Page 56 of Sin and Salvation

Stacks upon stacks of crates filled the space. I stepped in behind Zane, taking in the labels with my air stuck in my throat.

I’d never seen so many weapons crates in my life. The Black Hearts literally could’ve armed the city as a whole with this.

“What’s the plan for these?” I asked Zane, keeping my voice quiet, but in the open, silent space my words bounced off the walls and were carried around.

“Our gang is more than just the bikers.” He chose a crate that didn’t look as dusty as the others, and grabbed a pry bar leaning against the wall. The splintering crack of nails pulling out of wood filled the air. “All the girls that work for us, the bouncers… half the demons on this side of Concordia support the club. If Maxime wants a fight, he’s going up against half the city.”

With a crash, he sent the lid of the crate toppling to the floor. Inside, the same matte black gun we’d seen demonstrated by Gian was nestled in dark foam.

But Zane scowled, lifting the layer of foam to reveal the next. “Fuck.”

"Crow, we’ve got a problem.” Aeron’s voice echoed across the warehouse from the opposite side.

“What is it?” I asked, leaning next to Zane’s crate. “That’s… what you ordered, isn’t it?”

“He shorted us.” The Greed demon slammed a fist against the crate. “This was bulked out with bullshit.” He lifted the foam to show me the next layer was empty, and beneath that, the crate was packed with nothing but sawdust. “Will you grab Crow, love?”

Anxiety churned in my gut as I considered the implications. If Gian had sold them out… there was only one demon as powerful as the Black Hearts he would’ve turned to.

Was the bottom of Giraud Tower now packed with weapons meant for the club?

I wove between several stacks of crates, following the distant, splintered sound of Aeron’s angry voice, but it was like trying to work through a maze. Whoever had been filling the warehouse hadn’t done so with an easy walk in mind.

I turned a corner, expecting to see a walkway to the front doors, but came face to face with another stack of crates. Picking up my pace, I wound around them, but found myself getting no further towards the front.

Fuck. I’d taken the most roundabout way possible to get to Crow, and I’d look like an idiot if I backtracked, but this was taking me towards the back of the warehouse. The deep shadows back here were giving me a bad feeling in my gut, like eyes watched me in the darkness.

Screw it. I didn’t care if I looked like an idiot for backtracking as long as I wasn’t back here by myself anymore.

I’d turned to go when a soft sound met my ears. It bounced off the crates, echoing a little… and it had sounded like a footstep.

I’d seen enough horror movies to know what happened when a heroine said ‘Hello’ out loud. It was probably just one of the guards, or possibly even a rat, but better safe than sorry.

I turned on my heel, intending to backtrack as quietly as possible. There was no one else around; I was freaking out for no reason.

Still. They wouldn’t be upset at me if I called out, just to get my bearings. I just needed a voice to follow.

I opened my mouth to call for Crow just as something heavy slammed into the back of my head.

I felt a burst of pain, warmth trickling over my skull, the floor rushing upwards to meet me—

And then the oblivion of darkness.

ChapterTwenty-Eight

Iopened my eyes to blinding pain.

My head was splitting apart, agony trickling down into my shoulders. I shifted with a groan, thinking that I’d slept wrong—I must've passed out on the couch—but the hard ground beneath me wasn’t a couch, either.

It took effort to open my eyes. All around me was a strange, wavering darkness, and I whimpered, reaching up to touch the sore, swollen lump on the back of my head.

The feeling of dry blood flaking away under my fingertips brought it all back.

I’d been in the warehouse, and in the maze of the stacks, someone had coshed me in the back of the head.

I sucked in a breath, my eyes feeling swollen two sizes too big for their sockets. My gut rolled as I sat up, and I leaned over and threw up.

Concussed. The word echoed in the back of my brain like a buzzing gnat, annoying but oddly important. Whoever had hit me must’ve concussed me.

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