by Mia Knight
She blinked back tears. “Yes.”
“Why do you love me?”
She laughed. “I should have seen that coming.” She sat up and surveyed him in all his masculine glory. She splayed her hand over his heart. “I love you because of this. It’s the most beautiful part about you.” She ran her hands through his thick, soft hair. “I love you because you love me for who I am. You’re so patient with me. You listen to me.” She leaned down and rested her forehead against his. “You made me believe I’m perfect. That’s why I love you.”
He cupped her face. “Forever, Carmen?”
“Forever. No matter what comes,” she murmured.
“That’s my girl.”
27
She squinted against the dim light. Her eyelids, like the rest of her body, felt bruised and swollen. Her throat was raw, and the awful taste of bile lingered on her tongue. She blinked and grunted at the pain that simple action caused.
“You’re alive.”
She dropped her head sideways in the direction of that voice. She stared at her surroundings for a full minute before she registered what she was seeing. John Smith stood in front of a massive canvas finger-painting red mountains. He had nixed the suit and now wore the loose pants people wore in karate classes. His shirt was skintight and showed off his muscles. Her weary brain didn’t want to move past his bare feet, but eventually her gaze tracked around the room. The walls and floor were made of white stone. There were intricate designs carved into the walls, but she couldn’t make out what it was. Maybe she was in a Greek castle. Arched doorways led into other rooms also made of the same stone.
“Where am I?” she croaked.
“You don’t know?”
He didn’t turn from his painting. When he tilted his head, his braid swished to the side.
“Who are you?”
“You haven’t figured that out either?”
She glanced around the room for a weapon. He had saved her life, but he also hadn’t called for help. Instead, he put her in a dark cell where she almost froze to death. Somehow, she found the strength to lift her head. There was a wooden cup with colored pencils and a compass on a stand. She wriggled up the cot she was on and reached out. Her hand trembled as it hovered in midair. She glanced at John Smith who slapped more red paint onto the canvas. She gripped the compass and carefully lifted it without jostling the pencils and slipped it beneath the thin sheet covering her body. It took her a few seconds to realize she was buck naked.
“What did you do to me?” Her voice was pathetically weak. She tried to muster up a healthy dose of anger or fear that would give her strength, but her emotions and motor skills were sluggish and not yet back to normal.
“A Black Viper injected you with some drug cocktail. That’s all I managed to get out of them before they died.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You don’t remember?”
“You put me in a cell.”
“Yes.” He turned back to the canvas. “I didn’t think you would survive. It was touch and go on for a while. After I realized you were going to live, Augustus cleaned you up.”
“Augustus,” she repeated flatly.
“A submissive eunuch,” John said distractedly and flicked his hand, sending dots of red over the paint splattered floor. “If anyone else tended to you, you wouldn’t be breathing right now.”
“Who are you?”
He turned and spread his arms. “Come on. I know you know.”
Her temples throbbed. “I don’t know.”
“You’re underground.” He slapped the wall, leaving a red handprint behind. “You’re in my lair…” He rolled his hand as if beckoning the right answer. “You know, Carmen.”
She glanced around the majestic room that, despite its beauty, was really a fancy cave. Underground… She stared at John Smith and then shook her head. “No.”
He grinned. “Yes.”
“You can’t be Lucifer!”
He gave a mock bow. “In the flesh. Welcome to Hell.”
“But… but…” Lucifer was said to be more vicious than his father, the most feared man on the continent… and he was finger-painting in a yoga outfit. Maybe she was still high. “That’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t leave Hell.”
“I rarely leave Hell,” he corrected as he smudged the base of his mountain to give it more shading. “But it’s come to my attention that maybe things above ground aren’t as boring as I thought they would be.”
“You mean since Gavin and Lyla were here?”
He jabbed a rust colored finger in her direction. “You got it. I have terrible ennui.”
“Poor you,” she muttered.
“Life has become so predictable. Kill, kill, kill.” He waved his hand, sprinkling more paint over the floor. “I don’t know why I keep expecting to find something different in someone’s entrails. Humans are all the same.”
She tried to banish the image of him digging through an open body.
“But Steven brought Gavin back to me, and I realized…” He braced his elbow on the wall and leaned into his dirty hand, getting paint in his hair. “I’ve been looking in the wrong place for entertainment.”
Her muscles protested when she tensed.
“Most humans are predictable. They all want the same things. Sex, money, power, and purpose.”
She blinked. “Purpose?” She was definitely still drugged. Lucifer, the king of Hell, couldn’t be a finger-painting philosopher. No fucking way.
“The weak need someone to give them purpose.” He spread one hand on his tunic, marring the white fabric with garish scarlet. “Which is where I come in. I enslave them, hence, giving them purpose.”
His smile was wide and guileless. If she didn’t know his reputation, she might be fooled into letting down her guard. He seemed as open and friendly as a Bible salesman, which couldn’t be further from the truth. She imagined Lucifer with crazed eyes, foaming at the mouth, more demon than man, but his appearance was throwing her off. She desperately tried to reconcile the tales of the king of Hell with the man before her.
“Then there are those who want power. They come here to gain notoriety by battling it out in the pit… and that’s where they go wrong. Most die, as they should. Power isn’t for everyone, but for men like Gavin and me, it’s what we were destined for.”
“What do you want from me?”
He turned back to his canvas. “The same thing I want from Gavin.”
She had no fucking idea what Gavin gave Lucifer in exchange for Lyla’s life. She wished she died in the cell. Anything Lucifer planned for her would end in blood and torture. She gripped the compass pressed against her thigh.
“Good entertainment is so hard to find,” Lucifer said.
A chill ran down her spine.
Lucifer stepped back from the painting. “What do you think?”
She couldn’t focus on the painting, not when her life was at stake. “Beautiful.”
“There’s nothing better than painting with fresh blood.”
That got her attention. Her stomach dipped as she stared at his dripping hand. “Blood?”
He nodded to a wooden bowl full of what she had assumed was red paint. “It has the best consistency when it’s still warm.”
When she retched, he laughed.
“I wouldn’t think a woman who fights like you has a weak stomach.”
Kill to survive? Yes. Play with blood and organs or dead bodies? Hell fucking no.
Lucifer approached. Her eyes were riveted to his hands. Why didn’t he wash it off? How could he stand to have someone’s lifeblood staining his hands? How could he paint with it? This was a new level of morbid.
“What’s your story, Carmen?”
“Story?” On his forearm, the blood had already dried and was starting to flake. Her stomach rocked.
“You fight like someone with nothing to lose.”
Because she had nothing to lose. He stood over her. She trie
d to zero in on the best place to hit, but all the best parts were higher up where she couldn’t reach. If he was telling the truth, piercing his dick with the compass wouldn’t incapacitate him for long, and besides, he was built like a tree. Everything about him was supersized. Crap.
“I didn’t realize so many of you above ground have such a penchant for violence. Or is it just the women around Gavin? You’re quite skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and I appreciate your creativity during an attack. If I hadn’t seen you in action, my first night above ground would have been a waste of time.”
What was she supposed to say? You’re welcome?
“Where’s the rage coming from?”
She jerked. “What?”
He knelt beside the bed, braced his elbows on the mattress, and stared at her as if she would start reading him a bedtime story.
“That chip on your shoulder is what intrigues me the most. It’s what’s driving you, what gives you strength. It’s common in men, not so much in women.” He paused. “So, what is it? Abuse? Rape? Infidelity?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You shouldn’t tease me. I’m not a patient man.”
He didn’t move, but the hairs on the nape of her neck rose. He still had that smile on his face, but his eyes were frighteningly clinical. He wasn’t looking at her as a woman or even a human being, but a toy. And if that toy didn’t perform… “I lost my husband. He was murdered by Steven Vega.”
“Years ago.”
His dismissive tone made her feel homicidal. She tightened her grip on the compass. “It doesn’t matter how long ago it was.”
He shook his head. “Humans.”
She couldn’t tell if he was disgusted or amused. “You act like you’re not one. Oh, wait. You’re right. That explains a lot.”
He shrugged. “I don’t possess the emotions others have.”
“No shit.”
“I’m fascinated by one person’s attachment to another like Gavin’s for Lyla and yours to this husband who has been dead for years. I don’t get it.”
Of course, he didn’t get it. He was a sociopath.
“We live in a world full of selfish monsters, yet you all naïvely choose to trust each other and be continually let down again and again. It’s baffling. Down here, we continue the old ways.”
“Old ways?”
“I want, I take. If someone covets, we fight. Whoever wins, gets to keep it. That’s the way it should be, right?”
In her addled state, he was making far too much sense. It was beginning to scare her. “What does this have to do with anything?”
“Gavin’s changed,” he grumbled.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He was genuinely confused. She considered the big brute and recalled Lyla’s tone the night she was in Hell. Lyla sounded more exasperated and annoyed by Lucifer than afraid. She could relate. Lucifer was a murderer with a child’s curiosity. It was appealing and terrifying at the same time. She clutched the compass and waited for the right moment.
“Gavin fell in love,” she said.
“I don’t believe in love.”
“No surprise,” she muttered.
“Everyone thinks they love someone else, but in the end, they always choose themselves. Humans are intrinsically selfish. Do you believe in love?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Why?” she echoed incredulously.
“Yes, why do you believe in it?”
“Because I’ve felt it. I don’t have a choice. Love just is. My parents love me. Vinny loved me.”
“And these people would do anything for you? Die for you?”
“Yes.”
“Then who’s Marcus?”
His name was a trigger that ripped through her lethargy. The volatile mix of heartache and misery detonated in her chest. She swung and aimed for his neck. She imagined the compass piercing his throat as effectively as the cross sliced her attacker. Her wrist was caught in a firm grip. Lucifer ground her fragile bones together, which caused her to drop the compass into his waiting hand.
“You need to control your energy before you strike,” he said calmly as he placed the compass back in the cup. “You need to harness your emotions. Emotions give you strength, but they’re also a liability. I sense your energy, and therefore, I can anticipate your moves. Your energy is all over the place right now.” He snapped his fingers like a gay man talking about Lady Gaga. “Very easy to predict. Everyone thinks body language is the giveaway. It isn’t. What you sense is more important than what your eyes tell you.”
He released her and she stared at the red smears on her wrist. She could smell that familiar metallic stink. Knowing this was fresh and that Lucifer had probably gathered it… She wiped as much of it on the bedsheet as she could and tried to control her gag reflex.
“You called out for Marcus many times. You didn’t call for your husband or Angel.”
She froze.
He cocked his head to the side. “I thought you were Angel’s whore.”
“Shut up,” she said through clenched teeth.
“There you go with the emotions again.” He clucked his tongue. “I liked you better when you were stone cold. It was beautiful.”
Fantasies of strangling him played through her mind. “Did you bring me here to talk me to death?”
“I brought you here so Gavin would come to play, but he’s traveling. So disappointing.”
“He’s in Bora Bora,” she said numbly. So, no rescue for her.
“I just got off the phone with him. I assume he’ll tell Angel that you’re here, so I have time to kill. Who’s Marcus?”
“Kiss my ass.”
“So vulnerable and weak as a kitten, yet you still spit at me. Love him, do you?” He caught her first in his hand. “I’m going to teach Gavin’s daughter how to fight. You should attend. I can teach you to control your energy.”
“Fuck you, John.”
He grinned and released her. “I quite liked that name. I can pass for a John, right?”
She stared at the ceiling. This so wasn’t happening. She was literally in Hell being emotionally flayed by the devil.
“You’ve replaced Vinny?” he asked.
She ground her teeth. “You can’t replace one person with another.”
“Humans do it all the time, especially the weak ones. Why are you so mad? Marcus doesn’t love you back?”
For someone who didn’t have emotions, his insight was uncanny.
“That must be hard,” he mused. “Loving two men who never loved you back.”
She whipped her head around. “What?”
He held up two fingers. “Your ex-husband and now this lover. You’re mad because neither of them loved you.”
“Vinny loved me!”
“Then why isn’t he here?”
“Because he took Gavin’s place. You know that.”
“Yes, but why did he take Gavin’s place?”
“Because—” She stopped abruptly. Everything in her turned to ice. Lucifer and the cave disappeared as the truth struck her with such force that everything in her shattered. She thought bearing the weight of sorrow and guilt all these years was unbearable, but this… This ripped her soul in two.
She stared into Lucifer’s dark eyes as he nodded.
“You see it now, don’t you?” he murmured almost gently. “If he loved you, he would still be here. He took the position to make a point because he cared more about himself than you.”
She went numb with shock. She clung to her relationship with Vinny, idolizing it and comparing every other man to him, but… Vinny hadn’t loved her more than he loved Gavin. If he loved her, he wouldn’t have tried to be the crime lord. He would have been content with her, with their marriage, with her love. She hadn’t been enough, and that was why he wasn’t here. She wasn’t enough to make him feel complete. He needed more than she could offer.
“Come, you must be
hungry,” Lucifer said.
He walked through an arched doorway. She didn’t attempt to escape. She lay there, wondering if one could die from having their soul destroyed. There was the sound of running water and then he reappeared with clean hands, damp hair, and an identical pair of shirts and pants. He settled her on the side of the bed. The bedsheet fell away. She was so far gone that she didn’t even notice.
“This is all I have,” he said as he dropped the shirt over her head.
She didn’t have the strength to dress herself, so he did it, pulling her arms through the sleeves as if she was a child. He even rolled up the sleeves with tiny, precise folds. She didn’t realize she was crying until he traced a tear down her cheek.
“I don’t understand this either,” he said quietly. “Fascinating.”
He thought heartbreak was fascinating. Of course, he did. He knelt and slid his monstrous pants over each leg.
“Mickey?” she whispered as he made her stand. She had to grip his waist to keep from falling over. She felt dizzy, weak, and nauseated. Lucifer pulled the pants up and cinched the drawstring on the waist as tight as possible.
“Who?”
“Mickey, my guard. Is he…?”
“Dead as a doornail. Shot in the back of the head.”
His callous response made her nails sink into his skin. He didn’t seem to notice. He fussed with her attire. She felt as if she was wearing a parachute and stood there like a mannequin, allowing a man she didn’t know to dress her. This was all just a bad dream. She stared at his painting, which was actually quite beautiful. Rocky mountains cast in red that darkened to rust as the blood dried. She looked away.
“You battle wounds have created a beautiful palette,” he said.
“What?”
His finger brushed over her cheekbone, which had its own heartbeat. The physical pain paled in comparison to what was happening inside her.
