Razr stopped breathing even as his heart revved from asudden injection of hope-fueled adrenaline.He stared at the silver letters asif they were a lifeline and he was drowning.“Are...are you sure?”
“I have it on good authority.”
Razr’s hand shook so hard he nearly dropped the card.Thiswas it.The way to repair some, if not all, of the damage he and his teammatescaused when they’d lost three of Heaven’s most valuable weapons, the Gems ofEnoch, and got their human custodians killed.One gem, the Terra Amethyst, hadbeen recovered, but two remained: Darlah’s Fire Garnet and Razr’s Ice Diamond.
Finding either or both would return Razr to full angelstatus and erase the stain on his reputation...and his soul.
Azagoth, clearly knowing what Razrwas thinking, nodded.“Go,” he said.“Take as much time as you need.”
Razr sucked in a stunned breath, but really, he shouldn’t beall that shocked.Azagothmight have a reputation forcruelty, but he was generous with those who were loyal to him.Razr was aboutto thank him when the angel wing glyph on the back of his hand, usuallyinvisible, began to glow.Fuck.It had been less than twenty-four hours sincethe last time.He usually got thirty-six, give or take a couple of hours, torecover.Although once he’d gone barely eight.The random nature of thisparticular angelicpunishment was a pain in the ass.
“That was shitty timing.”Azagoth,the King of Demon Souls and Understatements, pulled a well-worn cat-o’-ninesout of his desk drawer.Because, of course, one must always be prepared forspur-of-the-moment torture.He held up the weapon with way too much enthusiasm.“Mine or yours?”
Razr’s personal flogger was in his pocket, and he swore hefelt it burning through his robes.“Yours,” he muttered, figuring it was alwaysbetter to get someone else’s stuff bloody.
Azagothheld the cat out to JimBob.“Want the honor?”
Razr bit back a groan as the angel took the weapon andstroked it like an old lover.“It’s been a long time.”
“Really?”Razr said.“Because you seem like the type whogets off on torture.”
It was a stupid thing to say to someone who was far morepowerful and who was about to turn Razr’s back into hamburger, but he’d neverbeen known for his tact.
Jim Bob, who rarely even smiled, laughed.Clearly, the guy’ssense of humor circled the gallows.Razr would respect that if he weren’t theone swinging at the end of the rope.
“Will you stand or kneel?”Jim Bob asked.
“Good question.”He dropped hisrobeso he was standing naked in front ofAzagoth, JimBob, andZhubaal, “I figure I’ll start on my feet andend on my knees.That’s usually how it goes.”
Jim Bob made a “turn-around” gesture, and after taking adeep, steadying breath, Razr assumed the position, bracing himself against thewall with his palms.“How many?”
“Six,”Azagothsaid before Razrcould answer.“I don’t know why.”
“I do.”Jim Bob’s soft reply hung in the air and reeledthrough Razr’s mind.
How did Jim Bob know?Sure, everyone in Heaven probably knewabout Razr’s screw-up with the Gems of Enoch, but few were privy to thespecifics of his punishment.The guy must be well connected in Heaven, whichonly added to the mystery of his dealings withAzagoth.
The whistle of the nine leather straps, each tipped by sharpbone spurs singing through the air, interrupted Razr’s thoughts.Pain explodedacross his shoulder blades and forced a grunt from him.But not a scream.Henever screamed.
The second blow was worse, the third so intense that hesagged to his knees.Usuallyhe could stay on his feetuntil the fifth strike, but Jim Bob was strong, and he wasn’t holding back.That was the thing aboutfloggingsin the angel anddemon worlds versus the human one; Razr could take hundreds of lashings from ahuman.Hell, he could take thousands and not die.
But when someone with superior strength and mysticalcapabilities was wielding the whip, the damage increased by a factor ofholyshit.
The fourth blow knocked the breath from his lungs, and thefifth made him see stars.
The sixth, placed low on his hips, knocked him onto the coldfloor, sprawled in a pool of his own blood.
Maybe this was the last time.Please let this be thelast time, he thought, just before he passed out.
Chapter Two
“Ma’am, pardon my French, but you’re full of shit.There are no fucking deposits here.No Taaffeite has ever been found inMadagascar.This is a waste of time and a waste of afucktonof money.I don’t care about your credentials.Like I said, you’re full ofshit.”
Jedda Brighton resisted the urge to punch the man in hisunshaven, saggy face the way she’d been wanting to do for the last two weeks.Two weeks of putting up with the mining engineer’s alcohol-fueled crude talkand casual sexism, which he blew off as her being an oversensitive snowflakewhen she called him on it.Two weeks of watching him treat the local diggerslike slaves.Two weeks of listening to him bitch about his “whore of anex-wife” and “outrageous” child support.He was the type of asshole who, if awoman turned down his advances, would accuse her of being a lesbian.
Because sure, didn’t all women love an overweight, abusiveslob who looked and smelled like a walking hangover and who thought he wasGod’s gift to women?If not for his considerable wealth, no woman would put upwith him, and he either didn’t know that, or he didn’t care, which made himeither stupid, or scum, or both.
Jedda was going to go with both.Hell, she wouldn’t put upwith him for even this job if it weren’t for the fact that she needed him todig for gems she couldn’t otherwise reach on her own.
