Page 120 of Once A Crime Lord

“Because he has a score to settle,” Blade said. “Gavin broke the rules and Lucifer’s never forgiven him for it.”

“How’d you break the rules?”

“Only one opponent survives,” Gavin said. “I fought Lucifer and didn’t kill him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to run Hell.”

A pause and then, “So what did you do?”

“I knocked him out and left. Haven’t been back since. Lyla’s the only reason I’d go back and Lucifer knows it.”

“You think Lucifer kidnapped Lyla so you two can duel to the death?” Angel asked.

“I don’t know.” He had a feeling Phantom was involved. Lucifer wasn’t the kidnapping type.

“How long has it been since you beat him?”

“Five years ago.” The day after Lyla left him the first time.

“Whose side is Lucifer on?”

“No one’s.” He rubbed his thumb against the brass knuckles, which had done damage in his youth. “In Hell, anything goes. The people who go to a place like this are killers looking for the kind of entertainment they can’t get anywhere else.” He thought of Lyla being in a place like that and closed his eyes. Lucifer wouldn’t do anything to her yet.

“How come you never told me about Hell? Fuck. This place sounds like Disneyland.”

“You might want to call Raul,” Blade said.

“No need. We’re all coming out of this alive,” Angel said.

Blade bypassed the glittering Strip and turned onto a dingy street with broken streetlights, dirty liquor stores, and abandoned buildings. Blade pulled into the parking lot of a nude bar. The sign out front wasn’t lit, and only two other cars were in the vicinity.

“No one’s here,” Angel said.

“There’s lots of ways into Hell. This is one of them,” Blade said. “There’s a locked compartment under your seat. Stash your gun there.”

Gavin didn’t take his eyes from the shabby building, which had no windows.

“You have a knife?” Blade asked Angel.

“Of course.”

“Good. You’re going to need it,” Blade said as they stepped into the bar.

Death and depression clung to the walls of this place. He could taste it in his mouth. The dancers moved with a sluggishness that indicated they were high on something. The men lounging in the dark corners didn’t move or speak. The beat of music struck a dark chord in him. The type of people drawn to this place had no hope or souls. These men didn’t care whether they lived or died. Once you entered Hell, your life was on the line. Many entered, few left breathing.

He ignored the dancers, patrons, and bartender as he weaved between the tables. He walked through an open door beside the stage. The light here wasn’t much better. He walked down a hallway with rotting planks and into the dressing room where the dancers were doing drugs and completely oblivious to their presence. He turned to the walk-in closet, which was filled with the shit strippers wore before they bared it all. He pushed on the wall of hooker shoes, and it swung open.

“Holy fuck. We don’t have shit like this in New York. We have to step it up,” Angel murmured.

Gavin led the way down the narrow, creaking staircase and approached a group of men guarding a black metal door. They were smoking and playing poker. One man looked up and surveyed them with one eye. His empty socket was on full display.

“We got Vegas royalty here, boys,” he drawled.

The men threw down their cards and started patting them down.

“You fighting?” one of the men asked.

---