Page 50 of Inferno

“I didn’t even tell her that I love her,” I whisper.

“She knew, man,” Viking insists. “Women always know.”

I let him pull me away from her corpse, and I bury my head in his shoulder. We’re not supposed to feel pain. We’re not supposed to hurt.

Well, I’ve got news for ya… this fucking hurts.

I don’t know how long we sit in the grass, me crying like a baby, and Viking holding onto me like a child, but the next thing I know, Viking’s attention is drawn away.

“We got him!”

I snap my head up so fast and spot Demo, Reaper, and Acid strolling across the property. A man is thrown over Demo’s shoulder, and I scramble to my feet.

“Tell me he’s not dead,” I sneer when they get close enough to hear me.

“He’s not,” Acid assures me. “We saved him for you.”

“Good.” Satisfied that I’ll make the man pay, I focus on Reaper. “Now bring her back.”

His gaze strays to Emmy’s body behind me. “She’s dead?”

“Only until you bring her back. You have the ability to kill and resurrect so do it.”

Reaper’s expression falls, and he shakes his head. “Inferno, I can only resurrect someone I kill. It doesn’t work any other way.”

“Sure, it does,” I insist. “Make it work.”

“He can’t, brother,” Demo says quietly. “You know he can’t.”

I dart my eyes to Viking. “Make him save her, Pres.”

He says nothing because there’s nothing to say. I know how all of our powers work, and Reaper can’t do what I’m asking, no matter how desperate I am for him to.

I close the distance between me and Demo and yank the man from his hold. After tossing him to the ground, I kick him in the side to wake him up. He stirs and tries to roll away from me, but I grab his chin and force his eyes to mine.

No fucking way.

He smiles, blood coating his teeth. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“I saved you. The day I saved her, I saved you.”

“You mean your daddy saved her. But you didn’t save her today though, did ya?”

“What’s your name?”

“You don’t know?”

“How would I? I died that day.”

“Josh Greene.”

“Well, Josh Greene. I’m Dean Haskins.”

“Junior,” he supplies.

“Nope. Just plain old Dean Haskins. It was me all those years ago. You’re at war with a ghost, fucker, and it’s not a war you’ll win.”

Unable to control my fury, and not really wanting to, I let the emotion slither through my veins like thick sludge. The skin on my arms splits open, and flames begin to dance.

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