“Let me see what you’ve done there, handsome,” she crooned.
Part of her wanted to ease the indignity of the mental invasion. Part of her no longer cared; she only wanted to complete this kill and move on.
His eyes widened into two terrified whites hovering in a dark face. She pressed deeper to unlock the memory of his crime. Or should she say, crimes? Where to start? Good God, was he a sociopath? How had he suppressed this much evil? During a robbery, he shot a convenience store worker at point-blank range. She watched blood spread over the clerk’s shirt as he crumpled to the floor.
What about breaking and entering into a little old lady’s house? Ruth couldn’t stop the flow of images slamming into her mind, one after another. Damn it, the lady’s screams and the impact of his booted foot shattering brittle bone echoed in Ruth’s head, an aftereffect of the images. She would have that sound in her head forever, damn it.
Mentally backpedaling, she couldn’t exit this man’s mind fast enough. When she withdrew, her restraint over his speech center ceased.
“Shit, lady, what the hell? Get the fuck away.”
He lashed out, likely expecting to knock her to the pavement, but she absorbed the impact and didn’t budge. Before he could reach for the gun hidden in his waistband, she slid the knife, glowing lurid green and starving, out of the sheath. It guided her hand toward the man and she plunged the knife to the hilt, right below the man’s xiphoid process, angled toward the heart, right where it liked to feed. As the knife consumed the man’s disgusting soul, languid and delicious relief flowed through her limbs. Sweet, sick satisfaction. She didn’t want more, she only wanted to finish and get out of here.
“Shit ...” He would have crumpled, but Ruth pressed him against the car, hiding the knife from his friends.
A shot rang out, whizzing by her head so close her hair moved. Holy hell. To be fair, she wouldn’t die from a gunshot, but a direct hit would leave her vulnerable until she could heal. Not only did the bullets hurt like the blazes, but it would raise questions if she returned to the hotel dripping blood.
She swung her gurgling friend in front of her like a shield to absorb the bullets that thudded into his flesh and knocked her back a pace.
“Shit, you hit Deshawn,” one of the men screamed as he reloaded his gun.
When her victim drew his last breath, she yanked the knife out of his ribcage and stuffed it back into the sheath. She’d clean it later.
For an instant, relief from obtaining the kill made her weak in the knees. This man had been so utterly evil.
Had she done it? Did he qualify as the Meaningful Kill?
She stared at her bloody hands. Nothing had changed.
Anger deflated her soul until all that remained was suffocating disappointment.
Then remorse flooded her like a dam had broken. Damn it, every time she killed, it was like reconciling two ill-fitting halves. The daytime Nurse Ruth and her murderous alter ego didn’t mesh well. She collapsed to her knees, spent, guilty, and relieved. God, she hated killing and she loved killing, thanks to the damned knife and Jerahmeel.
Hearing footsteps, she glanced up in time to see a gun leveled at her head. Then a flash of light and a bang.
But not from the gun.
Sulfur fumes burned her nose.
Not him. Not tonight. She only wanted to get the heck out of here and pretend to be normal for as long as possible, until the next urge to kill.
“Delicious dining, mademoiselle. Much appreciated,” Jerahmeel said. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
He blew smoke off his smoldering fingers with an air of satisfaction. The other men, or what remained of them, had been reduced to blobs of charred flesh, the only indication of their passage from this Earth. The odor of singed hair and fried entrails turned her stomach.
Sure, she had worked in burn units before, but this horrific scene was altogether different. It had taken about two seconds for Jerahmeel to roast them alive. Holy hell. What could he do to a perpetually healing Indebted?
Ruth scrambled to her feet and turned to face her boss. Jerahmeel was unpredictable, not to mention disgusting, and she wanted her faculties about her every time he appeared. She fought the perverse urge to scratch the hell out of her head beneath the damned ridiculous wig.
He licked his lips, shaded dark in the poor streetlight, but she knew them to be an unnatural ruby red. When he raked his ember-glowing leer over her body, she wanted to cover herself, but kept her hands at her sides. Another whiff of sulfur and rotting meat taunted her nose, but she didn’t flinch. She’d learned years ago that giving any reaction only fanned the flame of his desire.
“You picked a savory feast for me tonight. He’s quite evil.” With a pointy-toed shoe, he poked at the body crumpled at her feet. “Thank you.”
She never said he was welcome. Ever. “Of course.”
He adjusted the pouf of lace erupting from his jacket’s velvet neckline. “You’re looking delectable as usual, mademoiselle. I haven’t seen a woman so grand since Empress Josephine. She was dedicated to her Napoleon, you know. They called her the power behind the throne. Ah, I do so love it when a strong woman supports a strong man.”
The sensation of his gaze roving over her body made her almost physically ill, but she stood there and absorbed his interest without moving. The less response, the better. Maybe he’d grow bored of the sick seduction game and move on to someone else.
“But what is that unjust confection hiding your luscious hair, which I so adore?”
Acid churned in her belly. “Identification technology has improved in the modern times. I need to adjust my appearance so I can remain hidden, but still perform my work duties.”
“I don’t care. Take it off now, mademoiselle.” His tone hit somewhere between a hoarse lover and a desperate psychopath.
Even though rules restricted him from physically forcing an Indebted to do anything, one never refused a command. He’d find another way to gain control, and it typically involved tormenting humans to force Indebted to his will.
The steaming organic material on the pavement attested to the power he could bring to bear without ever making contact with anyone. She unpinned the blonde wig with shaking hands.
“Drop it,” he commanded.
She let it fall to the pavement. With a flick of his finger, the mass of hair incinerated in a flash of greenish light. The scent of burnt hair blended with the smell of fried humans in a noxious, sharp mixture.
“Take down the rest of it,” he said.
Nothing good would come of this situation. She thanked her stars there were no witnesses to her humiliation. With sweaty hands, she removed the bobby pins from her chignon. The heavy weight of her long hair unfurled down to brush her lower back.
Silence descended as he stared at her; his fingertip, trailing smoke, pointed in her direction. She froze. Do not attract more attention.
A dog barked nearby, and she startled. The sound of cars a few blocks over on a larger street drifted toward where they stood.
At least her scalp no longer itched.
He licked those dark lips again and squinted his beady eyes.
Fighting the urge to glance over her shoulder, cross her arms over her chest, or flat-out run away, she maintained a rigid posture as he continued the perusal. A trickle of sweat worked its way between her breasts, and she resisted the need to wipe it away.
She broke the ungodly silence first. “So, if there’s nothing else ...” Her voice came out high-pitched and shaky. Damn it.
The black stare locked on to her face, too eager, too hopeful.
“Mademoiselle, have you reconsidered my generous offer? I desire to rule with you by my side. But instead, I must watch you slog through this odious filth of humanity day after day, like a common servant. Join me in consuming the tasty evil life forces from the Indebted blades. You can decide when and whom those pitiful Indebted slaves kill. So powerful, you’ll be almost as strong as I am.”
God, how she hated this man—no, this thing.
All her kills. All those criminals. Thousands of horrifying images of death, rape, and violence—images she could never unsee.
And for what?
She remained Indebted to Satan.
When she inhaled, the humid bayou air hung heavy with undertones of burnt hair and death. A black future without end.
Might be worth considering an alternative plan, after all.
What should she do about Jerahmeel? Something in his demeanor had changed. Tonight, the way he frothed at the corners of his mouth while he propositioned her, the intensity vibrating out from his thin frame—he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, which boded poorly for her own well-being.
As she opened her mouth to respond, a familiar denim-clad figure sauntered up the street and stopped a few feet away. Her heart jumped. The scent of Cajun spice and cologne wafted over and replaced the acrid fumes from the bodies on the sidewalk. Tension left her shoulders, but only just.
“Welcome to New Orleans, my lord. Anything I can help with tonight?” Odie asked. Bless his clear voice and easy stance, but this idiot had poked the sleeping bear.
Chapter 6
Blind rage had shorted out Odie’s brain when the guys fired at Ruth. He had lurched forward to protect her, about to destroy the men. But then he’d planted his feet on the concrete. He knew. She needed that kill, needed the knife to stop consuming her every thought, needed to complete her job and remain under Jerahmeel’s radar.
So he waited in the shadows.
Dressed in a tight, black V-neck blouse, Ruth’s curves flowed into dark slacks and heels. His hands itched with the need to trace those lines to see if her hips and waist truly felt like a living hourglass.
What he didn’t understand was why she had caressed her prey’s face before using the knife. Or why an expression of mute terror froze on the man’s face.
Odie understood gunshots, though. As the sharp noise had split the evening air, he dashed closer.
Until a brilliant flash lit up the night.
Odie ducked behind another car. Mon dieu!
Jerahmeel. Here?
Edging closer, the odor of burnt bodies and three lumps on the sidewalk told the tale. Flambé a la Satan. Bad for mortals and Indebted alike. There were creatures in this world more powerful than people like Odie and Ruth.
Like Jerahmeel.
Mon dieu.
After blowing the smoke off a fingertip, the Lord of Brimstone preened and patted his oily locks. If his boss weren’t so damned terrifying, Odie would have rolled his eyes.
Even Jerahmeel’s voice sounded smarmy. Too unctuous, almost like he was begging. How strange for such a powerful being.
At Jerahmeel’s command, Ruth took off the ridiculous wig, only for Jerahmeel to incinerate it with another loud bang. When she released her dark auburn hair from the severe bun, Odie’s own fingers spread out, reaching for those long tresses. How would those burnished locks feel sliding over him, covering her bare chest and shoulders? His mouth went dry.
Jerahmeel’s slithering proposition to Ruth wormed its way to Odie’s hiding spot. “Mademoiselle, have you reconsidered my generous offer? I desire to rule with you by my side. But instead, I must watch you slog through this odious filth of humanity day after day, like a common servant.”
Ruth stood rooted in place, mouth agape. There was no good answer. Her boss had charbroiled three humans in a millisecond. He Who Makes All Things Crispy could pulverize Ruth just as easily.
Odie had to diffuse the situation before she tried to respond to his question.
Trying to project a casual air, he positioned himself slightly in front of Ruth. Right in the line of fire.
“What in damnation are you doing here, pisse ant?”
Vapors scented like rotten eggs wafted off of Jerahmeel’s raised fingers. Like great Mount Vesuvius, The Lord of Damnation was getting ready to blow if they didn’t play the situation right.
Odie shrugged. “Ah, I was out searching for an extra kill to serve you, my lord. But it seems you’ve reduced this group of candidates to dust. Too bad.”
Jerahmeel growled.
In Odie’s peripheral vision, Ruth stiffened. He prayed she would stay silent and let him distract Jerahmeel. For both their sakes.
“Since you’ve destroyed these criminals, my lord, I have no way to provide a feast for you.”
“I was protecting her from these mortals,” Jerahmeel barked.
“Since when does Ruth need protecting, my lord?”
She blurted out, “And thank you for helping, my lord.”
Did she bat her eyelashes and sway on her feet? Brilliant.
“Hmm, well, it seemed the proper thing to do for a lady.” Jerahmeel preened beneath her false adoration and ignored Odie.
Then, for a split second, Odie saw something he had never witnessed before in his boss: doubt. Jerahmeel’s brow furrowed and a flicker of uncertainty crossed over those black eyes. He’d been caught doing something he never had done before—intervening in Indebted affairs on Earth. Maybe he questioned whether it was acceptable or not. Or he questioned the appropriateness of his flirtation with Ruth. Either way, Odie smelled weakness, however slight. Good information to have.
Facing Jerahmeel, Odie then pressed his luck. “I must be mistaken, but I thought the laws you are bound by disallow you from touching mortals?”
The growl got louder as the burnt egg odor invaded Odie’s nostrils. On the edge of his vision, he saw Ruth’s posture lock into rigid attention.
“How do you know that?” Jerahmeel demanded.
“Common knowledge, I’m certain.”
Jerahmeel inspected his buffed nails and brushed his sleeves. “Well then. Technically, I did not touch them.”
Odie’s gut tightened. Jerahmeel had figured out a way around the restriction of having no contact with humans. This twist boded poorly for all humans. What limits did he truly have, then?
“Hmm. Must have taken a lot out of you to come all the way down to New Orleans tonight, my lord,” Odie said.
He ignored Ruth’s steady, painful stomp on the arch of his foot. The way she held her breath, she had to understand that they were literally playing with fire.
“It’s no concern of yours, Odilon. Just continue your work. And get rid of these.”
Jerahmeel waved toward what remained of the three other thugs. Black flakes drifted off of the drying blobs in the evening breeze. A strong gust of wind would surely take care of the mess.
“Of course, my lord.”
The asshole purred. “Delectable Ruth, when you change your mind, I will be waiting.”
And in a puff of sulfur, Jerahmeel was gone.
In stunned silence, Odie turned to face Ruth. She slowly ran her hands up her arms, as if trying to warm them, but didn’t meet his scrutinizing stare.
“Is that courtship dance normal for you? And him?” Odie asked. “I’ve never heard of him tracking down other Indebted. I had no idea how bad his obsession was.” He put a hand on his hip and wiggled, trying to break the acrid tension. It didn’t work, as her frown attested.
After swallowing several times, she said, “I tried to explain it to you and Barnaby. This was the most forward invitation he’s made to date. How the hell do I say no?” She gestured toward the disintegrating bodies on the sidewalk.
Even after a brush with a disturbingly amorous Satan, this woman managed to hold herself together. Odie’s thudding heart slowed now that Jerahmeel had left.
Unfortunately, his attention turned to the ... assets ... of the woman before him.
One part of Odie wanted to tuck Ruth into his arms and comfort her. The other part wanted to rip off her dark pants and snug blouse and check out her curves firsthand. Somewhere between charity and lust, the tightness in his groin distracted him until he forgot the debate.
He had to stay focused. She needed his help, not his uncooperative dick.
Resisting th
e urge to cover his mutinous groin, he shifted his stance to relieve pressure. “So, when did he start acting this way?”
“Ah, around 1875, when I was trying to live a normal human life with my family.”
“But you were Indebted then, right?”
“Yes.”
“Staying with your family is against the rules.”
“Thanks, I know that now. Apparently, he did, too. It didn’t stop him from becoming much too interested in me and my family.”
“Your family? Did he kill them?”
Somehow his hand had curled into a fist. He forced it to relax. He knew all too well about Jerahmeel’s manipulation of families. A brief vision of Odie’s own two dark-haired daughters floated before his mind’s eye. Mon dieu, what he had sacrificed—and for what?
“No. But he might have interfered in the lives my family members.” She shook her head, the dark tresses luminous in the streetlight. “Who knows? I’m still not certain what to believe. That was a long time ago, and everyone I’ve known has long passed on.” Her tone turned flat. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But it does.”
“No. It does not.” She crossed her arms and glared at him.
Subject out of bounds. Message duly noted.
“So are you all right after tonight’s ... events, chère? Did he hurt you?”
“I’m perfectly fine. Let’s get these bodies cleaned up.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Why? Oh.”
A gust of wind blew, and like burnt newspaper, the pieces drifted away on the breeze. Bizarre didn’t even begin to explain the scene. A human life reduced to ash in a split second.
Two citizens stepped outside their house two doors down. One of them was on her cell phone and pointing.
“We should get out of here, madame.”
“Agreed.”
“Can you run?” He tilted his chin and winked. “You know, run, run?”
“Of course.”
“Can you keep up?”
When she smiled, her entire face glowed like the light of the sun. “Don’t hold back on my account.”
Flame Unleashed (Hell to Pay) Page 6
