Page 32 of Sinfully Mine

“Grace! Drop!”

I’d heard that command from my father dozens of times. When he trained on the weekends, he brought me along. I learned his lingo and tricks. Even now, muscle memory took over, and I bent my knees, hitting the dirt before the first bullet fired.

“Drop your weapons. Now,” Hunter ordered. His voice sounded odd, almost demonic. It was deep and scratchy.

I looked up at his face, shocked to find that he didn’t look. . . human. His features had changed, more sinew and bone than flesh. His eyes, though, they glowed a fearsome green.

“What are you?” I whispered, enthralled. Terrified. And oddly comforted. What the hell was the matter with me?

My father yelped as Hunter’s gaze swung to him. “You’re the father of my Grace.”

Dad nodded. “Shit.”

“You will be unharmed. All others will perish.”

I swear I had just entered an alternate dimension where paranormal things like demons and monsters were real. Or maybe I stumbled onto a movie set. This couldn’t be happening in real life. Right?

Hunter roared, his clothes poofed into dust, replaced by long, flowing black robes. His bony hand gripped a scythe that materialized from nothing. He sliced through the air, and Tony went down first. His cry of terror was met with brutal indifference. In an instant, he reduced to ash, landing in a pile beneath Hunter’s robes.

Every bodyguard for the Russian fell next, the pile of ash growing in size but not moving in the wind. It lingered by some dark magic, awaiting its purpose.

The Russian swore as he bent one knee. “Spare me and I will serve you.”

Dark laughter pressed into every corner of the warehouse. Even the shadows shrank from its powerful timbre.

“Your soul is tainted. Lucifer awaits your arrival.”

A wicked cyclone of air began to swirl around us, and I shut my eyes, burying my head in my arms as I hoped the ash wouldn’t get tangled in my hair. It was a random thought, and I trembled, covering my ears when the screams of the dead howled and begged for mercy.

There was none to be given.

When I heard the ground popping and cracking, I was sure I’d be swallowed up, too. But nothing touched me. No ash. No heat from the flames that I could feel burning the ground beside me. Not even a bony claw holding a sharp scythe.

“You can open your eyes,” Hunter announced, reaching for me as I lifted my head.

He looked normal. No bones or robes or skeletal features. Just my handsome, inked, biker bad boy.

“You rescued me.”

“I did, Gracey girl.”

“And my dad?” I was scared to look.

“Right beside you.”

My father looked dazed but unharmed. “Grace.”

I rushed to my feet, flinging myself into his arms. “Dad. You’re okay!”

“I am. Thanks to him.”

“He’s my boyfriend.” I held out my hand, and Hunter took it. “Well, he’s more than that.”

“I’d say so,” my father replied. “You got a name?”

“Sean Hunter Moore.”

“Is my daughter safe with you?”

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