Jim fell to his knees, his body weight slamming down on itself. He felt no pain from the impact, a stunning numbness taking him over.
His hands were shaking as he reached out and touched the ends of the blond strands. Between one blink and the next, he saw a drain, a pool of blood, a red stain on the golden waves.
“Sissy?” he croaked in a voice he’d never heard come out of his mouth before.
“Where’s my f**king flag.”
Jim jacked his head up.
The demon Devina was standing over them, hands on her hips, Sofia Vergara body filling out something black and leatherish. Her eyes were gleaming, but not with satisfaction.
Jim ignored her. “Sissy…?”
That bitchy voice came from above, sharp and demanding: “Excuuuuuuse me. Leave that stupid-ass little girl alone and give me what I’m—”
Wrong tone. Wrong attitude. Wrong motherfucking words.
Jim attacked before he was aware of moving, his body exploding up, his left hand locking on the demon’s throat, his massive strength throwing Devina back against the side of the house so hard he didn’t just break the shutter behind her back; he shattered it into splinters.
Devina just purred. “How nice to have your full attention.”
Jamming his face into hers, he put the tip of that crystal knife right to her temple. And then for a moment, all he could do was pant, his brain jammed up with what she had done to Sissy, what she had forced that innocent to see down in Hell … what he wanted to do to the demon in payback.
Instead of her fighting to get free, her thigh inched in between his braced legs. “Maybe we can seal this deal properly—”
Jim shoved his palm against her mouth, pushing it in so hard, he distorted her fake beauty into an echo of how ugly she really was.
As she began to struggle, he bared his teeth and thought about biting her somewhere, anywhere.
“Adrian,” he growled in an inhuman way. “Get the flag.”
When uneven footfalls began to retreat, it was clear that the other angel was on the case.
Devina began to fight in earnest, wrenching her head, clawing at his arms. Except as she got her mouth free, she just whispered, “Someone’s watching you.”
Jim frowned.
Oh, f**k, Sissy.
He dropped his hold and leaped out of the demon’s range.
Sissy had pushed herself up and was cowering in the far corner of the porch, her knees drawn in against her chest, her arms locked around them. From behind a veil of tangled blond hair, she stared out with horrified eyes.
And she was looking at him that way. Not Devina.
Jim dragged a hand through his hair. “Shit.”
In his peripheral vision, Devina yanked her clothes back into position and stamped her heels like her panties had gotten into a wad and she was hoping gravity would do the work.
Tossing her hair, she addressed Sissy. “Are you scared of him? You should be—”
Jim put his body in the way. “Don’t talk to her.”
“What. Like you f**king own—”
Ad picked that perfect moment to reappear with the flag. “Take it and get the hell out of here,” the angel said in an exhausted voice.
For a split second, Devina’s real face showed through the skin she wore, the decaying flesh and glowing bone surging through the lie.
That hideous spectacle cranked over in Jim’s direction. “We’re not through. Not by a long shot.”
As Jim’s chest pumped up and down, he didn’t trust himself to reply—he just prayed that for once in her horrible life, the bitch took someone else’s advice and disappeared without another syllable leaving her mouth.
After all, the last thing he wanted was for Sissy to be exposed to more trauma. And yet even with that hanging over him … he wasn’t sure it was enough to keep him from ripping that demon limb from limb.
The cold, clear air felt good on Cait’s face, her sinuses tingling, her mind clearing. It had been hot in the café—and not just because of the body heat from the crowd.
You’ve made my night.
She shook her head. “Stop it.”
Unfortunately, the command was oh, so easy to follow: In the work of a moment, thanks to all kinds of heavily forged neuropathways, her mother’s religious narrative took over, mowing down the nice fact that a very attractive man had asked for her number—not because she’d dressed inappropriately or said anything provocative or behaved badly. Not even necessarily for sex. It was just two adults who might get to know each other better and see where things took them.
Cait struggled against the tide, but she was tired … and yes, ma’am, being guilty for no good reason at all was a custom-made hair shirt. Fit her just perfectly.
Then again, across town, a family was in mourning. And her response? Go out and get her hair done, and cap the night off flirting with a stranger.
Real classy.
As she hoofed it down the shallow alley and entered the rear parking lot, other stragglers were also going for their rides, the women talking in quick bursts, like the afterburn of those songs and that singer was still revving them up. In contrast, Cait felt totally apart from them, in spite of the fact that they’d all seen the same performance and been in the same mind-set inside the café.
She spent a lot of years walking this stretch of isolation.
By the time she came up to her car, the temperature had gone from refreshing to chilly, and she made fast work of the unlock-and-open thing. Getting in, she shivered as she shut the door, and immediately hit the start button. Heat, heat would be good, but … shoot, it was going to be a while coming: Three other cars had their white reverse lights on and were inching around, trying to navigate the cramped space. All at the same time.
She was going to be stuck in place for a while…
Later, she would wonder what exactly had made her turn her head to the left. Not a sound, no. Or a flash of movement. Or anything of outward significance.
But sure as if someone had called her name, her head swiveled and her eyes searched the darkness.
There was a truck parked next to her, a rough, rangy vehicle that seemed like it belonged more in farm and forest territory than at a city-dweller café. And behind its wheel, sitting with eerie stillness, was a man. A big man.
She could not see his face, but his sharp profile cut through the ambient glow of the lot’s security lights, carving a black path through the illumination. His head was nearly shaved, his brow heavy, as if he were frowning, his hard chin giving the clear impression that “uncompromising” was probably not just something he was familiar with, but an operating principle.