Page 11 of Whispers of Fire

“Please, please, I swear I’m innocent. We can find an arrangement. I’ll do anything.”

Ares comes back to his chair, taking his time, like a lion waiting to devour his prey.

“I’m fuckin’ hungry, how ’bout we go get some steak, Vox?” he says casually, ignoring the bleeding man sitting in front of him. He knows Nero was under this, but O’brian must have tried to make a deal with him. Don’t think he’ll die today, but Ares is definitely gonna teach him a lesson about loyalty.

“Sure, Prez, it’ll give him time to find a good arrangement for us, ain’t that right, O’brian?” We’ve been at it for hours. Breaking him slowly to get what we want made me hungry. Wouldn't mind getting a good steak.

He nods and begs some more, looking more pathetic as each second passes.

Who the fuck thinks it’s okay to make deals with our enemies?

The bastard will be lucky if he walks out alive.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I reach for it with anticipation. That's the surveillance app from the camera I have installed in my angel's bedroom, an hour after she left with her father this morning. I open it and see her lying on her bed, still wearing her odd clothes.

Somethin’s off.

“Gotta handle somethin’, Prez, be back in a few,” I say as casually as I can, trying to shut down the rising fear in my chest. Ares nods and stares into O’brian's eyes.

“Oh, take your time, we have all the time in the world,” he says, grabbing the electric drill.

Looking closer at the screen, I notice she's not moving but somehow I know she's not sleeping yet. Her hair is glued to her face in a strange way, very different from the tight braid I saw on her yesterday. There's not enough light for me to see clearly, but her hands have a peculiar color, as if they had been painted with blood.

My breathing skips a beat as I walk out of the basement, hearing O’brian crying mixed with the sound of the drill.

Damn it, Ares can’t help himself.

Hope I’ll get there in time before he does too much damage.

Walking into the main hall, which is basically a massive warehouse, I pass by Carter and Steele playing cards, a chick on their lap with old rock’n’roll songs at full blast. I would normally join them, but not this time. Striding toward the bar, I slip behind it. My eyes scan the shelves until they land on the emergency box tucked away in the corner. I reach for it, grabbin’ the bandages and disinfectant. You never know if they might come in handy.

My phone vibrates again, the movement detector showing her fidgeting to find a comfortable position. I wish I could just see her now to make sure she’s okay.

That’s strange. I don’t know her.

Why would I need to know that?

This is dangerous territory, and I’m fully aware that paying her a late-night visit isn't really respecting my rule of keeping her at arm's length. But I can’t fuckin’ help it.

I take my keys and mount my Harley in a heartbeat. Every twist and turn brings me closer to her, the only thought on my mind. The idea of somebody daring to touch her makes my blood pulse harder.

Don’t give a fuck why, I just don’t like the idea.

Parking in front of my house, I keep my gear on me and walk to my neighbor's house with my helmet still on.

Visiting their home this morning was an interesting experience. The Parkers have an odd conception of home, staging it as if nobody was really living in it but just passing by, needing only the bare minimum. Couldn't find anything remotely comfy or inviting, the whole place filled with wood furniture and empty walls. All but one, where I finally figured out who they were: “The Ascension awaits those who do not fear death.”

My Angel is a member of the Faithful Lambs. A local cult with pretty fucked up beliefs. It makes sense, her appearance, her parents' austere looks, this big Spartan house.

Wonder if she knows that her cult is entangled in my underworld.

As I reach the main door, I kneel and use the screwdriver I took with me when I got out of the basement to unlock the door. The click of the mechanism releasing is a sound I've grown accustomed to. This isn't the first time I've had to break in somewhere, and it certainly won't be the last. With the door now unlocked, I push it open slowly, each movement calculated to minimize noise.

I walk in, knowing my surroundings thanks to my earlier visit that day. All the lights are off, and I’ve seen her parents have their bedroom on the ground floor. I walk to their door, checking if they are sleeping. Don’t want to have to hit them before making sure they did something to her. They haven’t closed their doors, so I take a peek, seeing them asleep. They lie sound asleep, unaware of the intrusion into their home.

People look different when they sleep, more vulnerable, easier to kill.

The house is shrouded in darkness, but I progress with ease, relying on memory and instinct. Each step on the stairs is calculated, my ears tuned to the faintest sound. At the end of the hallway, her closed door looms like the last barrier between me and my angel. The familiar scent of vanilla drifts through the air.

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