“I don’t know who Stede is fucking friends with,” Sierra snapped. “Find someone who’s repugnant, arrogant, and greedy, and they’ll probably be besties.”
“You just described half of Numen.”
Sierra blinked, shocked at the blunt statement. But she nodded. “Exactly. But I’d look at fellow enforcers first, or those they work closely with. Think like him.”
Stede had been in the archives with someone who knew their way around. The archivist? That narrowed down her search considerably.
It was time to go find out who Stede had been with that day. Sierra wasn’t her problem. She sounded like she detested Stede and whatever she’d been forced into. That didn’t make it right, but since Felicia had lost her parents over the same thing, she wasn’t going to seek her own personal vengeance. This was the warriors’ problem. “Where’s the back door? I need to ascend and start searching.”
* * *
Consciousness came quickly. Jagger snapped his eyes open with a sharp inhale and immediately closed them again.
He wasn’t alone.
The last few days reeled through his mind as if on an old movie projector. Stakeouts. Earning Felicia’s trust. The raid.
Fuck. The raid.
He’d been taken. In an absurdly easy turnabout, he’d been caught. Stede had been ready and had used a flash-bang grenade to stun him. It had worked too well.
How was Harlowe? She’d caught the brunt of it. What about the rest of the team?
Murmured words caught his attention. Female. “I swear he moved.”
He kept his eyes shut. He was lying down on a cool, hard floor with his arms behind him and his ankles aching from some unseen pressure.
“He’s out cold,” a disbelieving male said.
Wait. He knew that female. She’d been with Stede in the archives. Who was the guy?
“I hope he doesn’t wake up until Stede returns,” the female muttered. “I don’t want to deal with him.”
“I’d rather deal with him than a pissed-off Stede.” The male sounded disinterested, or distracted. Were they playing cards?
“I’d rather be doing something else.”
The male’s chuckle made Jagger’s stomach turn. Lovers? Please don’t get down and dirty while I’m still in the room.
How had Stede gotten to them? Or were they willing helpers?
Did Father know Stede had planned this? Was that why he’d pointed Felicia in his direction?
Disappointment coursed through him. Let down by his father again. The brief moments of perceived concern weren’t for him, but for Jameson Haddock’s carefully laid plans getting interrupted by the son he’d had the misfortune of conceiving. Any fatherly concern was swallowed whole by his ambition and whatever sick sense of revenge he wanted. A teenager was still inside of him, one who wondered why his parents were so wrapped up in their own drama that they forgot about him. A kid who wondered why they’d procreated in the first place.
“Me too, baby. Me too. Anywhere but here or work. I don’t want to be around when Senator Hancock finds out her son’s been taken.”
His mother? The male worked around Mother. He didn’t sound like a senator. A guard then. Did he know Mateo? Was Mateo in on this?
“Hancock has no reason to suspect us.”
“No, but if I don’t show for work… Mateo isn’t as dumb as he looks.”
She giggled. “He has to be to sleep with her.”
He was incensed for both his mother and Mateo. But how did these two know each other? An archivist and a guard. Maybe they were mates.
This little kidnapping business needed to yield more information or he’d feel even more useless, trussed up like he was a Thanksgiving goose. He was a warrior. He should’ve expected more from Stede. The male had been abusing his power for years and he’d escaped out from under their noses, even when they’d suspected him.
Jagger was used to humans’ actions, and especially demons’, but misbehaving angels had caught him off guard. Even after his experience.
Stilling his mind, he surveyed his other senses. His wings were out and bound. He’d been too distracted by the whispers of his captors at first, but the discomfort was making itself known now. Stiff shoulders. Cramped muscles. His arms were cuffed behind him under his wings, and the way his feet were tied together and bent back, he guessed that if he tugged, he’d find his wrists and ankles had been secured by a short length of rope. Hog-tied. He was on his side, with his neck cricked to the floor.
Keeping his inhale steady, he processed as many scents as he could. Stone. Old paper. Not stale air, but not exactly fresh.
The archives?
He was probably sealed in a room that no one ever visited, that no one had any interest in.
The sentries began shit-talking the senators. Nothing notable came from eavesdropping, but he kept pretending he was still out. He had to try.
A door banged open and it was only due to long hours of monitoring possessed humans that he didn’t flinch. Chair legs scraped across stone floors. What he wouldn’t give to see the panic on his captors’ faces. Busted gossiping.
“What are you sitting around for?” Ah. Stede. The male had a distinctive growl.
“You said to notify you when the prisoner woke up,” the female said.
“And?” Boots stomped across the floor. The hairs on his arms quivered. This wasn’t going to go his way. “He’s fucking awake.”
A steel toe kicked him in the thigh. Busted. He cracked an eye open. Time for the fun to begin.
Chapter 18
Pounding on the giant wood door was a nice outlet for the pent-up emotions she was holding in.
Felicia didn’t bother waiting for an answer. She balled up her fist and kept hammering away.
The door swung open and Mateo gave her a wary look. “Ms. Montclaire?”
“I need to talk to you and Chanel.” She’d purposely dropped the senator title. This wasn’t about politics. That’s what it looked like on the outside. But all of this was personal. From James Hancock’s fall and transition to Jameson Haddock, to Stede’s rightfully placed but highly inconvenient distrust of Jameson, to the capture of Jagger. It was all personal.
He didn’t budge. “About what?”
“I’m not wasting time repeating myself.”
Her tone was hard enough that he stepped back and let her inside.
Chanel came out of the depths of the massive mansion, fluffing her hair. It was midmorning in Numen and that was part of her issues with the senate. They met a few days at a time to waste their hot air on nothing, and then dismissed themselves for weeks when they “needed a break.” Maybe if they were organized and had standards in place for emergencies, they could get some actual decisions made without a bunch of posturing and harrumph, harrumph.
But that was just her opinion. And years of hearing her father lament about the same things. Sometimes their longevity was their own worst trait. A lot of the older senators didn’t believe that the rapid advances made in the human world affected them, but here they were. A fallen gathering way too much power thanks to smart phones and electronic dance music.
Mild curiosity left Chanel’s face, instantly replaced with cool assessment. “Ms. Montclaire.”
“Jagger’s been taken.”
The icy facade cracked. Alarm was rapidly wiped out by pure rage. “That deceitful bastard,” Chanel seethed. “I told him. I told him.”
She’d actually spoken to her ex-mate? The “him” in question wasn’t a mystery. Jameson Haddock was behind this. Somehow the fault originated with him.
“The warriors are tied up in political bullshit. I don’t have the same restrictions. But I need your help.” She pointed to Mateo. “I actually need his help and he needs your protection.”
“And you don’t?”
“I have Bryant at my back. But I’m not stupid enough to go charging after Jagger alone.”
Chanel watched her a second, but that second was loaded with so many jud
gments and decisions it weighed on the air between them. Mateo seemed to know his…girlfriend?…well enough not to speak. He was a wall behind her, a way for Chanel to box in what she needed to ruminate over. Like when Chanel had stormed into Jagger’s place and mated him off. Chanel and Mateo worked as a team. Did they even realize it?
“Tell me what happened.” She glided into an official-looking sitting room where the chairs looked as comfortable as marble. Tapestries managed to soften the ambiance but also added a museum quality. Look but don’t touch and move along quickly, please.
The female and her matte-silver gray wings draped themselves over a seat. Mateo positioned himself behind her and crossed his arms. He wasn’t her bodyguard. He was her self-appointed protector.
The flare of loss and jealously was unexpected. To distract herself from the internal eruption, she covered the highlights.
Even at their most antagonistic, she and Jagger had worked well together. She could berate herself for not letting him make amends, but what seemed like months ago was really only what, a few days? Almost a week? The days and nights blended together, but she wanted the possibility for more.
So what if she had to live up here? Her kind would stare. Yes, it sucked. But was it better letting them think nothing bad ever happened here? She had no obligation to spill her pain all over the realm, but what if…what if it saved another traumatized teen from losing her mother? Or another mother from losing herself? What if they needed to know that others in this realm went through hell?
As she wrapped up the highlights of what had happened and how she’d broken away from the team to conduct her own search, she couldn’t help but think of the future. The worry about whether she’d find him in time tabled every other problem. “Few dare to cross you. What I’m doing can get twisted and used as a distraction from the real problem.”
Chanel patted her hair again and glanced away. It was a rich-lady move straight from Sunset Boulevard. It made Felicia wonder how often Chanel snuck to the human realm. She probably hid a love for old Hollywood glam.
“You need me to sanction a search for Jagger without enforcer involvement? Done. Mateo, how do you feel about aiding Ms. Montclaire in her search?” Chanel didn’t look at Mateo when she addressed him. Her gaze was glued to Felicia.
Mateo’s nod was resolute. “We’ll do what we need to find him.”
“While giving no reason for the enforcers or senate to take your wings.” Chanel’s expression turned to granite. “I won’t risk it. No killing. Keep this mess in the realm, and if it spills over, make damn sure you don’t violate the rules.”
Killing was never an action to take lightly, and Felicia had never done the deed. But their opponents weren’t going to fight with rubber blades. “There might be a little killing involved.”
“Then you can go alone. I won’t risk Mateo’s fate, and I sure as hell won’t put Julian any closer to falling than he has been his whole life. A life gets taken during the rescue and our enemies can spin it against me. They’ve been waiting to for decades.”
Mateo’s face softened, a subtle shock rippling over his features. If Chanel never showed her emotions, then she damn well never said them aloud. This was probably a declaration of true love in her cold world.
Stede was her business, and since he’d be the type to distance himself from the messy tasks that might get him caught, she might not have to worry about facing him. So technically, she could promise no killing with no mental fingers crossing. “Fine. Grab your weapons.”
“I already have them.” Mateo’s tone wasn’t cocky. He was more than a meathead who stood by a doorway. She only saw a knife on his belt, but he spoke with all the confidence of a man loaded for bear.
“We start in the archives.”
Chanel cocked her head. “Whatever for?”
“There are apparently some good tidbits there about why Jagger’s father can do what he did. I know for sure Stede has a contact there, so that’s where we’ll start.”
The most delicate snort escaped Jagger’s mother. “And here I hoped you’d lay a trail of ruin through the senate. Without bloodshed, of course.”
“If I had time, I’d use this situation as an excuse. The senate could use a good razing.”
Chanel’s bright eyes gleamed. “You and I have much in common. You and my son are close, yes?”
“We’d be closer if you hadn’t interfered with his mating.”
It was the nearest thing to a smile Felicia had seen on the female. “Even I can act rashly. It’s only happened twice.” A line creased her otherwise smooth brow. “I appreciate that Julian was able to resolve the contract peacefully.”
Since they were going there and knowledge was power, Felicia’s question seemed both appropriate and inappropriate at the same time. “Do you regret it?”
“Persephone? No. It would’ve been an ideal match had he not been hung up on you.” Chanel fluffed her light hair off her forehead with an elegant hand. “But that’s not what you’re asking, is it? Do I regret ruining my mate’s life? No. I’m at peace with my actions. He’s since proved he deserved it.” Uncertainty tinted her eyes. “Even if I didn’t feel like he had for years afterward. You can understand why I favored a practical pairing.”
Take the emotion out, use the brain, and he wouldn’t end up where his mother had. “You were the right mate for him. Another might not have had the courage to make him pay for his violations.”
Chanel’s face iced over so fast Felicia feared it would crack. “Another may have had the fortitude to work it out. But in the end, I’d do it again.”
* * *
Blinding pain shot through his body. Jagger clenched his jaw and tensed every major muscle, preparing for one explosive movement to jerk away from the source of agony.
“Hold him tighter,” growled Stede.
Hands clamped harder on his shoulders and his calves, but that didn’t stop him from jerking left and right, up and down, anything to get away from the blade carving into his back. If only his hands and feet weren’t still bound.
“Maybe we should use angel fire.” The bright idea came from the female.
Stede’s next words were garbled, like he had something in his mouth. Probably the other blade he was using since his free hand was twisting Jagger’s wing back. “Are you kidding? The way he’s bucking around, we’ll be the ones to end up wearing the fire. All I need are his wings off.” Stede repositioned, shoving a knee in his kidneys. “Can’t get to your father, then I’ll make my own fallen.”
Fatigue was setting in as Jagger’s body frantically tried to heal from the wounds. He was fading fast. Stede wasn’t the type of bad guy to offer lengthy exposition, but Jagger had patched together enough. They suspected his father’s blood of having special properties, something about not being able to ascend or transcend when stained with it. But since those who fell quickly perished on Earth, they either hadn’t been able to track down any survivors or those survivors’ blood hadn’t had the same effect.
Whatever Father was up to, it was spilling all over Jagger. Literally. He’d lost a lot of blood. Stede wasn’t able to dig the blade into his back—too many ribs and bony joints in the way. It prolonged the process but also bought Jagger time. The only other thought going through his head besides escape was that Felicia had survived worse. And she’d done it silently and completely alone.
He didn’t want her ever to be alone again. He wouldn’t let these bastards take his wings and he couldn’t let them target the children of other fallen just because he was uncooperative.
Surging up, he snapped his head back and caught the female in the chin.
An oomph preceded the release on his shoulders. He was about to propel himself upward when fire laced his gut.
“It’s three against one, warrior.” Stede’s breath huffed in his ear. “Not even you are that good.”
It was just mind games. Stede might know how to fight, but his hired muscle was seriously lacking. The male looked like
he spent more time fisting beer than slamming faces. And the female kept looking at her partner, like she was waiting for him to speak against Stede and she’d back him up even as she trembled in fear. And she feared Stede. It was in her eyes, her timidity while carrying out Stede’s orders.
“Wanna bet?” he said, using as much false bravado as he could muster. He doubted they understood what he said. It was all jumbled. At some point he’d bitten his tongue and probably cracked a few teeth. Energy was draining out of him more rapidly than he could heal. Getting stabbed in the gut did that to a guy.
He gave himself a few moments, but unfortunately it also gave them a chance to anchor him to the stone floor and Stede the opening he needed to carve at the joints in his back.
The burn of the knife cut into his ribs. A ragged scream ripped from his throat.
Had this been what had warped his father’s mind, made him evil rather than just a little naughty?
The back of his right shoulder blazed like all of the forest fires on Earth were concentrated on that joint. It was now or never. If he didn’t get away, he was going to lose his wings.
He gathered all his reserves and focused on a loose tile on the floor instead of his pain. He jerked and wiggled until the half-hearted hold on him loosened, then he rolled. Letting out a roar as his body weight settled on his shredded back, his eyesight crossed. A haze of pain descended over him, but he didn’t stop. Stopping meant failing, and failing meant death. He had so much more to give this round, so much more to prove to Felicia.
The bonds at his hands and ankles had loosened from his movements and blood made them slimy. He worked his hands free and rolled up to his feet, ignoring the flares of agony through his body as best he could. It wasn’t enough. His captors tried to surround him, but the lack of control over his wings made the movements less predictable. They had the same problem as the ropes at his wrists. Blood made him slippery.
Jagger kept moving, making his way to the door. As soon as one of them came into his line of sight, he threw punches. Nailing the male’s throat bought him more distance. The female was hesitant and Stede was screaming at them all. Jagger jabbed his good wing out. Stede’s head spun around. Direct hit. He’d smile if he didn’t hurt everywhere.
Wicked Fire: Angel Fire, book 2 Page 19
