by Skyler Andra
I shook my head. They both needed to think with their heads and get smart about this. “Thinking with your heart makes you weak. Luc banks off that crap. I learned that a long time ago when he killed Ariel and when he used it against Zak. I have to protect you all from that.”
“Then you’re all my weaknesses then. Does that mean I must lose you?” Her admission rocked me. Fuck, not Uri too. God, this was getting complicated and fast. I had no problem with her sharing herself, with the exception of Zak, but only because he might hurt her.
I considered her question, honestly unable to formulate an answer for once. “No,” I told her. “Never.”
She smiled, but it was filled with a grim sadness that cracked my chest open. “That’s where we differ then.”
An impasse. But she’d soon learn. Luc would change that. I dreaded the day he stole that precious innocence, her bleeding heart. The day she turned cold like Zak and me.
Urgency clawed at me though. Matters that must be attended to. I had to leave. “I’ll be back later.”
She didn’t let me leave without a goodbye. With the speed of a fox, she launched herself onto me, wrapping her hands around the back of my neck, cradling me. Her lips found mine, ravenously asserting her desire. She pressed into me, and I wavered on the edge of staying. Any residual irritation I held at her vanished.
I slipped an arm behind her back, pulling her closer, kissing her long, hard, and with the desperation of a man starved. We hadn’t kissed in days. God, I’d been a terrible lover.
Gabe’s death had hit me pretty hard and I hadn’t desired intimacy of any kind. I needed to process losing another comrade. For not being strong enough, smart enough, to save her. For not anticipating Luc’s ambush. It was all one step closer to failure.
But in the process, I’d forgotten that Jojo might have needed me for comfort. Her touch reminded me how much I missed it and yearned it.
Shit, I wasn’t used to this relationship bullshit. Independence and doing things my way was the way I rolled. Beyond protecting my charges, I never had to think of another person in the equation before, least of all a lover. I’d have to make it up to her somehow. Just later. Maybe take her to Uri’s room and have my way with her. Hold her all night. That idea had me getting hard.
“Damn you’re making it hard to leave.” I clasped her face, tracing the lines of her jaw. Our lips met again, insistent and not wanting to part.
“I don’t want you to leave.” Her hungry eyes told me she needed me as much as I needed her. Her grace told me that she wanted to make up for her earlier transgressions, our entwined bodies rocking together.
God, she was becoming just as stubborn as me. I’d have to break that spirit if it meant we’d clash again on authority.
“Want to come to my bed tonight?” I whispered to her.
Whoa! Way to make a woman feel special, Mike. Fuck, I wasn’t any good at this dating business. Give me a skirmish to quash and I was your man, but courting a woman, a relationship—I was out of my depth.
Her gaze held mine, soft and sure. “Yes, I’d like that.”
“Maybe we could spend some time together beyond that too.” I tucked hair behind her ears, the sides of my hand brushing her neck, her eyelids closing briefly. “Go somewhere on a date. Just you and me.”
I toyed with the idea of taking her to a baseball match. Zak and I went all the time. She might appreciate the enthusiasm of the crowd’s chanting and cheering, a hotdog, or the thrill of a homerun.
Continuing, I ran a finger down the soft nape of her neck, along her collarbone and across the curves of her shoulder. She sighed low and shuddered. Her grace stirred with desire. So did mine. But I’d have to wait for that.
She clasped my hand and pressed it over the spot where her grace resided. Scarred by the intrusion from Luc. “I’d like that.”
Good. Me too. Fuck, I couldn’t wait. For a moment I considered ditching my plans, taking her out somewhere—to a restaurant, a show, dancing, anything. Just have a good time. Screw my responsibilities.
But reality sunk in and my gut twisted. Right now I couldn’t afford to indulge in personal matters. Funds were getting tight. We needed food, fuel, and accommodations while we tracked down the rest of the angels.
Regretfully, I pulled away. “See you tonight?”
“Yes.” She hugged herself, standing by the door as I closed it behind me.
I stood on the other side of the door, torn between busting it down and staying with her. But the practical side of me kicked in, and I forced myself forward down the foyer.
***
I pulled up outside a fish-processing factory. Excellent cover for the sordid and illegal operation hiding inside. My nose wrinkled with disgust as I navigated my way through the machines, the heads, beady eyes, and entrails of fish on display in trolleys lying around. Workers with shifty eyes examined me. I didn’t look at them as I made my way to the door at the back.
Throughout the years, I visited various establishments like this, all owned by a US conglomerate. I played cards in the illegal casinos operating behind all the filth. Each time I’d won handsomely, pocketing a few hundred thousand to tide the angels over for half a year. Of course, I didn’t keep it all. I distributed it equally to all the angels for living, travel, and all other expenses.
But I always donated part of my winnings—at least fifty thousand each time—to various charities. A children’s home, woman’s domestic violence shelter, and animal rescue organization. Small good deeds in comparison to all my sins.
I eased the factory door open and entered a short hall flooded in red light. Security stood at the end of the corridor. Armed with at least three weapons by the ping of my angelic senses. Two guns in holsters tucked under their coats, one on the holster hanging from their hips. Knives strapped to their legs. Inside the room, there’d be many more guards, one in every corner, one by every table—each ready to throw out any patron that displeased the owner when they couldn’t pay their debt or caused trouble.
“Red velvet sheets,” I gave the guards the password.
The first one nodded at me. “Name?” he croaked.
God, he looked too old for this shit. Like he’d been in one too many fights in his life, his nose crooked after being broken, teeth missing, ugly lumps all over his forehead. I bet he’d only taken this gig only for the pay.
“Reginald Dwight,” I replied with my moniker. Trust them to give me fucking Elton John. A flamboyant, tantrum throwing, asshole of a singer. God, if Zak found out about this, I’d never hear the end of it.
The guard scrolled through the names on his list. “We appreciate your patronage, Mr. Dwight.”
The second guard sprang into action. An even uglier fellow with a face that look like it had emerged from one of the meat grinders back in the factory. “Declare your weapons and leave them here, sir.”
I almost laughed in his face at the irony of the request. But I humored him as he ran a metal detector over my body and patted me down. That technology would never detect an angelic weapon.
“Clear, Mr. Dwight,” the guard advised. “You may enter.”
I nodded, having no doubts that they’d refuse me.
“Have a pleasant evening,” the other guard said. “Thank you for your custom.”
Such polite manners for a security crew that wouldn’t hesitate to blow my brains out if the owner ordered them too.
Determined to win, I entered into the establishment, immediately hit by the extravagance. Yellow tinted chandeliers cast a dim glow over the entire room. Vermillion walls were separated by cream colored marble. Rare flowers of every kind in vases. Leather chairs of the highest quality by the bar where gamblers were plied with free drinks. Hookers strode around the place in all states of undress, offering drugs of every kind, distractions from winning, or sex outback in the booths.
Not an evident camera in sight. I’d scanned the place on previous visits as I did now. I sent out a ripple of my grace in every directi
on to check. We called it gracefire. Subtle enough not to be detected by Luc, but powerful enough to provide answers. Once the beam of energy hit the walls, it would form a picture of the structure, and return to me. Similar to how whales used echolocation. It boomeranged back, telling me the walls were clean of any electronics in the walls, lights, tables, chairs, bathrooms and bar facilities.
This place preferred the old fashion way to keep track of cheating; security watching at every table. They didn’t want video footage stored onsite. Not if the cops raided the place and used it as evidence. Privacy was why I chose this network of facilities. I didn’t want Luc or his minions scanning the footage and finding me despite the low profile I kept wherever I could.
I crossed the room to collect chips being dispensing behind a bulletproof glass wall.
“Good evening, sir,” the attendant greeted.
“Credit for twenty thousand on Reginald Dwight,” I said. “One thousand-dollar chips, please.”
The attendant typed my moniker name into the computer, searching my credit limit and history.
“Certainly, sir.” He counted out chips and slid them under the opening at the bottom.
“Thanks.” I tucked them in my jacket pocket and turned.
For a few moments, I assessed which table to sit at. To stay on a roll, I kept clear of any gangsters and underworld types. Short tempters. Draped in hookers. Sore losers with dummy spits that resulted in someone being punched or stabbed to death outside in the alley. While I could take any of them on easily, I chose not to because they put me off my game. I had to look after my warriors and didn’t want to jeopardize my membership at this network.
Assassins for hire and drug dealers occupied all the poker and craps tables. No thanks. Four blackjack tables were full, except for the last, where a sole man played. Innocent looking enough, keeping his eyes down and minding his own business, not drawing attention like some of the dickhead peacocks in here. From this I gathered him to be the type no longer welcome at regular casinos for some sort of infringement. My kind of guy. One who didn’t ask questions of try to pick a fight.
I slid into a seat beside him. Blackjack was my warm up game anyway.
“Good evening, sir,” the croupier, a man in his thirties, said. He was dressed in black slacks and shirt with a crimson blazer to match the walls.
“One thousand, please.” I placed the chip on the green velvet table.
“Thank you, sir.” The croupier nodded and dealt me two cards, face up. A eight of spades and two of diamonds. Total of ten. Not the best hand. But I had time, patience, and money to burn.
I let my neighbor have his turn. A jack of clubs to add to his ten. Shit. Not bad. He tapped his foot as if impressed.
On my next shot, I said, “hit me,” and the croupier dealt me another card. A five of hearts. Total of seventeen.
“Stay,” the guy next to me mumbled.
Damn, if the dealer had a crap hand, he’d win.
If only I could still see through the cards with my angel sight. I wondered if it was because of my fading powers or if the Most High disapproved and stripped me of the gift.
“Hit me,” I said, and the dealer slid me a six. Shit, I was out.
The croupier flipped over his card. A seven and an eight.
“Congratulations, sir.” He slid my thousand-dollar chip, and the five thousand the guy had won, across the table. “Play again, sirs?”
“Yes.” I added two thousand to the table this time.
My neighbor nodded, shoving all of his winnings forward. He tapped his foot with even more fury.
“Thank you, sirs.” The croupier shuffled the cards and dealt the hands.
A king of diamonds for him. Three of clubs and two of hearts for me. A king of hearts and ace of spaces for my neighbor. Fuck. Twice in a row.
For the next few games I played it conservatively, winning and doubling my money on one game and losing on two. But the fourth I decided to throw in five grand and won. Gaining some confidence, I upped my bets to two thousand each for my fifth, sixth, and seventh games. I lost my cash and fast. By this stage I was sweating, my adrenaline running high. I rubbed at my forehead, my thoughts scrambling to make sense of what happened. I’d never had a losing streak like this. Usually I lost every fifth game or so, and I’d play that safe. But something was wrong.
“Another bet, sir?” the croupier asked, shuffling his cards once more.
Fuck yeah. I wasn’t walking away empty handed. “Yes.”
He dealt me two cards. A king and a ten. Hell yes. My hands were improving.
“Sit or fold, sir?”
Stupid question. “Sit.”
He asked the question of my neighbor who had a ten and a nine. “Hit me,” the guy said, the beat of his foot tapping increasing.
A ballsy move.
The croupier didn’t bat an eyelid as he delivered a two.
Get fucked. No way. I calculated my chances of getting an ace. One in about fifty.
“Sit or fold, sir?” the croupier asked.
“Fold,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose, getting annoyed at my neighbor’s incessant foot tapping.
I curled my arms over my head. One more game; I had to win. If I could just get my groove on, I’d be okay. I glanced at my chips. Three thousand left. When the croupier asked me if I wanted to play again, I shoved all my chips forward. He dealt me a king and a seven. Eighteen. An okay hand. But let’s see what my neighbor got.
An ace and a nine. Dammit. Twenty. I tilted my head to the ceiling and let out a heavy sigh. Where was he pulling these amazing hands from?
“Do you want to sit or fold?” the dealer asked.
I shuffled to the edge of my seat. Sweat formed on my fingertips, glazing the cards. A lot rode on this bet. If I lost, we were fucked. That was the last of my credit and I’d have to figure out a way to pay it back. But if I won, it’d take the pressure off for a while.
“Hit me,” I rasped.
“Very well, sir.” The croupier did as asked, sliding me a four.
Fucking hell. That was the last of my chips.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
I didn’t even wait to see what his hand looked like. I launched to my feet and went straight for the credit office.
“Can I get another twenty thousand on Reginald Dwight?” I asked.
The man behind the counter said, “One moment, sir,” and typed something into the computer. It beeped in response. The guy frowned. It had never done that before.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the man advised. “The owners have decided to cut your credit. You’ll need to pay back the money within twenty-four hours.”
Fuck. I didn’t have that kind of cash lying around. Four thousand maybe. But I couldn’t touch that when it was for food and fuel.
The owners weren’t the kind of men to offer compassion at a sob story. Nor did they offer extensions for debts. They were the kind to break legs for lack of repayments.
If my credit had been cut, I wasn’t going to be able to gamble at any of their other establishments to try and win the money back. I didn’t want to risk trying a licensed casino. So how the fuck was I going to pay this back? In twenty-four hours no less. I had to deal with Luc’s concert. Dammit, things were going from bad to worse and fast.
16
Jophiel
“This is the place,” Uri announced when we arrived at the Sterling City Council chambers after a twenty minute walk from Uri’s apartment.
The chambers were surrounded by a park with dead grass and dying trees opposite of it, businesses and shops on the left, and a courthouse to the right.
Today Uri wore a shirt that said Never Fear, Uri’s Here. We both wore our I love Sterling City caps. It seemed kind of appropriate given we were trying to save the city.
“Wow, this might have been fashionable in the seventies, but it’s severely outdated now,” he spoke up regarding the big, ugly and tired looking brick building with mismatched bricks and strange
pod shaped features on the exterior.
I had no idea if that was true. Angelic beings didn’t exactly keep tabs on human architecture all the way from Heaven.
“Probably designed by someone who took a little too much LSD.” He laughed at his own joke.
I didn’t understand it, but his laugh was so jolly and boisterous it made me smile.
“It certainly could do with some refreshing,” I admitted.
“Go on.” He nudged me. “Do your thing.”
I bit my lip. “I’m not allowed.”
“Fuck Mike and his rules,” he growled.
“He’s got his reasons,” I defended him, wrapping the scarf tighter around my neck to block out the cold winds nipping at my neck.
Anger flared inside of Uri’s grace. “What good has sneaking around in the shadows done for Mike? Has it kept Luc at bay?”
I didn’t like seeing him like this—the cheerful mask falling away, revealing a bitterness at Mike below it. I wondered exactly what had happened between the angels. Something told me there was more to the story than I’d been told. When I got more time, I made a note to dig deeper and discover the truth.
“No, it hasn’t,” I replied, stuffing my hands in the coat Uri leant me, unable to argue that point. “But it’s not entirely fair to blame Michael.”
The humans had free will in all of this. Something the angels were not allowed to take away from them. The Most High had granted us permission to cleanse them of any darkness and to show them that hope, faith, and a better way existed through demonstrations of our grace. Not an easy job when the humans were held captive to their negative emotions.
All that aside, Uri and I had had a similar conversation yesterday. I understood Mike’s perspective just as much as I valued Uri’s. We all had to learn to get over our differences and work together.
A grave expression darkened his features. “The area in Sterling City that I cleared of darkness is one of the few last strongholds left on Earth. It’s a beacon of light. Save for Shell Cove and places like that.”
