Fallen Vangeli definitely knew how to party. A wave of Sam’s hand resealed the hidden cavern in the mountains of Jordan. Anticipation quickened his steps as he left the forgotten Crusader’s Chapel near Karak. The ancient stronghold was in ruins but beneath the ground, a treasure worth more than gold slept. His mood was light, secure that his watchdogs, the lowest of Soul-Leeches, guarded his cache.

  “I’ll be there by morning. Make the arrangements.”

  Remy nearly panted. “May I bring in the dogs? And perhaps a calf or two? It has been centuries and the animal squeals are so much more…intense than the women.”

  “All right. Just don’t forget the KY. That last goat rubbed my dick raw.”

  Sam Leaped into London and slid behind the wheel of his company BMW. He dropped his cell into the center console and checked his hair in the rear view mirror. The blond was liberally streaked with sun and his tan just dark enough to make his eyes shine. Vanity lifted his chin. Despite everything, his maker had done marvelous work in designing him.

  The phone chirped with an incoming text and his teeth snapped closed. He really had to hand-off the business. The money thing was cutting into his pleasures. Jerking the phone up, he glared at the screen. Galina was determined to win back her favored spot.

  “Master, LC is at her sister’s house. Forsaken guard but I watch and will deliver. Forever yours, G.”

  He snapped out a fast reply. “You have less than twenty days left. Do not fail me or I’ll dance in your ashes while screwing that bitch kid of yours.”

  Heat filled his mouth as he growled, wishing he truly did possess her daughter’s pristine soul. It’d be the perfect, ultimate torture. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the power to claim the innocent souls of children. But she didn’t know that. His weaknesses were few and those who knew them even fewer. Just the way he liked it.

  “He’s a dick, a giant — no, a teeny, itty-bitty, needle dick.”

  Annie was a pissed-off cub aching to protect her mama bear. The role reversal was startling but Lacy was just buzzed enough that she didn’t care. Dray had insisted on stopping for liquor, shoving the bottle of Jack Daniel’s at her like an order. She’d made him buy Coke and he laughed, calling her a lightweight. She tipped the Jack and Coke to her lips, swallowing more alcohol to deaden the pain.

  “I should have known. Things seemed too good.”

  The alcohol burned her throat but she forced more down, praying for a numbing fog that would whisk the ache away. Erik spent long hours closed off with Sela during ‘planning sessions’ but there were always other Forsaken with them. Unless there was a massive orgy going on, she doubted there’d been any sex during those times. But then she’d bought his security team story hook, line and sinker. She was the world’s biggest, most gullible idiot.

  “He…all of them, they’re not exactly legal.”

  Annie frowned. “What’d you mean?”

  “They say they’re a security firm, but they aren’t. I think they’re like drug lords or mob or something.”

  Annie’s mouth formed into a perfect O. “It’s a good thing you found out he’s a scumbag before you got involved with him anymore.”

  “Yeah.” Heartache lodged in her chest and stole her breath. “I was falling in love with him.”

  “No, you weren’t.” Annie gripped her hand. “It was like Stockholm Syndrome or something. You’re a better judge of character than that. There’s no way you’d fall in love with an asshole.”

  A wet exhale substituted her laugh. “I wish that was true.”

  “It is.” Annie nodded as if simply her words could make it so. “You lost your job, your friends, everything. You were vulnerable and Erik swooped in and whisked you off your feet. You’re just confused. You don’t
love him.”

  “What if I do?”

  Pity darkened her sister’s eyes. “Then you cry it out and move on. He doesn’t deserve you.”

  Permission was too much and Lacy’s vision filled with tears. She sucked them back and swallowed a healthy swig of alcohol. How could losing him hurt so much when she never really had him? They’d never said the dreaded L word, never talked about a future, never planned for what happened after the bad guys lost interest in her. Her chin quivered. She’d swallowed every lie he’d shoved at her like it was ice cream, licked her lips and begged for more. She was such a fool. She’d been wrapped up in playing house and forgotten that any dream built on nothing collapsed.

  “Men are dogs,” Annie grumped. She flopped back on the couch and sipped her diet soda. “All the good ones are married or gay or still live with Mommy.”

  Lacy grimaced. “Caleb?”

  Her sister rolled her eyes. “That’s the last blind date I go on. I swear he spent the entire night telling me what ‘Mother’ would have preferred for an appetizer or what ‘Mother’ would have ordered as an entrée. I wonder if ‘Mother’ knows her baby boy tried to shove his hand up my skirt over dessert.”

  A scraping noise interrupted Lacy’s snicker. Her heart lunged into her throat. Annie’s head cocked, listening. “That sounded like the bedroom window.”

  “It’s probably just Dray,” Lacy murmured, mentally crossing her fingers. He’d made several trips around the house, once even tapping on the window and waving. She tensed, waiting for another sound. A hard knock made her jump.

  “That man is gorgeous but annoying as hell.” Annie crossed to the door and swung it open. Her hands clenched. “No way. You either have balls of steel or you’re stupid as shit.”

  “Balls of steel.” Erik shoved her aside and strode into the room.

  Lacy surged to her unsteady feet. “Get out or I’m calling the police.”

  He snatched her phone, shoving it in his pocket. “We need to go home, Lace.”