“Someone’s putting on a show. Let’s go see who.” Scarla grabbed her drink and cleared the way through the masses. Dressed in a red knit cat suit, every man with a pulse stared, their lust on full display. Until they peered past her and saw Bane. One brave soul didn’t give a fuck and stepped to her.
He opened his mouth to say something witty—and stopped. Scarla had a knife at his throat. That shouldn’t have stopped the fool from speaking. Bane peered over her shoulder for a better look at the situation, and chuckled. Scarla had her other hand so deep in the man’s crotch she’d corkscrewed everything in her palm. “I’ll tell you when I want your company, not the other way around.”
She released him as fast as she snatched him. The poor human crumbled and had to watch her step over him and continue on her way. A hefty man lounging in a booth along the wall signaled to her.
Scarla changed direction and headed that way. “Dimi.” Bane heard her say over the roar of the crowd before kissing the man on both of his florid cheeks.
“My beautiful rebel. You have stayed away too long. You agreed to return to the ring after a brief respite. It’s been months.” Dimi tsked. He was old, in his late sixties with the accompanying leathery skin and paunch, covered in a tailored suit.
“I seem to remember you begging me to come back after I kicked Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest’s”—she pointed to the men lined up next to him— “asses after you tried to strong arm me. You didn’t think I needed a break and tried to convince me of the error of my ways. No one leaves you, remember that discussion, Dimi?”
Crimson crept at the edge of Bane’s vision. Scarla was more than capable of killing the four idiots in front of her. But she shouldn’t have to. No meant no in any and every situation. If they tried it with her, guaranteed they tried it with their other female employees. Scarla glanced over her shoulder at him, one brow arched in question. Half of her blood was the same as his and their proximity allowed her to feel his blooming rage. Her gaze narrowed. I got this, she said in the single glance and turned back to Dimi.
“Answer one question and I will be out of your hair.” She ran her fingers through his scattered salt and pepper strands.
“I don’t want you out of my hair. I want you back in the ring.” He wrapped an arm around her waist. His fingers stretched to the top of her ass.
A snarl climbed up the back of Bane’s throat. Ten seconds. That’s all Dimi had before he lost his arm.
“There is no female who fights like you, my rebel. That’s why I’m desperate to get you back in the ring.”
Scarla preened under the compliment and tossed an ‘I told you so’ glance at Bane, as if he’d asked the question.
“The only one who comes close to your skill is in the ring now, and he is definitely not a female, though I’d swear he was a demon,” Dimi whispered and made the sign of the cross.
Both Scarla and Bane turned their attention to the loose circle in the center of the room. The combatants must have been on the ground grappling, because they hadn’t a view of either men.
“Thanks, Dimi. I’ll give you a call next week to set up a fight. All the testosterone in the air has me nostalgic. I expect seventy percent of the purse.” A string of Russian curses left the man. Scarla didn’t understand the language. Bane did, and he growled low and long, red-eying the bodyguards and freezing them in place. Dimi shrank in his seat.
“Aww! Thanks for the sweet words, Dimi. That’s gonna cost you another five percent.” She kissed both his cheeks and sashayed away.
Bane snatched Dimi out of his booth and brought the bastard close enough to whisper in his hairy ear. “Speak to her that way again and you will be in pieces. That also goes for touching anything other than her hand. Understand?”
Bane shook Dimi until his head bobbled. That was enough of an affirmation. He dropped the man back onto his seat and was at Scarla’s back a second later. She was none the wiser to his manhandling of her employer.
A deafening roar came from the crowd. Scarla paused, and strained to see over the humans. Bane wasn’t interested, but then she veered into the thick of the crowd. He thought about leaving her, the press of so many humans strained his control. Only in the shadows did he find comfort, and he had to see Amaya. Each passing hour the need to touch her increased.
“Oh my.” Scarla gasped in a tone he’d never heard from her—awe.
He pushed his way through the masses to join her near the edge of the crowd and was momentarily dumbstruck by the man rising in the middle of the cage, his opponent a twitching mess at his feet. He was shirtless, dressed only in leather gloves, pants, boots, and a mask that covered his features, yet left his hair free and his eyes visible.
“Who is next to face the champion?” The announcer yelled through a bullhorn.
At the edge of the haphazard ring, Bane flexed his power. The UnHallowed stiffened from his lazy slouch and slowly panned the room. His red-rimmed gaze landed on Bane, and stayed. Beside him, Scarla hiccupped.
“Is that—Is he—I mean he is—”
“UnHallowed?” From his six foot six shaggy, greasy, mane of blue black hair to the black boots “Yes, he is.” Bane finished.
“Who? Which one?” Scarla grabbed his arm.
He yanked free and shoved the rest of the people out of his way. Gadreel, Bane spoke through a private link. The UnHallowed tipped his head in greeting. What the fuck are you doing?
Having fun.
More like sliding into insanity.
Gadreel shrugged. We all have our moments.
And yours could kill us all.
We all die at some point.
Not us, Gadreel.
A flaw in the design.
These humans are no match for you.
Their problem. Not mine.
Gadreel. Bane growled. He’d never known this UnHallowed to be so…contrary. Gadreel was a loner. One who never mingled with what he’d considered primates of the lowest form.
I haven’t killed any of these fools. Nor maimed. They have all survived an encounter with a demonic angel and are none the wiser for it.
Bane gritted his teeth. It was almost as if Gadreel knew of his encounter with Dimi, overheard his thoughts, and used them against him.
No harm. No foul. Gadreel continued. Now leave me to my minor pursuits of fleeting happiness and I leave you to yours. His gaze shifted to the left where Scarla stood beside Bane, oblivious to the conversation.
Bane tilted his head in her direction. She has changed much since you last saw her.
Gadreel’s gaze widened and swept down Scarla’s body. Yes. She. Has.
That note in Gadreel’s voice had Bane taking a harder look at him.
Scarla elbowed Bane in the ribs. “What are you two saying? Are you talking about me?” she hissed and elbowed him again.
“Anyone? Anyone at all?” The announcer yelled. He made his way to Bane. “What about you? I bet you could take our champion on.”
Gadreel tipped his head in invitation.
Bane knew what his skill set was, and in no way was it close to Gadreel’s, the former Archangel of Weapons. Once, he could control all weapons fashioned by mankind. Now, he was a weapon, and impervious to harm, but with one key flaw. So why the hell did he have his shirt off? Bane shook his head. He wouldn’t be fighting Gadreel tonight, or any night if he could help it.
Gadreel threw back his head and laughed.
“I’ll do it.” A male pushed his way through the crowd. For a human, he was impressive. Equal in height to Gadreel with slightly more muscle mass. It wouldn’t make a difference.
This would have to be reported to Michael.
Bane didn’t like being a snitch, playing both sides. He was doing what was best for his kind, regardless of what the UnHallowed would do to him if they ever found out. He took Scarla by the elbow and pulled her away from the ring.
“Let’s go.”
For a moment, she fought his hold, then fell into step beside him. They exited the under
ground club, under surveillance from cameras in every corner. He could’ve blocked the cameras by pulling the shadows to them, but Scarla hated traveling through the conduits. They had no affinity for her human half. They rode the elevator two stories up to the ground floor, marched past the uniformed guards and into the crisp fall air streaming through the deserted streets. He led her back to her Mercedes S Class Coupe, made sure the car started and she was buckled, then said, “I’m going on patrol.”
“Yeah. Sure. I’m going straight home.”
Unusual for Scarla since the night was still young. Bane didn’t question her. He wasn’t up for the lecture about a woman’s prerogative and how she could take care of herself. Scarla was prickly that way, but he did watch her drive away and waited an extra five minutes in case she doubled back. She was sneaky that way too.
Bane entered the shadows a moment later. He manipulated the conduits back to the farm and exited in the field in front of the porch. Amaya sat on the swing, swaying back and forth. Her hair was loose and waving in a steady breeze like stalks of summer wheat. The corners of her lips were upturned, as if enjoying a private joke. Was she remembering their encounter?
Damn, she was lovely with her chin tilted up and her head dropped back, as if she enjoyed the night air caressing her golden skin.
She jumped and sat up. “Oh! You’re back.”
He hadn’t realized he was on the porch until she spoke. “Yes. Umm…” He lost his power to speak as he stared into her muddy green eyes. Now that he knew how stunning her eyes were, he hated those fucking contacts more than ever. “I’m sorry I left—”
“It’s cool. Don’t worry about it. I’m heading into the city for some fun. I’ll be back in the morning.” She stood, moved around him, and bounced down the stairs as if they were casual acquaintances and nothing had happened between them.
“Amaya.”
She spun and gave him a smile so bright he swore his skin tingled from the burn.
“Yeah?” She canted her head to the side and dropped her hands on her hips.
“We should talk, shouldn’t we?”
She shrugged. “About what?”
About what happened between us, he opened his mouth to say…and slowly closed it. If he could get out of this unscathed, then he would take it. Shouldn’t he? “Nothing.”
Amaya’s smile seemed brittle around the edges. “Okay.” She slapped his arm in a friendly gesture and jogged to her car. “Nite Nite.”
Bane didn’t move until she slammed her car door, the engine revved and she drove away.
23
Fucking men! Motherfucking men!
Amaya wanted to castrate them all. Maybe not all of them. Actually, just one. And he wasn’t even a man. He was a damn UnHallowed asshole.
“Fucking UnHallowed!” She punched the steering wheel. She hated taking the passive-aggressive route, but what choice did she have? Call him a douche for leaving her like she was some one-night stand he picked up in a bar? Pretend nothing happened? Either way, she wanted to stab him through his non-existent heart.
Boy, did she want to plant a dagger through his chest as he stood on the porch, all handsome and seductive. Just when she thought he had some humanity mingled with his acidic blood, he goes and proves her wrong.
That’s what you get for letting your guard down. For forgetting he isn’t a human with human feelings and…and…Who was she fooling? Who’s to say a regular guy wouldn’t have done the same thing, bail on her at the first inkling things were about to get deeper, about to go past the superficial where real emotions lay and bonds were formed. It’s not as if she hadn’t done the same to every man who wanted more than she was willing to give. Not on the first night, but soon thereafter. Get them before they get you…because everyone leaves. First her parents, before she had a memory of them. Then Braile, then Michael, and then her grandparents when they died two years apart. At least she had a chance to thank them for all they did before they left her.
Nothing lasts, not for me.
She shook her head to clear the thoughts away. “It doesn’t matter. Now that I’ve got him out of my system, it won’t happen again. The need to know is gone. Curiosity satisfied.” She tapped out a tune on the steering wheel and refused to acknowledge the elephant riding shotgun in the passenger seat.
Her curiosity wasn’t satisfied, not by ten thousand miles.
An hour later, she rolled into the parking lot and handed the keys to one of the valets, and strode into the building. She came to the gallery opening expecting to view some paintings, drink some wine, and rub elbows with some hipsters.
She didn’t expect to be greeted by heavy bass rock ‘n’ roll pumping from recessed speakers, or a good-looking guard in a nicely fitted black suit and white shirt stopping her at the glass entryway. She pulled out her embossed vellum invitation and handed it over. He took a cursory glance and motioned her through.
Amaya entered the white space, planning on keeping an open mind because she needed the distraction. Weird paintings, odd sculptures—tonight was a showing featuring a friend of Pilar’s. Tomorrow, she’d find something new to keep her occupied.
She rounded a pillar and halted. Performance art…okay. Nude performance art. Okay? She grabbed a glass of wine from a circulating waiter, sipped, and approached the first glass enclosed subjects. Two females—one African American, the other, Caucasian, face forward, unmoving except for involuntary blinking and breathing. A chime sounded and they pivoted to face each other. No words of greetings, no smiles on their faces. Just odd.
The giggling men walking around the glass enclosure didn’t share her sentiment. She moved deeper into the gallery. Not surprisingly, the next subjects were male. One Caucasian. One Asian. They faced away from each other. The Caucasian male was older, though still in decent shape. The Asian was lean and muscular and quite attractive.
She rounded a column into another part of the gallery. This time she wasn’t shocked when she saw the subjects. A couple kissing. Two females. Both Caucasian. No touching. Just kissing. The bell sounded and their positions changed. Now, they were cheek to cheek, facing away from each other.
Further into the gallery she strolled, around people drinking, talking, leering, commenting on the art. Amaya didn’t mind the nudity or the public display of affection. She did mind the patrons who reduced the art form they were invited to view into a peep show.
Deep, rich laughter filtered through her anger. She followed the sound to the next display. Two males holding hands. She paid no attention to the art, preferring to track the voice.
In a room full of people, she couldn’t tell who spoke. She headed to the next display. A male and a female, engaging in heavy foreplay. Amaya wasn’t a prude, but when the female dropped to her knees and started simulating a blowjob, she felt distinctly uncomfortable.
A quick glance around confirmed she wasn’t the only one aroused. Time to find Pilar and lie about having someplace else to be. Maybe there was a late-night movie she could catch. She needed something that would keep her out all night. Sleep was overrated and not as important for her.
Red shoulder length hair caught Amaya’s attention. Pilar was at the next display, talking to a man. From the back, he struck quite an impression. He was tall, at least six seven with broad shoulders, a ridiculously tight ass, and wavy blond hair that touched the collar of his shirt. The way Pilar tossed her hair back and laughed into his face, he had to be her business partner, hook up buddy. However, if that were the case, why was she trying so hard?
Amaya weaved through the crowd until she reached her friend. They were the same height, but Pilar had on six-inch heels and a chain-link mesh mini dress that made her legs seem two miles long. “Hey.”
“Oh hi! You came. I didn’t think you would.” Pilar hugged Amaya.
“I had some time to kill. It’s a great show. Tell the artist I loved it, but I’m going to head out now.” She squeezed Pilar in a tight embrace.
“Not to your taste?�
� the man said.
Amaya glanced over her shoulder at the couple engaged in heavy foreplay behind a glass enclosure. “It’s my flavor. Just not with an audience.” She looked up and met her reflection in a pair of shades. And rolled her eyes. Only pretentious assholes wore shades indoors and at night. Then his tee shirt caught her attention.
Keep Calm. I Have Arrived.
Oh Lord. He was one of those, God’s gift to mankind. She had to admit, he was painfully handsome with firm lips and a square jaw. A lock of hair fell across his forehead and she had a sudden ache to slide it away and tuck it behind his ear. An almost unbearable need to touch him seized her. She had to curl her hands and force them to remain at her sides.
Her gaze narrowed and she assessed the other patrons. They weren’t staring at the artists screwing their brains out. They were all staring at him. No. Not staring with passing interest. He had their rapt attention, though he ignored all and focused on her.
“Take off your shades,” she ordered.
“Amaya, don’t be rude.” Pilar gave a nervous laugh and twirled a lock of her hair like a teenage girl.
His eyebrows shot up at the mention of her name and he smiled as his gaze strolled down her body. Damn, dimples as deep as the Grand Canyon popped into his cheeks. “Amaya, I didn’t think I’d meet you so soon.”
Senses on guard, Amaya stepped back as he reached up and lifted his shades. Red circled jade irises. She reached for her blades, even though she couldn’t free them here. He dropped the shades back onto his face and raised his hands in mock surrender.
“In the words of Michael Jackson, ‘I’m a lover not a fighter.’” He took Pilar’s hand and kissed her palm. “It’s been a pleasure, next time it will be more private. Shall we?” he said to Amaya, and led the way out of the gallery. She followed, studying his cocky stride.
Only One I Want (UnHallowed Series Book 2) Page 13
