Hope For More (Trinity Book 3)

by Devin Fontaine

  “Wait! Eastlake Falls PD!” He held his badge high in the air along with his empty hand so they could see he was unarmed. The cluster stopped, but eyed him warily, ready to flee any second. Tony spun to show them the back of his SWAT jacket. “Let me help you.” Several of the females collapsed to the ground in exhaustion or mayhap dehydration. He grabbed a nearby officer and towed him over. “We must needs assess for injuries so they can be triaged to the medics.”

  The uniformed cop, an angel, nodded and helped sort through the victims. Most had no grievous physical injuries, but every one of them was covered in bruises, both new and old. They were filthy and several wore horizontal scars across their backs, the kind that could only have been made by some sort of whip or cane. Tony clenched his jaw to remain calm. Allowing his fury to get the best of him would only frighten the females. The Fates must needs be on his side because the medics arrived quickly. Tony backed off so they could do their jobs.

  “I’m going inside,” he told the rookie cop. Without waiting for, or requiring a response, Tony ran into the building.

  What he encountered was something no one should ever see. After descending a flight of stairs, the dark and damp space spanned so far and wide, it not only occupied the entirety of the basement, but expanded further to go beneath the large courtyard as well. In it was a maze of cells and dungeons. Evidence of captive humans present in each, along with the scent of daemon, strong enough to make his stomach lurch. At the end of a cellblock stood a thick metal door that a predecessor—likely one of the big bastards in SWAT—tore from its hinges. Tony stepped through and ended up in the Underworld on Earth.

  Scattered around the enormous room were various horrors, each an implement of torture. Some Tony recognized as standard BDSM equipment, but a great many he recalled from his time as a human in medieval England. Stretching racks and stockades, a breaking wheel, a spiked chair, and other brutal devices, the sight of which sent shivers down his spine. Tony’s stomach revolted when he caught scent of spilt blood and his gaze landed on the dark stains covering most, if not all, of the devices.

  “That sick motherfucker!”

  Tony whipped his head in the direction of the ear-splitting bellow. Having been caught in memories of his own torture and execution by King Henry VIII, Tony failed to take notice of the other immortals in the chamber.

  Donovan stormed past, and just by looking, Tony knew the outburst came from him. The angel’s face was so red and his eyes flashed with such rage, Tony thought mayhap Donovan would explode with fury. The angel stopped a few feet from where Tony stood and picked up a large spiked table comprised of thick slabs of wood. His heavily veined muscles strained as he lifted it over his head. Shit. Sometimes Tony hated being right. Donovan’s wings flickered in and out of sight in a “blink and you missed it moment.” Thankfully, Tony was the only one to notice. He flinched when Donovan roared and hurled the table at the nearest wall. The device smashed into the stones with a deafening crash. The wood splintered and the metal bent out of shape, pieces spraying everywhere.

  Donovan moved to grab another item, and Tony knew he must needs intervene. He thanked the Fates when one of the other Angels of Protection stepped in first. Tony knew Donovan, and in no way did he want to be the one to get in the male’s face whilst he was blinded by rage. Donovan and the other angel argued. When the angel put his hands on Donovan’s shoulders, Donovan tore out of his grasp, and got right in the angel’s face, and shouted at the top of his lungs. It took another three massive Angels of Protection to handle Donovan and maneuver him out of the basement.

  Son of a bastard djinn.

  Tony exhaled and took one last look around. Chills broke out on his skin and he swallowed down bile. Unable to take another minute in this house of horrors, he left, praying he never needs go there again. As it was, he’d have nightmares for weeks from the memories that resurfaced.

  Outside, the human females were gone, hopefully transported to a hospital by the medics. There was no sign of Donovan either.

  “Michael!” Tony called out when he spotted the police chief on the other end of the courtyard. He jogged over and waited whilst Michael finished speaking to an immortal her recognized from the crime lab.

  “Tony,” Michael said after dismissing the technician.

  “Did we find anything besides the humans?”

  He shook his head, his blue eyes troubled. “No daemons, but plenty of signs they have been here. One of the teams discovered a handful of human males held in a separate building. As with the females, they were removed and taken to the hospital. Unfortunately, nearly all the males sustained serious injuries.”

  Shit. “From the fights?”

  “Aye.” Michael tipped his head back and stared at the night sky, something he did when he needed to think. He stayed like that for so long, Tony wasn’t sure if he should say something or not. Finally, Michael sighed and met his gaze once more. “You were right, Tony. I should have moved on this sooner. Everyone is gone.”

  Tony’s heart about stopped. Michael never admitted he was wrong, mostly because, in truth, the Archangel never was wrong. Michael continued. “I know you’re unaware, and I’d appreciate you keeping this between us.” He rubbed his jaw and suddenly looked incredibly tired. “I do not make the final decisions when it comes to crimes which involve such complicated immortal involvement. I must needs take orders like everyone else, and those in the Hereafter didn’t want me to move as of yet. I hate to say it, but there is also the fact that the higher ups don’t much care when it comes to non-immortal victims of crimes.”

  Tony’s eyes widened at Michael’s confession. He was shocked the Chief didn’t have the final say whether or not to raid this cesspool of a compound. It didn’t excuse anything, though. “That’s bullshit and you know it,” he hissed, furious to be told no one in the Hereafter gave a shit about the welfare of the humans beaten and tortured by the spawn of the Underworld. Just the fact that daemons were involved put it their jurisdiction.

  “Calm down, Tony.” His body vibrated with rage, but he clamped his mouth shut. “It’s more complicated than that. It’s not that they don’t care in the Hereafter. There must needs be balance. A certain amount of suffering on the Earthly plane. We cannot make everything perfect, of that, you are well aware. So at times, they look the other way.”

  Tony grunted. “Aye, I get the suffering thing, but this time, they let it go too far. We must needs find out who operates this, this… pit of despair and corruption.”

  “Nothing can be done as of this moment.” Michael clapped a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Let’s get back and start our reports.”

  “Are they going to allow us continue to look deeper into this place?”

  Judging by Michael’s silence, Tony took that as a no. A litany of curses went through his head. Oh, and no way was he going to be the one to tell the big angel. Donovan was going to lose his mind.

  THOMAS SAT at the prosecution’s table, awaiting the jury’s verdict. The trial was short, only a few days. There wasn’t a lot of evidence, which worried him. But the djinn didn’t do a thing to help his own case. The stultus scowled, snarled, and growled his way through the entire trial. More than once, he caught a juror staring at Balor Daemon in disgust.

  Fates. Finally, the door opened and twelve immortal jurors entered the jury box. A minute later, Raguel strode in and sat behind the bench. After sitting on tenterhooks through all of the formalities, it was time.

  Raguel turned to the jury. “The jury has reached its verdict?”

  The foreperson stood. “We have, your honor.” The juror handed a piece of paper to the bailiff who brought it to Raguel.

  It wasn’t standard procedure for immortal trials, but because the victim was a human, they must needs go by human protocols. For the djinn, any sentencing shall occur behind closed doors, no humans allowed. Warding in the courtroom kept anyone from using immortal powers in front of the humans present.

  “You may read it.” Ra
guel handed it back.

  The foreperson, a beautiful angel, unfolded the paper and cleared her throat to read the verdict in the human part of his case. “We find the defendant, Balor Damon, guilty of the crime of aggravated assault, and guilty of the crime of attempted rape.”

  Behind him, Thomas heard Hope sob and knew them to be tears of joy. Either that or relief her nightmare was finally over. After the courtroom emptied, the jury would give their verdict on the charge of utilizing immortal powers in the presence of a human, then they would hand down the sentence.

  Justice thrust a hand out and Thomas shook it whilst grinning at the ADA.

  “Congrats, boss. Great win.”

  “Many thanks, Justice.”

  A disturbance from the defendant’s table had everyone in the courtroom turning that way. Loud growling and shouts of rage cut through the thick silence. The djinn, Balor, struggled against the warded chains as uniformed angels attempted to lead him from the room. Balor would wait in his cell and be brought back in an hour or so to hear the other, immortal, verdict and receive sentencing, after which, the humans would be told the human equivalent of Damon’s sentence. Finally, the snarling djinn was shoved through a door and the courtroom was quiet again.

  Garrett and Hope stood in the aisle, waiting to discuss the verdict. Garrett was beaming, an arm slung around his sister’s shoulders. Hope smiled, but it looked brittle, as if mayhap she would crack any second from the stress. Likely due to that bastard djinn’s violent outburst.

  Thomas pretended not to notice Hope’s fragile state and shook Garrett’s hand. “Thanks, man,” Garrett said. “I really appreciate all the work you put into making sure that prick was put away.”

  “You’re very welcome, Garrett, but it’s my job to put away the bad guys. Thanks are not required.” Thomas’s gaze fell to Hope. Their eyes met and before he could say a word, Hope propelled herself forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. Thomas staggered back a step from the force of the unexpected embrace. Hope squeezed tight and lay her cheek on his chest.

  “Thank you, Thomas.” Her voice ended up muffled by his shirt. “Thank you so much.”

  He patted her back awkwardly, uncomfortable being in such intimate physical contact whilst Hope’s bruiser of a brother stood less than two feet away. Garrett’s hawk-like stare tracked his every move, as if Thomas were about to grope and paw all over Hope in the middle of the courtroom. Hope sniffed and stepped away. Thomas was equally relieved and saddened by the loss of her warm body against his. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and Garrett, the prickly bastard, didn’t wait half a second before snatching Hope by the arm and pulling her into the safety of his embrace.

  “I’ll let you know the punishment after sentencing,” Thomas said. “It could take a few days, so don’t worry if you don’t hear from me right away.”

  Garrett nodded whilst Hope blinked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. He could only hope they were happy tears. The thought of bringing the tiny human female a bit of happiness sent a tingling warmth through Thomas.

  “C’mon, Hope. Let’s go home.”

  Hope allowed her huge brother to escort her from the courtroom. Right when the pair reached the open double doors, Hope peered over her shoulder and their gazes locked. That luscious pink mouth curved into a smile and her amber eyes sparkled with genuine happiness for the first time in as long as Thomas has known her. Such a rare and breathtaking sight sent electricity crackling across Thomas’s skin. Seeing her in good spirits rocked him to his very core. The life-force of his immortality shone bright and radiated the deep green which represented the energy that created what he is. Who he is. The color of his very soul.

  Thomas returned Hope’s smile, but he was too late. She had disappeared around the corner. He rubbed the spot on his chest that lay directly over the shimmering, spiraling energy, unsure if the profound ache inside was from his soul or his rapidly hammering heart.

  What he did know was that more than anything, he wanted—no needed—to follow Hope Hartley. Every cell of his being urged him to chase Hope down. To always keep her near. Streaks of green energy twisted in his chest, long tendrils snaking out from his core to fill him with an intense, burning desire. The desire to have Hope in his arms. To taste her lips and breathe in her lavender scent. To push her down and feel her naked skin beneath him as they writhed in ecstasy.

  No. This was a dangerous train of thought. Humans and immortals weren’t lovers. Thomas shouldn’t—couldn’t—want Hope that way. Not only was it immoral simply because she was the victim of a crime he prosecuted, but because Hope is mortal and he is not. Thomas would never be allowed to tell her what he is, and as Hope aged whilst he forever remained exactly the same, what would happen then?

  There was no chance of it working out. Angels paired with angels, or angels with saints. That was simply how it was. Even saints falling in love with other saints was a fairly common occurrence. Humans—no, they were off limits to immortals for anything other than immediate and fleeting sexual gratification. The unfairness of it all infuriated him. He curled his hands into fists and stalked over to the prosecutor’s table to gather up his files. Sliding everything into a messy pile, he shoved them into his bag.

  Thomas grit his teeth and reminded himself, the final hurdle had yet to come. He must needs get through the sentencing and punishment of the djinn. Then, and only then, would he never need see or deal with Hope Hartley again.

  And damn if that didn’t hurt worse than a knife to the heart.

  FAITH DOZED with her head in Dante’s lap, curled in a ball with her feet on the couch, whilst he responded to work emails on his phone. With his soulmate restricted to only their home and the courthouse for her safety, Dante tried to conduct as much business as possible from the penthouse. Not only did he love spending every minute of the day with his Faith, he also despised the thought of leaving her alone all day with nothing to do and no one to talk to. Well, Grady, the sitri who sat at reception outside Dante’s office, and Verity, Faith’s best friend and the soulmate of his cousin, Davin, visited whenever they could, but for the most part his poor Faith ended up left to her own devices.

  When the phone in his hand let out its sharp trill, Faith jolted with a startled yelp.

  “Shhh.” Dante caressed her golden tresses. “It’s one of my club managers calling, my love.”

  Right away, he recognized the number. As the Son of Lust, his businesses revolved around sex, desire, and titillation. One of those ventures is a chain of dance clubs, popular spots for the city’s youth, who came to flirt and find one night stands whilst they drank and danced their nights away.

  He answered the call. “Yes?”

  “Dante? It’s Bethany.”

  Bethany is one of his best bartenders. She works at the Intrigue club on River Street, the most profitable location.

  “Bethany, what can I do for you?” He tried to keep his voice professional and tamp down his irritation, but employees, other than managers, rarely called him directly. Proper protocol was to call their manager or district supervisor—one ran the specific club and the other oversaw every manager in the Intrigue chain.

  “One of my bartenders hasn’t been at work for a week.”

  “A week?” Dante all but shouted, his voice rising in pitch. In response to his shocked reply, Faith shifted off his lap and sat next to him.

  “Aye, sir. I’ve been unable to reach her. The thing is, she’s very reliable. It isn’t like her to blow off work.”

  “Who is this bartender?”

  “Mel, sir. I mean, Melora.”

  Aw shit. Bethany was right. It wasn’t like Mel to miss shifts.

  Melora is immortal. Thankfully, Bethany is a daemon and knows Melora’s status. He rubbed his forehead as a dull ache began behind his eyes. Would the shit never stop piling on his plate? With a heavy sigh, he decided to let someone else handle this one. Normally, he took care of everything personally, but ever since bonding wit
h Faith, Dante preferred to spend time with his mate.

  “What is Melora’s address? I shall send the police over.”

  Bethany recited the information and he pushed End.

  “Dante? Is everything ok? You mentioned the police.”

  He flopped back on the couch and stared at his beautiful Faith. She knew how stressed out he’d been, as well as what he felt this very minute. Every single one of their emotions was transmitted across the soul bond. Faith herself emitted waves of anxiety, his poor mate worried about him.

  Dante caressed her smooth cheek in reassurance. “Everything is fine, altarasha. Just an employee who hasn’t shown up for work.”

  “Oh.” The bond quieted as Faith’s anxiety lessened. “Is that not normal?”

  “Not for this particular employee.” He leaned in and brushed his lips across Faith’s. “I shall be right back. I must needs make a few calls.”

  Faith grabbed his hand before he could stand. She tilted her head and pressed her lips to his, this kiss deeper and more demanding than his quick peck. The contact with his mate sent a flush of heat through his body as the bond crackled. Sparks of desire traveled back and forth along the mystical connection, quickly building their need for each other. Dante’s daemon woke, hungry and eager to feed on the thick lust they exchanged.

  Fates. The act was near impossible, but somehow he tore his mouth away from the intense pleasure of his soulmate’s kiss. “Hold that thought, my love. I shall be but a few minutes.”

  Eyes shining and pupils dilated, Faith nodded and whispered, “Hurry.”

  Reluctant, Dante rose from the sofa and gave Faith a wink. She squirmed and her breath hitched. “You know I cannot stand to be apart from you, love.” Needing to feel her skin once more, he skimmed his knuckles across down her throat before leaving the room. If he didn’t, they’d be naked and Dante would be on top of her, thrusting into Faith’s tight heat in no time flat. By the time he reached his home office, he calmed down and wrested back his daemon, who was snarling and angry at being denied his meal. Dante sat behind the desk and dialed. The phone rang so many times, he was about to give up when it connected and a gruff voice barked through the speaker.