“Jesus, what are you on, steroids?” he gasped.
Key took a second to look down at his arms; glossy, sweaty skin covering a moderate layer of muscle and laughed. “Yeah, because I look like I’m on steroids.” He dropped back into his stance. “Stop making excuses and fight.”
Key jumped into attack mode again, throwing a combination of kicks and punches in an attempt to throw Jon off his balance. However, Jon found an opening and thrust his bare foot into Key’s midsection. The angel doubled over as if the wind had been knocked out of him, and stumbled back until he hit the floor. Jon panicked and ran to him.
Jon stood stooped over Key, worried that the angel wasn’t moving. “Key…you okay, man?”
As Jon reached for him, the angel pushed up on his elbows and curled forward to land on his hands, balancing his full weight on them before rotating into a full flare, his feet sweeping under Jon’s.
Jon flew into the air and landed on his back with a hard thud, and before his brain could catch up, Key was on him, rolling him over, and pinning his arm behind his back. Painfully.
“Say uncle.”
“Uncle? What are you, twelve?”
Key smirked and yanked Jon’s arm farther up his back while twisting his hand to secure the hold. “Yeah. I’m a twelve year old kicking your ass. Say it.”
“Goddamn it, Key! Get off me!”
“You know—” Key drew out the word as he leaned closer to Jon’s prone figure, bringing two lips to his ear”—back in the day, in the Ireland of old, the Irish would say ‘anacol’. It meant mercy. Anacol. Uncle. Get it?” Key tightened his grip as Jon tried to pull free. “Stop wiggling so much, I’m trying to teach you something.” Key laughed harder when Jon growled at him. He licked the shell of Jon’s ear and blew a stream of cool air against it, snickering. “Now, I’ll only let you go if you say—”
“Uncle!”
Key bent closer and whispered a heated, “Good boy.” He let Jon’s arm go and sat on Jon’s back like it was his throne. Jon gulped in air as he tucked his arm under him.
“You’ve got to learn to yield sometimes, Jon. The reward from that can be just as sweet as the victory.”
“Shut the fuck up, you whack job, and get off me.”
“Language! And no—” Key chided. “—I’m not in the mood. Payback sucks doesn’t it? I still have flashbacks of when you assaulted me for no good reason.”
“You’re not in the mood? You stupid son of—” Jon threw his arm back, managing to fist his hand into the angel’s shirt. With a grunt, he yanked Key off his back.
By the time the momentum from Key’s roll put him on his back, Jon was already on him, face full of anger and promise. One hand wrapped around the thin bones in Key’s wrists, securing them over Key’s head as they switched places. The other hand slammed hard into the floor right by the angel’s head.
“You know, you’re real good at pissing me off. I’ve been in law enforcement for years, buddy. Years. You thought it was going to be easy?” he asked as he glared down at Key.
To Jon’s surprise, Key sputtered into a laugh, loud and hard, to the point tears formed in the corners of his eyes and ran down the sides of his face.
Jon frowned. “What?”
“I’ve been in law enforcement for years,” Key mocked. “Bloobity bloo blah look at me, hoo hoo harr harr.”
Annoyed with the way the corners of his mouth pulled up as Key laughed, Jon tried to counteract the smile with a frown. When the angel saw that, he crowed even louder, destroying the last of Jon’s straight-faced resolve.
Okay. Honesty time.
Jon knew perfectly well he probably wasn’t gay. Well, no, that wasn’t right. He was sure of it. He’d always been attracted to women and knew he would always be attracted to women. They had mysterious, soft curves and womanly secrets and yeah, that was his thing. Woman bits.
But…did that really matter anymore? No, because Key was beautiful in ways that a lot of women were—the beauty in his eyes, his soft, tanned skin, the delicate way he held his hands. Then again, Key was beautiful in a lot of ways that women weren’t—his alluring carved-in-stone jaw, his broad shoulders, the steel behind his eyes when he was determined, and his hands? Jesus, Jon had just seen him quick release two knives like he was born with them.
“That was the most amazingly preposterous thing I’ve ever seen. You move like an ape!” Key said as he easily slid his wrists from Jon’s hands. He wiped at the tears, trying his best to hold back more laughter. Jon felt one side of his mouth pull up in a ridiculous grin.
Key had the most amazing lips he’d ever seen.
I’m attracted to Key. Holy. Shit.
“Hey,” Jon grumbled, “I move more gracefully than that, jerk.”
“Yeah, you’re the Black Swan,” Key rejoined as he rolled his eyes.
Key shifted under him and raised his knees, bumping Jon closer. Without thinking, Jon relaxed against Key, his hands finding their way to the firm muscle of Key’s shoulders. His fingers moved without thought, kneading the sinewy muscle under his fingertips. The laughter tapered off and it was nothing but silence and heated air.
“Have you wondered why we hate each other so much?” Jon asked, unable to look away.
Key glanced at Jon’s hands before answering. His voice was stuck somewhere between the edges of hitched breaths. “I don’t hate you. You hate me.”
“Hate is a strong word.” Jon smirked and felt the secret that he shouldn’t be telling tumble out of his mouth. “But even if it were hate, it’s not indifference.”
Jon was close, too close, and although the sweat pants were thick, he knew in this position Key could feel every muscle in his legs shift and tighten as they kept his balance. He knew that Key could feel something else, something that would tell Key exactly how Jon felt, without words, without action.
He watched the golden flecks in Key’s eyes darken and his pupils dilate. He knew that reaction.
Panic. Or—
“I...um...wow. It’s late. So very late.” Key’s eyes darted to a bare wrist. “Will you look at the time! Yep. Late. I should be getting to bed.” He wriggled under Jon as an indication he wanted to get up, but froze when he heard Jon chuckle.
The difference between the two of them was Jon’s acute panic wasn’t new. Key looked like he was staring at the edge of a cliff.
“Figures,” Jon sighed as he rolled to the side and off Key, lying flat on the matted dojo floor.
Key scrambled to get up, knocking imaginary dust off of his pants. “What are you talking about now?” he snarled. He took a step back outside of Jon’s reach, his eyes darting everywhere except at Jon.
Jon eyed Key out of the corner of his eye and sat up. “Nothing.” He stood, brushing his hands off on his thighs. “Nothing at all.” He carded a hand through his hair and turned, walking away, only pausing when he reached the threshold. “But when you figure out what nothing is, come find me.” Jon suggested as he walked out.
What the hell was he doing?
Chapter Fifty-Five
The Bloody Angle
Manhattan
“I’m not going in there,” Shen said, the muscles in his jaw tightening. They were on Doyers Street in Chinatown, right at the sharp bend halfway down the block. The bend was known as the Bloody Angle because of the number of people who had been killed there over the years. And this particular section of this particular street in Chinatown was home to one of Shen’s largest and most threatening rivals in America—the Hip Sing Gung Wui. He didn’t know if Lucan wasn’t aware of what he was asking or if he was aware and didn’t care.
He forced himself not to flinch when Lucan’s eyes flashed red before returning to their normal brown color. He swallowed roughly.
It wasn’t that he was scared of Lucan. It was that he didn’t know how to handle him. Lucan was unpredictable, and there was no way to formulate a counter-plan against volatility. Nonetheless, just because he didn’t know how to handle him didn’t mea
n he couldn’t wade through the confusing circles Lucan spoke in and understand that he could be running into a trap—a very dangerous one.
“This is a matter that makes your turf wars trivial and childish.” Lucan waved a hand. “Now you can stay outside and deal with whomever you happen to run across, or you can come with me where I can offer you protection.”
Shen clenched his fist. So he knew. “Why would you bring me here?”
“Because this is necessary, because you are necessary.” Without another word, Lucan walked under the scaffolding and reached for the door of the ground-floor store. He paused, looking over his shoulder to where Shen stood with his arms crossed. With an impatient sigh, Lucan reached into his belt, withdrew a handgun, and offered it over. “Coming or staying?”
Shen eyed it suspiciously. “Keep it.” He reached into his jacket and flashed his weapon. “But if this is a trap, so help me God—”
Lucan laughed sharply as he walked through the market doors. “I doubt they are a fan of yours.”
Shen followed him into the store. It was bright, sharply so. Large uncovered fluorescent lights shone from above and he had to squint as he looked around. He didn’t like this. It was like he could smell how bad a mistake this was.
A sharp whistle made him look up to find Lucan waiting for him. There was a subtle arrogance—Shen huffed. Okay, so it wasn’t so subtle—to Lucan. His appearance was impeccable, not one strand of hair ever out of place, no slips of the tongue, nothing, not one thing that made him unlikable, and for the life of him, Shen absolutely could not stand the man.
Lucan stared at him as if Shen were eternally lost and that hard stare was a homing beacon. Shen suddenly realized why Lucan pissed him off—it was that air of authority, his absolute and unquestionable command of human resources. He’d tipped the power scale, and Shen wasn’t used to obeying commands.
As Lucan gestured him deeper into the store with a flick of his head—as if Shen was a puppy—Shen knew there was a lesson in this somewhere, something about humility and how to be deferential to a power higher than you, whether it was your emotions or to a self-proclaimed demigod. He waved the thought away. It wasn’t a lesson he was interested in. Despite that, he followed Lucan’s silent command and met him halfway, anyway. He didn’t want to make the man wait.
In the last few days, Lucan had proved himself to be anything but patient. The more Shen got to know him, the more he realized that Lucan’s Type-A personality was housed in a methodical creature that was always a few steps ahead of everyone else, and playing catch-up was the quickest way to piss him off.
They’d been nowhere in particular, a late-night diner where Lucan had lectured him on cause and effect, statistics and probability, quantum mechanics—subjects that sounded like quack shit.
“It’s because you think that time works in a straight line. You think there is only good and evil. You think that without light there can only be darkness. There are far more dimensions of ‘more’, something beyond your reach, what you can see, what you can feel, what you understand. And I’m going to show you.”
Wholesale quack shit.
They had strolled by the bakery where Shen had spent one no-call-no-show day as an employee. It was closed. The reason he counted it as a stop was because Lucan paused and stared into the bakery longer than made sense. They went to a library for a book—because sure, why not?—and then to a liquor store because Shen was convinced Lucan was a raging alcoholic. The last stop was to a men’s clothing store located at This-isn’t-a-fucking-clothing-store-it’s-someone’s-house Place.
When asked about the ethical repercussions of a so-called man-angel breaking into a house for a pair of jeans, Lucan simply laughed. “I often get convenience and morality confused,” he said breezily as he shuffled through a pile of shirts.
Shen had realized, as Lucan leisurely escorted him through an outdoor market, that this was a waste of his time. He had other things to do, and none of them included a stroll through downtown New York to sightsee in the middle of the night. He initially decided to kick Lucan out of the warehouse after his grandiose speech about angels and organizations and coins with symbols on them that didn’t make any goddamn sense. And no amount of neat parlor tricks, including whatever Lucan used to heal him, could convince him that Lucan was the type of man he should be entertaining.
Shen kept up the show of being a hard-ass when he woke up from his disorientation. He yelled at the man, telling him to leave, but Lucan said nothing, only producing surveillance footage from Zicon’s warehouse. The date in the bottom, right-hand corner showed today’s date.
A man in a dark hoodie stood at the back door of the warehouse, hiding in the shadows. The door flew open and Charlie stormed through. Shen glanced at the time signature. This was right after the argument…when she left. The man jumped out of the shadows holding a knife, its sharp edge glinting in the streetlight glaring down on them. The man took a threatening step toward her. She swung her purse toward him, and the moment he was distracted she took off, scrambling down the street until she was out of view.
The man didn't follow her. He stood there for a long moment, watching her as she ran. Slowly, he lowered the knife and turned toward the surveillance camera and smiled.
“Oh, get that look off your face!” Lucan had laughed easily, as if he hadn’t threatened the life of someone Shen cared about. “Yemzi was only trying to scare her a little bit. She’s absolutely safe. However, that can always change.” His voice was heavy with the implied threat.
Shen felt like he was going to throw up. She'd warned him, told him that his dogged desire for revenge was going to end badly. And now it was affecting her.
He would do anything to keep Charlie safe. He’d asked, “What do I need to do?” and somehow the answer to that had been him and Lucan here, in a too-bright store in the heart of enemy territory.
Shen’s eyes narrowed as he trudged up the aisle toward the counter. Behind a faux wood, linoleum countertop sat three women. They all had the same face– slightly upturned nose, amber complexion, and cropped hair. The only difference between the three was their expressions.
The woman in the center had dark eyes, unfriendly and calculating. They slithered past Lucan to stare at Shen with her brow raised. “Who is that?”
Lucan sighed and rubbed his temple with his knuckle. “Nobody you need to worry about, Sur.”
She tongued the inside of her cheek, unimpressed as she presented her palm and beckoned with her fingers. Lucan fished out the same bronze coin he’d shown Shen earlier. Without breaking eye contact with Shen, she accepted the bronze coin and passed it to the woman on her left. “Check it, Beur.”
Beur grabbed the coin. “I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before,” she said, her head tilting as she inspected the coin with a keen eye. “In a dream, I think. You’re a very mean man.” She smiled in Shen’s face as if she hadn’t insulted him. “It’s good, Rus.” She passed the coin to her left, to the third woman.
“You’ll never stop loving her,” the third woman—Rus—said, without a hint of warmth in her voice. She flipped the coin over a few times.
Shen’s lip hitched. “Say what?”
The woman blinked at him, long and slow, her face blank. “Learn to move on,” she said in a bored voice.
“Learn to move on from what?”
“The bathroom is to the left,” Beur said quickly, and motioned at the door.
“What?” Shen said almost hysterically. “I don’t need to use the bathroom.”
Shen thought it was impossible for Sur’s frown to get deeper, but it did as she rolled her eyes toward Lucan. The angel turned to Shen and cut his eyes in the direction of the bathroom door. It wasn’t necessarily the command that prompted Shen to move, more the red beginning to bleed into Lucan’s pupils.
Shen held his hands up. “Stop being so melodramatic, Pennywise. I’m going. I’m going.”
Lucan retrieved his coin from Sur and followed closely be
hind Shen as he approached the bathroom door and opened it. It was a normal bathroom. Lucan brushed past him and walked to the third stall, staring at the OUT OF SERVICE sign on it without blinking.
Shen frowned. “Staring at it won’t fix it, man.”
Lucan ignored him and pushed the door open. Behind it sat another door, heavy, but thick with dry rot. Carved into the middle of the molting wood were the heads of three dogs.
Shen rolled his eyes. “It just never ends. This shit never ends.”
Huffing, Shen reached for the handle but Lucan stopped him. “I’d like to keep you in one piece, so don’t piss her off. When she asks you a question, just answer it.”
Shen frowned. “Yeah, I’m so scared. Shaking over here. While I’m cowering in fear, you want to tell me why we are here?”
Lucan looked at Shen with a gleam of deviltry, disarmingly similar to the first time Shen opened the door to find the angel standing there. “Apocalypse,” he said simply.
Shen’s hand dropped from the door handle. “Like the apocalypse, apocalypse? Hellfire and brimstone apocalypse? Are you shitting me? I didn’t sign up for that! If me going into this room means that’s gonna happen, I’ll just chance it and decline your invitation to continue further. I’ve done my share of fucked up shit, okay, but I want nothing to do with the end of the—”
The angel shifted and stepped up to Shen. “You’re just like every other ignorant human I’ve met.” His tone was dripping with acid and his nostrils flared as he stared Shen down with red eyes.
Shen’s jaw went slack and he fought the temptation to take a step back. “Ex- excuse me?”
The muscles in Lucan’s jaw tightened for a second before his eyes slid closed. When he opened them, the tension in his face was gone. He retreated and turned back to the door. “You people are so quick to associate one word, one ideal, one faith to a definition without due research. You don’t know the history behind it, behind anything, because you all are so eager to be spoon-fed a truth if it allows you to live your stupid, boring lives in peace.”
The Halo of Amaris Page 25