Devil Take Me

by Jordan L. Hawk

  “Sit,” Helen said. “We don’t want dinner to get cold. I’m vegan, but since Adam takes issue with so-called ‘rabbit food,’ I prepare two meals. Which do you prefer—cashew loaf or lamb?”

  My insides were in such knots, neither one sounded appealing, but I needed to keep up the appearance of being at ease. “Lifelong carnivore.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said amiably. “I won’t hold it against you.” She portioned out a rack of lamb while I wondered if maybe I wasn’t the only one who thought of the ignorant masses as sheep. Her seat was at the head of the table, with Adam across from me. He stared at me with bedroom eyes, smiling naughtily to himself.

  It was a nicer spread than I’d ever seen, even back when the Inferno was a high-end steak joint… back before I let it all go to seed. I hardly tasted the food. Between Adam’s relentless invitation and the thought that I was there to kill his boss, there was no time to worry about eating, especially when I was busy gauging whether to go for the carving knife or the steak knife. The serrated carving knife was more of a sawing implement, and the steak knife was pointy but small. Maybe, though, in the side of the throat….

  And what then? Hamstring Adam and run away? Or apologize for offing his employer and try to talk him into moving past me slaughtering his meal ticket? Even if he did somehow get over it, I doubted it would land me an invitation for dessert.

  Helen wasn’t just a powerful woman—she was a gracious one. While I squirmed in my seat and did my best to choke down the meal, she made the conversation flow. “How’s your mint sauce, Johnny?”

  “Fine.”

  She nodded as if she didn’t notice I had the social grace of an ape. “Mentha piperita. That mint was grown right here at Briarwood, fed by our soil, watered by our well, and pruned by my own hands. If something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right. And when corners have been cut… you can always taste it.”

  I dry-swallowed and chased it with a gulp of wine.

  “It might be rude in some circles to mix business with pleasure,” she said, “but we’re all Chosen here. And that makes us family.”

  Across the table, Adam smirked at me as if he was having particularly incestuous thoughts.

  “When Adam told me how much of the Mark you were carrying, I thought he might be exaggerating, since he does have a flair for the dramatic.”

  Her hand dropped to cover his. No sirree, not just a bodyguard at all.

  As he watched me take in their casual touch, his smirk broadened.

  Open relationship? Swingers? Whatever their arrangement was, it didn’t matter. Once I carried out the old man’s orders, Adam wouldn’t have much to smirk about anymore.

  I tore my eyes away from him and steeled myself. It wasn’t as if I didn’t know the price of freedom would be obscenely high… but I must have overestimated my own reserves of apathy.

  I tested the weight of the steak knife in my hand. Like everything else in Helen’s domain, it was high quality. I plunged it into the rare lamb, and it cut right through.

  It would do.

  I gripped the knife harder and decided how things would have to go down. I hadn’t asked a favor of anyone for years, not since the time I was clipped by a bus and left for dead behind a dumpster. But since I’d be free of that evil urge to trade favors soon enough, I’d give it one final spin. Bend my head to Adam’s as if I was telling him a secret—or tonguing his earlobe—and instead offer something a hell of a lot more intimate than a fuck. Do me a favor.

  He’d say yes. He was running on fumes, and the power of my Mark gave him a bigger hard-on than the thought of rooting around between my legs. And when he agreed, when the dark connection was forged, I’d tell him to hold her down, look away, and don’t make any move to stop me from doing what I had to do.

  As if he could skim the words right from my mind, Adam narrowed his eyes in assessment. He wet his lips and smiled a sultry smile.

  Carefully, I placed the steak knife on the tabletop and took another drink.

  “It’s a 1971 Bordeaux,” Helen said. When I put down my glass, she refilled it. “That bottle was here when I bought Briarwood. Fully stocked wine cellar, home theater, heated pool. Still a bargain, because the place had been neglected for years. The lawns were overgrown, the electricity was shoddy, and the whole place needed a thorough cleaning. But I was a single mother—not many people know about that, since I keep my private life private—and for someone like me with a fledgling TV show barely off the ground, purchasing this estate was a major coup.”

  The single mother bit seemed like an awfully lucrative piece of information. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I’m on the verge of big deal, Johnny, and I need to make sure I’ve got people on my team with a solid bank of reserves. There’s more to success than just cashing in favors. Case in point—I was Chosen when my show took off. But to buy this place, I didn’t cash in a single favor. I don’t know how long you’ve been Chosen, but I can see you know a thing or two about self-restraint. Obviously you’ve sought me out because you need a favor—something big. I understand. I’ve got connections. But it would be a shame to squander all this potential for the sake of a single transaction when we could both benefit from an extended relationship. If you want something from me, chances are I can make it happen. With or without burning a favor.”

  Whatever she was trying to sell me, Adam couldn’t care less. He must’ve heard the whole song and dance before. While he was busy poking through the roasted new potatoes to decide if he wanted seconds—him across the table, and me within striking distance—I swallowed my dread and took my shot.

  In the movies, when people fight, it’s neat and controlled. Psycho killers slit throats in a single decisive sweep. Me? I grabbed at Helen, snagged part of her apron and part of her sweater, drew back the knife as if I could punch her with it, and then… I hesitated.

  Adam didn’t.

  He had a gun pressed into my temple before I could gather the courage to go through with my half-assed plan.

  “Drop the knife,” he said, as easily as he might tell me to pass a side dish. I dropped it. Helen backed away, shaking. Adam stayed exactly where he was, one knee on the table, peas and mint sauce upended, poised to blow my brains out. “What a shame, Johnny. I knew you were after something. Even though that something wasn’t me, I was hoping we could be more than just friends.”

  “Put your hands behind your back,” Helen said briskly. Once she’d trussed me up like a Sunday roast with a dozen yards of twine, Adam lowered his gun regretfully, as if he’d been hoping for an excuse to use it. “Listen, Johnny.” Her voice shook, but only a little. “This doesn’t have to end with you in prison. You’re Chosen. If anyone understands how delicate that can be, it’s me. So tell me… are you here of your own volition, or are you carrying out a favor?”

  “Lady, I have no reason to want you dead.”

  “It’s Oscar Warren, isn’t it?” She shook her head and told Adam, “Haven’t I always said that horrible man saw me as a threat?”

  Adam had climbed down from the table, but he was still staring at me like he saw right through me. “When you interrogate someone, I believe it’s customary to let them answer.”

  “It wasn’t Warren? Then who?”

  If I had any pride, I might’ve been hesitant to say who was pulling my strings. But in all the years I’ve had in the old man’s service, I’d learned pride’ll do you just as much good as fairness. But when I made to tell them, the words died in my throat. The compulsion was like nothing I’d ever felt dealing with other Chosen. I’d bonded directly with the old man, and like it or not, I couldn’t move or speak against him in any way until the deed was done.

  Chapter Eight

  ADAM

  YOU KNOW things are serious when Helen breaks out the rye. I poured, since her hands were shaking hard enough to chip the crystal. She pulled out two glasses, but I left mine empty. Glorious adrenaline was blazing through my veins. I had no desire t
o dull the edge of what I was feeling.

  “We need a plan.” She threw back her drink, and I refilled it. “The key is to make sure panic can’t get the better of us.”

  I didn’t feel panicked—more like exhilarated—but I kept a lid on my excitement for my mother’s sake. She might not let on that a few chinks of vulnerability mar her armor, but they do exist.

  I stroked the back of her hand and said, “I’ll take care of him.”

  “It’s not that simple. If you dispatch this Johnny, someone else will come. Maybe someone who wouldn’t dream of hesitating. Maybe someone we already know who’s been turned against us. Maybe someone who’s been waiting for years to put me in my place. It would be foolish to get rid of this man. He’s just a pawn, but as long as he’s in play, it keeps someone worse from filling his shoes.”

  “Whatever you think is best.”

  “I’m serious, Adam. Don’t just agree with me and then go off and do whatever you please. We only have one shot at this.”

  And if something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right. “Fine. What would you have me do?”

  “Put him to use. Find out who sent him and why. Take it slow and don’t do anything that can’t be undone.”

  It was tempting to have her clarify whether or not she was actually telling me to torture her would-be assassin. But I knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ve got this.”

  The Briarwood staff knew something was happening, but we didn’t fill them in on any of the particulars. My men are well-paid and reasonably loyal, but everyone’s got a price. I doubled up the front door security and assigned some muscle to stand guard outside Helen’s room… and then I headed to my quarters to check on our guest.

  The reinforced anteroom off my bedroom suite had been converted to a walk-in closet—maple shelving, floor-to-ceiling shoe racks, a three-way mirror, and absolutely no windows. In space, nobody can hear you scream, and the same could be said for my closet. Not only was it well off the house’s beaten track, but the walls had been built especially thick—the prior owners needed somewhere to lock up their dear old dad on those days when his mind was still in the trenches. With my clothes lining the walls, the sound was so deadened, we were in our own private world.

  Back at the studio, when I first caught sight of Johnny among all the housewives and tourists, I was intrigued. I’d never met someone so angry and fuckable—and, best of all, seething with power. I had no idea how intoxicating it would be to strip that power away.

  I opened my closet door. Dead center, Johnny was tied to a chair with a muslin shoe bag over his head, looking just like something out of a spy movie. I’m not generally fond of role-play, and seeing him slumped on that chair with his head bowed and covered, I realized why.

  Fantasy is such a pale imitation of real life.

  Through the bag, he said, “Do what you want. It won’t make a lick of difference.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’m told I can be very persuasive.” The soles of my shoes whispered against the carpet as I approached. I stood before him, close enough to smell the thick metallic tang of his fear hanging in the air. I bent at the waist, angled my face into the crook of his neck, and inhaled.

  Delicious.

  “If you were to disappear,” I said softly, “would anyone miss you? Don’t answer that. It’s a rhetorical question. We’ve got a PI on retainer who can find out easily enough.”

  “Don’t waste your time. There’s nobody but the rummies who’d be waiting for my bar to open. And none of them would care enough to come looking.”

  “So what you’re saying is, I can do anything at all here… with no repercussions.” I took his shirt collar in both hands and snapped it open. Buttons sprang off and pattered silently to the carpeted floor. His body was as tough and ropy as I’d imagined it would be. Surprisingly, no ink that I could see. Then again, he probably didn’t care enough to bother adorning himself any more than an animal would. I traced the valley of his sternum with my fingertip, and his skin flicked. That’s what he was—an animal—not livestock, but something untamed, maybe not even mammalian. I straddled his thighs and yanked the bag off his head. When I looked down into the opaque midnight of his eyes, I saw them for what they were—shark eyes. “Judging by your darkness, it’s clear you’re fond of granting favors. I don’t know that I’ve ever met anyone quite so altruistic.”

  He barked out a bitter laugh.

  I cocked my head and studied the sinews at the side of his throat. “No? Unless you’re a masochist, why bother giving without ever taking something for yourself? Or maybe you’re one of those folks with self-control I’m always hearing so much about, socking away your pennies for a big splurge.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Then what? Saving for a rainy day?”

  “I can’t remember the last time I saw the sun.”

  “And yet you’ve got so many favors stored up, you could have anything at all. Imagine that. You could’ve walked through this door and said, ‘Helen, do me a favor and put me on your show.’ She would’ve done it. Hell, for that matter, you could’ve told her to give you her show. But I’m guessing you have no desire for the limelight.”

  He tried to look away, but wherever he looked, there was a floor-to-ceiling mirror that reflected both of us back to him, me straddling his thighs.

  “You’re not struggling,” I observed.

  “What good would it do me?”

  “None at all. I just thought it might be a turn-on. So if nobody’s waiting for you back home and you’ve got nothing to lose but a fading dive bar, then why don’t you just make things easier for yourself and tell me who’s behind this and why?”

  He paused, searching for words, and then said, “I can’t.”

  Interesting. “You… physically can’t?”

  Either he shook his head or he was giving a cursory yank to his bonds. And I’d been right. It was a turn-on.

  “Which means you’re doing someone a favor,” I said, and felt his muscles clench between my thighs. I eased onto his lap and reveled in the sheer hardness of his body. There wasn’t a bit of softness anywhere on him, as though he lived off spite and regret. I dropped my face as close to his as I dared, breathed in the scent of his maleness—his dread—and murmured, “Here’s the thing, Johnny. In my vocabulary there’s no such thing as can’t. I’ll just need to be more persuasive.”

  Chapter Nine

  JOHNNY

  I SHOULD have known I didn’t have it in me to murder someone in cold blood. Even if they were Chosen. Especially if they were Chosen. It was easy to presume that if they had any dealings with the old man, they were damaged goods. Maybe Helen Cross had clawed her way to the top with blackmails and bribes. From what I’d seen, though, she spent her time sewing cloth napkins and folding them into flowers—and encouraging the fine women of Calvary to do the same.

  Her bodyguard was a different story. His Mark was running on empty and the darkness in his eyes was barely a haze, but the way he smiled hinted at a much deeper darkness.

  “I have an idea,” Adam said.

  I imagined him tearing my clothes the rest of the way off. And then I had to tell my traitorous dick to calm the fuck down. Chances were he’d just as soon take me out as get me off.

  Tenderly, he smoothed my hair away from my eyes and stared at them as if he could see right into my black heart, if only he looked hard enough. “As you can well imagine, Helen has made plenty of enemies over the course of her career. Men hate it when a woman outdoes them, and perfectionist that she is, she just can’t help herself. So let’s start with all her magazine’s competitors. Is it Stan Brinks? Lou Gutman? Max Harvey?”

  When I tried to answer him, my tongue seized up. Neck and body too. Everything went so rigid, it hurt.

  Adam trailed a finger down the sinew of my throat. “I see. Well, then. We’ll need to get creative.” He slid off my lap and loosened his tie. It was almost a relief to have a be
ating coming. Over the course of my life, my face had been introduced to its fair share of fists. Slowly, methodically, he undid the knot and hung the strip of silk on a rack alongside a dozen others just as fancy. He turned back toward me, looked me in the eye, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

  Unnervingly, he watched me, calm and deliberate, as each button parted and revealed the snug white undershirt beneath. When he turned to drop the oxford into a hamper, the overhead lights played across his chest. The thin white fabric was so tight, it augmented more than it concealed. I would have reached out and touched it if my hands weren’t tied behind my back.

  He turned toward me again, looked me up and down, and unhitched his belt. “If you can’t tell me who sent you and I can’t let any harm come to Helen, that puts us in a real bind.” He slid his belt from the loops and caressed the leather. “Any ideas?”

  “Just finish me.”

  “Oh, I intend to.” He trailed the belt edge down my shoulder, and every hair on my body stood on end. Excruciatingly slow, he circled me, dragging that belt along with him. My shoulder blades hitched as the edge grazed them. Then my other arm. My chest. My nipples hardened—one and then the other—at the touch of the warm leather. And by the time he was back where he’d started, my dick was fit to bust out of my jeans.

  “We’re a lot alike,” Adam said.

  “I doubt that.”

  “True, I’ve had certain advantages you haven’t. But we’ve both been graced with the Devil’s Mark. We’re both here, in this time, this place.” He set the belt aside, toed off his loafers, and unbuttoned his fly. “We’re both hard.”

  He wasn’t exaggerating. As he stepped out of his slacks one leg at a time, the wisp of a sheer black bikini brief he had on underneath barely contained him. I reminded myself that he couldn’t tell where I was looking and kept my head still, as if my eyes were on the door, but I couldn’t keep myself from watching. His dick wasn’t just interested—it was full-on erect. It was so stiff, it had poked out sideways, trapped against his hairy thigh. The tip was exposed, gleaming purple and wet at the slit. My heartbeat careened off-kilter as he folded his pants, deliberately and unhurried, as if having a man trussed up in his closet was such an everyday occurrence that he barely noticed.