by Jenn Stark
With a groan of exasperation, she stopped rubbing the towel over her skin quite so hard, giving up her attempt to wipe away the feel of the man. Was he really as big as she thought he was, or had she simply been jacked up on adrenaline? He’d felt every inch of six foot six, and his arms had seemed legit enormous as they’d wrapped around her, but…maybe she’d imagined that. How would she even know?
Unless she touched him again?
“Maria?”
“What?” she demanded, whirling on him. Her mouth went dry as he stepped out of the shower room with only one of Lou’s ratty old towels halfway wrapped around his waist. She hadn’t imagined any part of him, she decided. None of it.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He gestured to the lockers. “You happen to know the code to any of these? I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”
“Then you’re screwed. Those clothes won’t fit.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Never mind.” Rolling her eyes, she stoically went up to Jack’s locker and banged the center of it once, hard. True to form, the door popped open, revealing a small pile of clothes. Jack had some definite quirks, but one of the more disarming ones was his OCD over his attire. She pulled out a pair of nylon track pants that had been loose on Jack, and a shirt that wasn’t ripped to shreds. Jack favored boxer briefs, and there was a clean pair in the locker, which she handed over to Warrick.
She wondered if Jack had made it to Florida already. She hoped so. The man had his own demons, but he’d helped her when she needed it. That counted for a lot with her.
He’d also been way further down the path of being flipped than she’d even expected. He’d spilled everything—all of it—trusting her way more than anyone should, though she had a pattern of that in her life, so she took it in stride. As a result, Maria had known about his money stashed somewhere on the East Coast, and he told her what he’d done to get it. But what he offered her in addition to that information was pure gold. He’d been inside the first three Citadel towers hundreds of times over the last few years. He could describe the players, the cells, the security—all of it. He’d never been in Building D, though. All that Jack knew officially about that tower was that it was used mostly for storage and populated by civilians. But Maria wasn’t buying it. More likely, Building D was where she’d find what she needed to nail Takio to the wall.
She simply needed her chance.
Warrick donned Jack’s clothes with better success than Maria expected, but she didn’t say anything else to him, and he returned the favor. They kept things surface and casual as they left the locker room and walked back through the main section of the gym. Charlie was dozing off at the front desk in front of his tablet, while Lou was up in the ring, sparring with a kid. Lou and his protégé nodded to them as they passed. Just another day at Lucy’s, nothing to look at here.
They stepped out into the unusually balmy evening, the kind of night that reminded Maria of growing up on these streets. Warrick reached out for her hand, and after the briefest hesitation, she let him take it. When her fingers touched Warrick’s rough palm, she sucked in a quick breath, immediately aware of him as a man in a way she’d simply never been with Jack. She’d have to watch that. Even if she was trying to cultivate the illusion of them hooking up, it wouldn’t make sense to anyone if she was suddenly completely moony eyed over a complete stranger.
Yeah, that was exactly the reason why she needed to keep herself chill. For appearance’s sake.
Get a grip, she ordered herself. It was simply the weirdness of Warrick’s sudden appearance that was throwing her off. She still couldn’t believe Stan was making her go through this charade, but she suspected he’d had little choice in the matter. When the Feds came in, local police were supposed to roll over and go paws up without so much as a whimper. And she was willing to be a good little soldier—up to a point.
“Pay attention.” Warrick’s low growl refocused her, and it was all she could do not to jerk away from the sudden menace in his voice. Instead, she kept her grip loose, her stride easy as they moved forward.
“What’re you picking up?” She scanned the street, the neighborhood she knew so well, but she couldn’t sense anything out of place. And this awareness, this paranoia, was also something different, something she’d not experienced with Jack. Not that Jack was completely clueless, but he walked around in a bubble when he was on these streets. The bubble of knowing that no one would take a shot at him, not here. Not when he was known as a lieutenant of the Guardia, protected by the gang’s reputation as much as by the long-standing respect he’d more than earned over the years. Jack hadn’t been a dick to anyone. He’d been a thug when he’d needed to be, he made his point early and often, but in between times, he more or less left you alone. He worked out at his gym, partied with his homies, and faked an interest in sex he no longer possessed.
She already missed him, to be honest. Warrick right now scared the crap out of her, on way too many levels.
“We’ve got a tail,” Warrick said, not looking at her. “Eight men, medium height, medium build. Wearing street clothes, not dressed alike.”
“Guardia?” Maria asked automatically. Cedo had told her to watch her back, but she didn’t think it was from anyone from her own organization. But that left—
“Not Guardia,” Warrick said. “Takio’s people, most likely.” He breathed out a tight sigh. “We gave them word through channels that the Red Spider was interested, but they shouldn’t know I’m already here. Though it’s possible.”
Maria shot him a glance, trying to keep the concern from her voice. “Okayyy… So, what? They’re making a move, keeping you close, checking you out?”
“Maybe.” Warrick nodded, his gaze darting up and down the street, but his grin stayed on his face. Not a fake grin either. The guy was enjoying this. “No harm in them watching, as long as we have backup, which we do.”
Maria arched her brows, and her gaze returned to the street. “Since when do we have backup?”
“Since several additional men, most likely Guardia, started showing up behind our tails. Though the way they’re hanging back, I’m changing that assessment. Less backup, more a watch. They also don’t know who I am, and that won’t help us. We’ll probably be on our own for this hit. I assume you’re not carrying?”
She snorted. “That would be no.”
“And is this the direction to your condo?”
“Condo would be an overstatement,” Maria said. “But yeah. This is the way Jack and I always went home. And before you start with some rant about how we should’ve varied our habits, you got to understand that—”
“His comfort level was all part of your cover. I more than get it,” Warrick said tersely. “And that’s fine, as long as your cover hasn’t been blown. Because I’m getting the sense that the guys from La Noche aren’t just here to watch us.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking it’s not me who’s the problem here,” Maria shot back, and a hot, bright anger surged up in her. Anger at Stan, at the idea of risking her old cover that had worked so well, and at this guy, who thought he could waltz in here and take over everything without a whisper of warning. “You’re the one who’s screwing everything up.”
But Warrick wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking at the opening to Sycamore Park, which she and Jack had routinely cut through on their way to her apartment. Suddenly, the scrap of a park seemed dangerous, too quiet.
“We’re going in, and then we’re taking them down,” Warrick said. “Nothing fancy.”
She quirked him a look. Since when did anyone fight fancy in Compton? But her body was jacked now, arms loose, hands ready. She was—
The first of them came from the side, literally out of nowhere.
“Son of a bitch!”
To Warrick’s surprise, Maria bellowed in real rage as the first demon leapt from the shadows behind an immense concrete monument in the middle of the park to send her sprawling, another one right
there to punch her in the ribs. She twisted to the side, automatically protecting her body from further blows, and he waited the few seconds that seemed like hours as they assessed whether she’d fight back. She’d supposedly taken down a demon two nights ago now at the dance club. Holkeri was doing basic threat-level assessment to figure out what she was. Warrick had to let that happen; he knew he did.
But it didn’t make it any easier.
There were only the two demons, though. The rest were humans, and they came forward immediately, focusing on Warrick. He parried their blows almost as an afterthought, trying to keep his eyes on Maria. He took out two of the men with uppercuts that would have made the real Jack proud, would serve to allow Warrick to preen when they did finally present themselves to the Guardia—the Guardia and Holkeri’s filthy gang as well. But he could have dropped the humans in a heartbeat if he wanted.
He had bigger issues. The demonic duo all over Maria were spawn—base-level pestilence, stupid and vile. The offspring of demons coupling and recoupling with their own kind over the years, a strictly forbidden act…like most everything for demons. Only the original Fallen had remained blessed by God. Once those one-time angels descended to the rank of demon, however…they became an abomination. An afterthought.
Expendable.
But they still couldn’t be killed by an ordinary human.
And sure enough, Maria surged back up a second later, fists flying, taking the first demon by surprise only by her speed. She wouldn’t win this battle, couldn’t win it, really, or Takio would send out even worse. But the fact that she was employing very human countermeasures—blocking and punching and kicking with speed and finesse but definitely without demonic capabilities—was enough, would be enough, would be—
The smaller demon bent low and charged Maria, catching her in the midsection and taking her to the ground. Warrick jolted as Maria’s mind flashed to a memory that went beyond panic, beyond the here and now, her body suffused in real, paralyzing fear, not even for the Maria of the present moment but a Maria of the past, a ten-year-old girl who’d been helpless, horrified, afraid—
She swung out, and Warrick heard the sound of bones breaking.
That was it. His rage, never fully banked, rose to life in a furious rush, filling him in an instant. He couldn’t kill the human assholes—they were attacking him, not Maria, and they weren’t causing anyone any harm in the immediate vicinity—but to protect his summoner, he was technically allowed to do unto others some small measure of what they were trying to do unto him.
An eye for an eye.
He exploded into movement, striking hard and fast.
Two of the men were already on the ground. Powerful kicks bent their ribs, curled them over on themselves. Maybe there’d been a crunch in there; Warrick didn’t know, didn’t care. The remaining four weren’t idiots. Instead of two attacking and two holding back to play cleanup, all four rushed Warrick. Catching the fastest, Warrick clocked the man with enough ferocity to take out the thug behind him as well, then swept the third with a kick to the abdomen that would put the man in the hospital, even if he didn’t die. The last man now had blades in his hands, two blades, and he blinked in confusion at Warrick’s hard, fast grin.
Every once in a while, fighting humans was fun.
But the blades were meant for offense, not defense, and the man wasn’t special ops, just a street tough who liked to play with sharp pointy things. Warrick closed the gap with him, grabbing the man’s left wrist hard enough to snap the small bones that made up the graceful extremity of his skeleton. More screaming as the blade dropped and the man fell back, then Warrick shoved him away so hard, he barely kept his feet. With a quick scan of his fellows, who were still moving, at least—the man fled.
Warrick bent swiftly and recovered the blade, then turned to Maria. All this had happened in less than five seconds, but those five seconds weren’t something he could magically erase. Maria’s legs were pumping furiously, her body twisting side to side as one of the demons fought to get a purchase on her—and Warrick couldn’t—couldn’t take them out. Not without putting Maria in even greater danger.
He flicked out his touch so briefly that the demon spawn didn’t feel it. Not to incapacitate them, not to banish them—not yet.
But to know their names. Ganit and Furth. Ganit was on Maria. Furth was wheeling around to the side, howling. It was enough.
“Get off!” Maria surged up, her body bucking, and that gave Warrick his chance. He closed in on the two foul members of his brethren, and the one not on top of Maria turned toward him with a combination of rage and pain. Since she was still with him, Warrick’s glamour held—the demons had no idea that he wasn’t human. Unfortunately, however, that also meant he couldn’t kill Furth, because no human should be able to do such a thing.
Instead, Warrick merely stepped nimbly aside as Furth rushed him, and realized the demon himself was not as prepared as he should be for this battle. He was drunk. Drunk and probably high, corrupted by the very beings he was made to corrupt.
He was also in legitimate pain, holding his arm awkwardly to his body. What was that about?
Furth wheeled around toward Warrick, who’d shifted position slightly as well, farther away from Ganit and Maria. The demon didn’t seem to notice, instead surging toward Warrick with more speed. That was good—the idiot would be forced to wonder if he was more incapacitated than he realized, to allow a human to do…this.
Warrick slipped to the side again, already moving toward Maria and Ganit as Furth piled into the concrete monument, his momentum too wound up for him to stop. His howl was piercing enough to peel paint off any nearby cars, but Warrick had no more time for him.
He turned—finally—to Ganit.
Ganit wasn’t drunk, but he also wasn’t holding his own nearly as well against Maria as he should be. Warrick’s mind clicked through the dangers of that as he did the only thing he could—he threw the knife at the demon. Not to kill him, though he could have, not to hurt him, though he wanted to, wanted it so badly, he could taste it. But the blade zipped across Ganit’s line of vision, and the creature jerked back, the movement all Maria needed to buck her body hard and dislodge him even as Warrick launched himself at them both. He caught Ganit in the shoulder and pushed him clean away—straight into the wheeling body of Furth, who, on top of his incapacitated arm, was now bleeding from an impressive head wound. More blood stained the monument, far more of it black than red.
Ganit stopped as he banged off Furth, staring around in confusion. Evil might live on for generations, but intelligence did not. It was one of the more charming aspects of the youngest spawn of the ancients. Even their own ancestors despised them.
Warrick didn’t wait around for them to figure things out. He pulled Maria up to a standing position—she was bloody, and she’d have a shiner for sure, but she was otherwise blessedly unhurt—and together, they ran.
Chapter Seven
“Keys, Maria.” She heard Warrick’s voice, but Maria was having a hard time following his words. Even though he’d reduced those words down to simple sentences that nearly all contained her name. She stared at him numbly, blinking. Why did she feel so bad? The Noche thug had clocked her, but she’d been hit before, and he wasn’t a big guy. Plus, he’d reeked of weed and whiskey. She was also relatively sure she’d broken the guy’s arm and that he hadn’t broken anything on her. What had she missed?
“Keys,” Warrick tried again, and she blinked at him. Why is he—oh.
She fumbled in her jeans pocket, pulled out a money clip and keys, then shoved both at Warrick. He took them, turning away as Maria looked around the hallway.
How had they gotten to her apartment? Her condo, as Warrick called it. She snickered. Condo. Even up north in her own patch, she didn’t rate a building where anyone took care of shit for her. She rented one side of a duplex and counted herself lucky. At least that house looked like a house, with a yard and a garden behind it. On her salary, she ordin
arily wouldn’t have rated more than a concrete box unless she caved and agreed to have a roommate. And she’d tried that once already. Didn’t turn out so well.
“C’mon, here you go.” Warrick’s hands were surprisingly gentle as he steered her through the doorway and into her cramped apartment. She stared at the stacks of magazines, the disarray, seeing it through someone else’s eyes, and wondered why she didn’t feel more self-conscious. She should feel more self-conscious. Even with Jack, she’d managed that.
“Jack never minded the clutter,” Maria said abruptly, not knowing why.
Warrick chuckled. “I don’t either. But you need to keep moving.” He paused, glancing around. “There are no cameras, here. No bugs.”
“Yeah, like you can check that fast.” She swayed a bit, shaking her head carefully, as if it might roll off her neck. Which it might. She decided to take him at his word that they weren’t being bugged. “But seriously, what happened back there, and why do I feel like I’ve been drugged? I’ve been hit before.”
Warrick hissed a word she couldn’t quite make out, then he grunted. “Of course you have. Your job. But this—this is different. Those guys were different. When guys like that hit a human it…affects them more.”
Maria nodded, confused again. Human? To his credit, Warrick didn’t stop gently moving her toward the sofa, never paused until he had her settled onto the cushions. The sofa was the best piece of furniture in the apartment, a Goodwill find that Jack had crashed on almost constantly over the past several weeks, when he wasn’t bunking down with his Guardia friends.
Beside it now, Warrick seemed…way too big.
Her head started to pound. She blinked up to see Warrick in front of her, still as devastatingly gorgeous as she remembered.
“Take this,” he said, and she peered at the two tiny blue pills in his hand. “They’re yours,” he continued. “Bottle on the kitchen counter.”
“Then I’ll need more than two,” she grumbled. Still, she took his offering and the glass of water he held out and swallowed the pills. She no sooner lowered the glass than Warrick was right there with a warm, damp cloth. She almost laughed at the expression on his face.
