Relentless Flame (Hell to Pay)

by David, Jillian

  “No. But what would happen if things got more touchy-feely, huh? Not so perfect, then. You going to explain what’s wrong with you? To him?”

  “You’re a total jerk, Scott.”

  Brushing away tears, she stomped into the house and slammed the door shut. What the hell had gotten into her brother? Her mother would’ve been horrified. Actually, their mother would never have tolerated Scott’s behavior. Some days, Hannah really missed her. Hannah missed the old Scott, too.

  The worst part of his assessment? It was true.

  She bore visible and invisible scars from Ray that would never fade. No man would be brave enough or dumb enough to take on that mess.

  So what about Dante? Well, so much for him. The male attention was nice while it lasted. Scott chasing Dante away saved her from disappointment and embarrassment later, anyway.

  With a sigh that bordered on a sob, she dragged herself to the indented mattress on the floor of the tiny second bedroom. She might not be back in Philly with Ray and his sick vices, but right about now, this life here sucked, too.

  • • •

  Dante doubled back.

  Alarms blared in his mind.

  He circled the block, sneaking through a neighboring yard to get next to Hannah’s house. Something wasn’t right, and it had nothing to do with her moron brother. It was his annoying friend. He seemed ... off. Really off. Like ... Dante.

  Damn it. Anger had caught him off guard. He didn’t have a chance to study the orange-haired man, let alone question him, but Dante had caught a whiff of ... something familiar. Couldn’t put his finger on it, but chances were this guy was bad news.

  Hannah around that guy? Kristus. Dante fought the need to break down the door and get her out of there.

  His leg pulsed. The cursed knife knew his mood and his desire to fill the blade with a criminal soul. Was it seeking his attention because he hadn’t killed in a while? Or because of Scott’s friend? What did the knife know that Dante didn’t?

  Scott’s friend. Pinched face, shifty. Total bastard with secrets.

  Someone like Dante.

  He could’ve sworn he knew most of the Indebted. Unless Jerahmeel had created a new employee in the past year or so. But Dante would’ve heard about it, right?

  Cold dread hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. Jåvlar. Shit.

  The asshole was just like Dante. But not. That explained the similarity.

  A minion.

  Maintaining his stealthy footsteps, he picked up the pace, desperate to get closer to the house. A minion. Herre Gud, this was bad, bad, bad. The last minion, Anton, almost killed Peter and Allie. Nearly as evil as Jerahmeel, minions were exceedingly hard to kill—harder, even than killing an Indebted like Dante, and that was difficult enough.

  If the guess was correct, then this minion already knew that Dante was an Indebted. Like called to like.

  Why did Jerahmeel need a minion now? Normally, he used them to extend his reach and prevent Indebteds from completing their contracts, but why a minion here? Why with these people? Something didn’t add up.

  He needed to get advice from his old friend, Barnaby. This entire situation was very wrong. Dante’s kind didn’t casually run into a minion. Come to think of it, few mortals met a minion over the millennia and lived to tell about it.

  Hannah and her brother didn’t stand a chance.

  Dante’s heart began to jackhammer its way out of his chest.

  Hopping the six-foot chainlink fence behind Hannah’s house, Dante alighted on the balls of his feet, turned, and slid into the shadows. He might be big, but his ability to stalk counted as an art form. He was a master. As he slunk through the darkness, he placed his feet deliberately and silenced his movements.

  Using peripheral nighttime vision to better navigate, he sidled up to the house. He crouched in a shadow and stilled his breathing into noiselessness. Hidden, he could see the front of the house but would not be easily seen himself.

  Scott and his friend stood in the porch light on the sidewalk. Straining to hear, Dante picked up their conversation.

  “... don’t you think it’s weird, your ugly sister bringing home a hot guy all of a sudden?”

  Dante almost rounded the house, with fists cocked and ready. Ugly? Hannah? What oåkting would say that about such a sweet woman?

  “Yeah, that is weird, Brandon,” Scott said.

  Her brother accepted a fresh beer from this ... Brandon. The asshole was getting the kid druken. What a good friend.

  Scott’s speech slurred. “I don’t like this guy one bit. Hannah’s my sister, and it’s my job to watch out for her, not some mook with fancy clothes.”

  “He’s probably a pimp,” Brandon whispered.

  Persuasion oozed off the røvhål, the asshole. Dante would break his own hands if he didn’t relax his fists. Strategy. He couldn’t take this guy in a one-on-one fight. Not that he wouldn’t try if this Brandon guy put her in danger, but Dante had to consider all of his options right now.

  Damn it, he didn’t have many.

  Brandon sneered. “That moron wants to steal away your sister, even after everything you did for her.”

  “Yeah, he’s bad news. She’s just going along for the male attention. God knows she doesn’t get any.”

  Not flying across the yard to punch those two guys took all of Dante’s willpower.

  “Even more reason to keep her away from that asshole. Come on. You’re the man of the house, right?” The minion leaned in close and clapped Scott on the back.

  Dante froze as he surveyed the scene. Something was totally wrong about the way the minion acted and how he manipulated Scott when they made contact.

  “Keep her away. You bet I will.” Scott upended the bottle and threw it into the street with a harsh crash. “I’ll lay down the law. For her own safety, of course.”

  “Dude, you’re such a good brother.”

  “Yeah, you got that right.” He staggered toward the house. “Give me another beer.”

  “Whoa, hold on there. What’re you going to do about the hangover tomorrow, dude?”

  “Hannah will take care of it. She always does.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “She cures me.”

  Radar on overdrive, Dante strained to listen. He wanted to know what the fuck Scott was talking about, too.

  “Bullshit,” Brandon said.

  “Dude, it’s sweet. When I’m sick or hurt, she fixes it.”

  The minion grabbed him by the shirt as Scott staggered backward.

  “What do you mean, fixes?”

  “She’s got mad skills, my man. Yeah, when there’s something wrong with people, she can make it better.”

  “Explain.” No longer playing the solicitous friend, the minion shook Scott. “Explain!”

  “Chill, dude. She puts her hands on me, and whatever’s wrong goes away. Like when I broke my arm, she healed it. Course, it broke her arm in the process but not quite as bad.” He slurred his words more. “She’ll take away my hangover tomorrow. I’ll be as good as new.”

  Dante’s regard for her brother’s character dropped another notch. She’d be sick as a dog, absorbing the pain from Scott’s bad decision. So, the elderly lady in the shop, Hannah’s limp, how ill she acted this morning? All from taking away sickness?

  Kristus. And the minion knew.

  The downspout he gripped crumpled with a raw squeak.

  Brandon jerked his narrow head toward the side of the house where Dante crouched. The minion stood motionless, staring into the shadows.

  Dante held dead still as the hungry knife heated up. Jåvlar. Shit. The damn knife would give him away. He unwrapped his fingers from the crushed metal and folded them into a lethal fist. If Brandon approached, Dante’d be ready. At least he had the element of surprise.

  Thankfully, Scott took this moment to vomit all over the pavement, much to the disgust of the minion. But it distracted Brandon.

  Dante crept bac
k behind the house, leapt over the fence, and sprinted inhumanly fast for a few blocks to get some distance between his knife and Brandon. If the minion knew who Dante was, or what he was, this could spell horrible news for Dante. But the minion definitely knew about Hannah, and she was in the most danger now.

  The knife pulsed.

  He needed a kill.

  Not now, damn it.

  He needed to get Hannah away from Brandon.

  And do what? Hide her away forever? She wouldn’t want to be in the same country as Dante when she learned what kind of creature he was.

  What a disaster. All he had to do was deliver a message and leave well enough alone, and now he’d gotten tangled up with a minion, an asshole, and a woman who held his attention like no other woman ever had. And Dante’s mere presence had put her life in danger.

  He had to figure this mess out before an innocent got hurt.

  As if on hellish cue, his phone vibrated. When he thumbed it on, the command displayed on the text message took his evening from bad to disastrous.

  Chapter 6

  Dante stifled an impatient groan as the man across from him steadied the shell with elegant silver tongs and, using a two-tined fork, slid the slick, gray-brown meat from its coiled depths. After an elaborate dip into the garlic-herb butter, the man popped the escargot into his mouth, fluttered his eyelids, and chewed. At the ostentatious dab of linen against his too-red lips, Dante wondered if the guy shouldn’t get a room. Alone.

  Although as an Indebted Dante didn’t require food, he still enjoyed the occasional indulgence in a fine meal. Jerahmeel appeared to be indulging, all right, but why did his boss command Dante to meet him here? It was so ... public.

  He’d have to tread carefully with Jerahmeel, the being who had deployed the minion. Dante prayed he could avoid making a move that jeopardized Hannah. Stay sharp, damn it.

  “Ah, my dear Mr. Blackstone. Tonight my mind and palate travel back to my native France, the France of Empereur Napoleon. He was such an admirable and odious little man. Not the France of my youth in Carcassonne, where my family ...”

  Dante remained motionless as his boss’s scowl pulled his groomed black brows together over ember-cruel eyes.

  When Jerahmeel set down the snail fork, it had melted and glowed a faint red. He blew on spidery fingers until tendrils of smoke and sulfur dissipated in the dim light of this corner booth in the luxurious wood-paneled restaurant.

  The tuxedoed waiter wheeled over a mahogany cart, bowed, and deftly prepared the Chateaubriand; Jerahmeel’s mood cooled as the food simmered. Cooked mushrooms and garlic coated the tenderloin. The waiter poured wine into the pan, and the entire dish briefly flashed in blue-yellow flame. Dante swallowed. Even sitting across from the creature who disgusted him most in the entire world, Dante could still appreciate a well-cooked meal.

  The saliva in Dante’s watering mouth turned to dust when Jerahmeel cut away a piece of pink meat that still wept bloody juices. Unable to watch the grotesque food consumption further, Dante cleared his throat.

  “My lord, I don’t want to keep you from your meal. If you would share why you’ve called me here ...”

  A wave of volcanic heat buffeted Dante. The piece of meat still speared on the fork charred in seconds until Jerahmeel dropped the utensil and burnt food to the plate.

  “Merde! You imbecile.”

  Uh oh. Not the right tactic. Dante balled a fist on his thigh and pressed his leg to hold it still.

  “What information do you have?”

  Dante gripped the seat with his other hand until his fingers ripped the fine leather. “About what, my lord?”

  “You’d better not be insubordinate. I’ve killed people for less.”

  Draw no attention to Hannah.

  “Well, I have plans to procure another kill for you soon. Unless you have a criminal selection in mind for me to stalk?”

  “I question your ability to focus.”

  “That’s never been an issue in the past, my lord.”

  “Have you met anyone new recently?”

  Protect Hannah. “I meet people all of the time. So many, I cannot recall.”

  “Any new ladies?”

  Dante gave his best hearty chuckle and leaned back in the booth. “You know me, boss. I meet ladies constantly.”

  The eyes burning across the table had narrowed to two red glints in an abyss of blackness. Smoke, like from a volcano, drifted from Jerahmeel’s fingertips. “Don’t play games with me, my pawn. You’re distracted because of a special lady.” Before Dante denied the words, Jerahmeel continued. “She’s special all right, more than you realize.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “This Hannah you’re after, leave her be. Look for your entertainment elsewhere. Pay attention to your work.”

  Dante’s blood congealed in his veins. “Why should you trouble yourself with a mere mortal, lord Jerahmeel?”

  “My minion reports some interesting abilities with this one. Healing, I believe.”

  How could he have known that so quickly? “Who cares if she can heal? You’re more powerful than any mortal. Why bother with this woman?”

  “She reminds me of someone I know. Someone I want.”

  Damn that minion, Brandon. Hannah had attracted Jerahmeel’s attention. No human withstood Jerahmeel’s ... attention for long. It took every ounce of Indebted strength Dante possessed to remained seated across from his boss, his jailor, his deceiver.

  “Surely she is no threat to you. Simply ignore her.” Unfortunately, his powers of persuasion had little effect on his boss.

  Jerahmeel waggled manicured fingertips in the air, then inspected his unmarred cuticles. “You are to stay away from her so I may do with her powers as I wish.”

  The hell you will.

  “Why?”

  “It’s not for you to question but to obey. Perform your Indebted duties in a timely and efficient manner. Understand?”

  “Sure, but what can she mean to you?”

  “I’m not certain yet, but I want to claim her for my future purposes. I will consider the possibilities and make a decision soon.”

  Kristus. Sand had started to slip out of the hourglass for Hannah.

  “Ignore her, and I will maintain the possibility of releasing you from the contract.”

  “The Meaningful Kill?”

  Jerahmeel took a sip of wine, his thin lips glistening with the darker red of the merlot. His red tongue darted out to trap a droplet.

  Dante’s stomach wrenched. That mouth, those spidery fingers weren’t going anywhere near Hannah.

  His boss nodded. “You have to stay in my good graces to have a chance of escaping the contract.”

  “Then I will do exactly as you ask.” Except not. He’d do anything necessary to protect her from this nightmarish creature.

  “Reject her and she lives.”

  In the hell of your creating? No way.

  “Of course, my lord.”

  He waggled his fingers. “Now leave me. I fancy a crème brûlée tonight.”

  Any hunger Dante might have experienced was obliterated by the image of this disgusting creature eating dessert. Dante slid out of the booth, dipped his head, and beat a hasty retreat from the fine dining establishment.

  What the hell was he going to do?

  Could he simply walk away from Hannah and leave her fate in the hands of Jerahmeel?

  • • •

  In the morning light, cracked paint on the walls of the living room emphasized Hannah’s broken life. Hah. Living room. Not a lot of “living” going on here.

  “Sis, I feel awful. You’ve got to help me.” Scott’s whining voice drifted out of his bedroom.

  Not again. She hadn’t recovered from yesterday’s transfer of his hangover and Mildred’s arthritis pain. And what about the revelation about Ray? The suffering that news brought on wasn’t physical, but it hurt just the same. Every piece of her body throbbed with a deep, bone-grinding ache. Except that one
finger felt completely fine where she had touched Dante. How strange.

  “Hannah!”

  She ran into the bedroom. Scott had passed out on the floor this time, urine staining his clothes. Her eyes watered at the stench, and she tried not to inhale too deeply. At least he didn’t appear injured, only hung over, or still mildly inebriated, she couldn’t tell which.

  “Please. I’ve got to get to work.” He moaned.

  She stood a few feet away from him, out of his sloppy grasp. “I’m sorry, I can’t take more right now. Yesterday about ruined me.”

  “Bitch.” The word stung, even though she knew her brother was still impaired. “You’re the only one who can make this go away. Why won’t you help me?”

  “I can’t, Scott.”

  “You’re so selfish.”

  “I love you, but I can’t do it this time.”

  Her tears welled up at the pitiful picture her brother made on the floor. It hurt, leaving him there. But she couldn’t take on more pain and hope to function today.

  How much could her body take? What would happen if she went past the limits of her healing power? She’d gotten a glimpse of those limits when she put her hands all those years ago on Aunt Linda’s cancer-riddled body.

  Hannah’s heart still beat wildly as she recalled her terror at Ray’s demand. But just like always, Hannah had agreed to try. She had placed her hands on the basketball-sized rock-hard tumor in Aunt Linda’s abdomen, expecting to encounter the pebbles of cancer, and released the dam holding back her power. The gift should have exchanged Aunt Linda’s illness for Hannah’s wellness, but instead the voracious cancer overwhelmed Hannah, consuming all her healthy cells. Her senses failed until she couldn’t sort out any specific sensation in the melee. Before Hannah had absorbed a measure of the disease, her aunt had pulled away with an expression of horror and sadness that Hannah had never forgotten.

  Aunt Linda might have saved Hannah, but the failed healing sent Ray’s fury into orbit. Hannah only remembered bits and pieces of the rest of that devastating evening. It was probably for the best. Thankfully, Scott hadn’t been there that night.

  “I should’ve left you in Philly.”

  Coming back to the present, she blinked. “What?”