Good.
“Sounds like someone’s nervous,” Lucifer murmured, eyes half-lidded, watching me. “I wonder why.”
Because I killed my way through his friends and broke his daddy’s toybox, I thought.
My fingers tightened around the knife hilt until my knuckles ached. Blood had dried tacky on my palm, sticking my skin to the worn handle. It felt right. Like this was what my hands had been waiting for since that alley. I’d taken my anger out of Lucifer, but he wasn’t the source of my rage; only the distraction.
“I’m still mad at you,” I grumbled.
“I know.”
“Are you going to apologize?”
He tried to cover a smile. “No.”
“Jesus Lucifer Christ help me,” I sighed before closing my eyes to focus on Joe. Lucifer must have heightened my sense because I could pinpoint exactly where the piece of shit was. “He’s three rows down, two stacks over.”
“What are you going to do, Dany?”
I smiled at him sweetly. “Why, I’m glad you asked, Luci. I’m going to be a good little mistress of Satan and deliver an extra soul for my bargain this year.”
The yard stretched in front of me, a rusted labyrinth of steel and shadow. My boots crunched over broken glass and shell casings, each step a countdown. The music in my ear had died sometime during the screams, but the beat had burrowed under my skin and stayed.
Left. Right. Another row. My shoulder brushed flaking paint, my fingers trailing along cold metal to keep me grounded.
Joe’s voice came again, closer now. “…check the south fence. If he’s bleeding, he’ll—”
I smiled, sharp and humorless. Not bleeding anymore, asshole. Perks of being hell’s unwanted science project.
I rounded the end of the container stack and he was there at the far end of the aisle, gun up and mouth set in that hard, practiced line he used when he wanted to look in control. My grip tightened on the knife. I took one slow, deliberate step forward, kicking a rock across the pavement so Joe’s head snapped up and our eyes locked across the distance.
The second he saw me, it cracked.
“Hey, Batman,” I called, voice low and threaded with something wild and hungry. “Miss me?”
Joe’s face went slack, mouth hanging open as the barrel of his gun dipped. When his brain finally caught up, he said, “Jesus Christ… Dany?”
The way he said my name hit low like a kick straight to the lady bits. I watched the recognition crawl over his face in slow motion, and I knew what hesaw; my hair wild, shirt torn and half hanging off one shoulder, blood smearing every inch of my body.
He saw all of it.
“I don’t understand what’s going on.” He lowered the gun and tried to hide it beside his thigh. Like he could cover this up and keep lying to me.
“You know, that’s funny because up until about thirty minutes ago, neither did I. In fact, I was under the impression that you didn’t have any living relatives.”
“Dany, I can explain. I–I’m, uh, I’m undercover. I work for the St. Louis–”
“Cut the bullshit!” I roared and flung my knife at him. It landed with a satisfying sound and a scream.
“Jesus Christ!” he yelled. “Are you crazy?”
“Bat shit, actually, but that’s beside the point.”
Joe howled and dropped to one knee, clutching his arm. My knife stuck out of his bicep at a stupid angle, black handle bobbing when he moved.
“Ow, fuck!” he yelled, staring at it like it had personally betrayed him. “What the fuck, Dany?”He glared up at me through a curtain of messy hair, breath panting white in the cold. “You threw a knife at me!”
I didn’t answer. Just appreciated the way he squirmed.
