The Bastard (Baddest Boys in History)

by Inez Kelley

  More guys, he’d said. Two apartments per building side meant fourteen men had once lived on the upper floor. What happened to them? She wanted to believe they’d quit and simply hadn’t been replaced but based on how violently that preacher’s group had come after her, Erik’s team faced some wicked enemies.

  A flock of geese flying overhead drew their attention. Mountains rose from the horizon in full autumn bloom while the grass succumbed to the brown of coming winter. Lacy welcomed the distraction. “The mountains are gorgeous here. Where are we exactly?”

  “Boonies of Pendleton County.” He pointed to a crag in the tallest mountain. “Spruce Knob’s up there.”

  Their faces reflected in the door glass, side by side. “All my bruises are gone.”

  “You must heal fast.” His fingers danced up her spine and a naughty look darkened his eyes. “Does this mean you’re going to collect on your rain check soon?”

  She snagged his gaze in the window and held it. “Maybe.”

  “Tease.” He dropped a fast kiss on her shoulder. “I have to get back to work. There’s a library down the hall to the right, if you like, or the remote’s on my coffee table.”

  “Am I going to offend you if I clean your bathroom instead?”

  His laugh rumbled like thunder. “You don’t have to.”

  “Trust me,” she said with a quirk to her mouth. “I have to. I have a huge need to vanquish some soap scum from that shower.”

  He turned away and she caught his hand, holding it until he faced her. “Thank you, Erik. Not for just a place to stay and the clothes but…you know, the whole protector thing. You didn’t have to do this.”

  “I have to see this good guy deal through, right?”

  “My hero.” Giving him a soft kiss, she sent him back to work.

  Twenty minutes later, the dishwasher did its magic and Lacy wiped the last frying pan clean. A huge metal dog food bowl sat beside a water dish, but both were empty. She filled the water dish then searched for dog food. There was nothing in the cabinets but a pantry door was open an inch. She found a bag of kibble and filled the bowl.

  She raided a stocked freezer that rivaled the walk-in at Dawson’s Diner. Feeling very Suzy Home Maker slash den mother, she plopped two pork roasts in a massive slow cooker.

  Erik had said there was a library so she wandered down the hall, just trying to acclimate herself. A few empty rooms held nothing but blank space. There was a decadent Roman blended with Turkish-style bath with blue and white mosaic tiles, a sauna with cold rocks waiting for steam, a weight room, a windowless room with padded walls, and a room holding all sorts of musical instruments. Her eyes flew to the wall of glass that let sunlight stream across the dusty baby grand piano.

  Understanding parted her lips. Each room was on the same side of the hall and faced the courtyard. The solid hallway wall, dotted with mirrors, framed paintings and artwork, must be the external compound wall. These men had a gorgeous view outside but no one could see inside.

  She continued her exploration, peeking into a library, a clinic-like medical space that took up two rooms, a smaller bathroom, a storage room jammed with what appeared to be historical costumes and a room filled with nothing but assembled models. Some were wooden, others plastic and yet others created by Lego kits. Each was elaborate, intricate and completely forgotten. A fine layer of dust covered everything.

  Her exploration ended, brought full-circle by the hallway running around the seven-sided compound. Just before the kitchen, she found a closet full of cleaning supplies and extra small appliances. One still-boxed coffee maker caught her eye and she decided to borrow it for Erik’s apartment. She’d make a quick trip to the bathroom, then grab the coffee maker and would head upstairs to battle the Soap Scum Monster.

  Instead, she found herself on her hands and knees cleaning the downstairs bathroom. When the last fixture gleamed and a fresh lemony scent filled the air, she started in the main common room. A cold black handgun tucked under a couch cushion stopped her in her tracks.

  “What the hell am I doing?”

  She sat, cradling her head in her hands and stared at the weapon. That apartment upstairs had swords in it and not decorator pieces. The bits of wire and metal on Erik’s coffee table now took on a more ominous appearance. Was it a bomb? The drugs from last night came roaring back into her memory and she blew out a slow breath.

  She didn’t know these men. Could Erik be a drug dealer and not a security agent as he claimed? Why else would his team have illegal drugs around? Didn’t specially trained agents take better care than to shove a loaded gun under a seat cushion? Was she staying with some kind of mobster?

  She couldn’t believe these were bad men, that her hero was a bad man. His touch was too gentle, his compassion too real. The past few days were a jumble of fear and terror, but Erik was the constant bright spot, her hope and her anchor. She flattened her frown into a determined line. Even if he wasn’t exactly one of the good guys, he was good to her. She had to trust him, and with him, the men he surrounded himself with.

  Something dark inside her whispered they were all that stood between her and death.

  Chapter Eight

  Sweat, sex and sin scented the air. Galina arched closer to his mouth, desperate to ride that crested wave to an unnatural bliss only Samael could bring. One suck, one lick away from rapture, he angled up and thrust inside. Pleasure carved through her like a knife.

  Wicked laughter danced from his tongue. “Never fail me again, my pet.”

  “Mama?”

  Ice blasted her, fragmenting the near climax. No. She’d been prepared for punishment earlier. She’d been braced for it when she arrived, through dinner, even when he slid the straps of her gown from her shoulders. She’d waited for the pain to hit but it never came. He’d said nothing, done nothing to indicate that he was still displeased.

  “Mama? Where are you? I’m scared.”

  She pinched her eyes, trying to block out the whimpers. Rosy cheeks, sleep-tossed dark curls and eyes wide with fear painted inside her mind. There was no escape from Alisa’s face, her tears. Her daughter reached for her, begged her to come. Blackness surrounded her but something danced on her white nightdress.

  A scream tore from Galina’s heart as an orange hue filled the darkness. Fire. The snap of flames flicked behind her daughter and smoke coiled around her tiny body like hissing serpents. Every instinctual urge to jump up and race to her child battled against his hold. Malicious laughter echoed as Samael drove deep, rocking against her. He possessed her completely — her body for his pleasure, her mind for his torment, her soul for his sadism. She was powerless.

  “Hot, Mama. It burns, Mama! Help me!”

  Acrid smoke stung Galina’s nose as the flames grew around Alisa. Her nightdress began to smolder, smoke wafting from the ringlets streaming over her shoulders. Her little fists balled tight and beat against an invisible wall. The fire grew until blisters erupted across Alisa’s skin. The tears dripping over her round cheeks sizzled as the flames reached up.

  Galina tried to tell herself it was an illusion, that Alisa couldn’t be truly feeling the bite of fire, but she didn’t know. The soul was eternal, never ending, and hers belonged to Samael. She had no idea what had happened to Alisa after her death. He very well could have plucked the tiny, pristine soul simply as a pawn, as a way to control her.

  Samael rolled Galina to her stomach, shoving her shoulders down, and hauling her hips up. Jagged hurt lanced as he parted her ass and forced inside with brutality. The white-hot edge of orgasm traced along her marrow. His voice shivered through her.

  “You failed me, Galina. The Cooper Scion is precious to me, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Master. Please, mercy.”

  He thrust hard, driving into her ass like a spike. “No mercy, ever, do you hear me?” He punctuated every word with a vicious stab of his body into hers. “Take your punishment, bitch, and never fail me again.”

  The mattress coul
dn’t muffle her scream as Alisa writhed before her eyes. Flames nibbled up the singed gown, wrapped around and feasted on her chubby arms and legs. Her squeals never ceased, never slowed.

  Salt swelled in Galina’s eyes, tears springing from a dry well. The drops slipped past her lashes to race down her face, but they couldn’t flush the unholy carnal hunger from her body or blind her from the agony of her baby’s suffering. Samael reached under her and pinched her clit. Guilt burst with the sourness of pain. Her body ached with forced immoral lust while her daughter burned.

  Ash scorched Galina’s tongue and her stomach lurched. He made her see this, kept the image in her mind, forced her to watch while he took his due. He made her feel the sexual thirst while serving up her child as punishment.

  Hands that yearned to cradle her baby fisted the sheet in helpless horror. Bits of flesh melted away to expose white bone that charred to black. The rancid odor of burnt flesh gagged her but he wouldn’t allow her to vomit. Her body clenched only for him, perverse physical response joining with emotional repulsion. He wouldn’t even allow her to grieve, keeping the picture replaying in her mind.

  “Mama? Where are you? I’m scared.”

  Revulsion fed off her quivering muscles as the image came again and again, looping in her sight. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, pushing her body closer to the wedge of climax as her mind was held captive. Her daughter burned, skin splitting like overcooked boar, while sexual hunger flashed in her blood.

  Samael moaned. “Fuck, your ass and her screams, I love it. More.”

  His rhythm surged to manic and the flames jumped higher, licked faster, consumed Alisa’s body with a voracious appetite. Hating herself and him, Galina pushed back, driving harder against him, desperate to breach that final vault and to stop the hellfire eating at her daughter. His nails dug into her hips as he roared. Orgasm burst with a bitter flood of death and delight. Alisa squealed in pain.

  “Hot, Mama. It burns, Mama! Help me!”

  He was heavy on top of her, his ragged breath blowing along her nape. With a grunt, he withdrew and slapped her ass. “That was sweet. Mother and daughter, the best flaming fuck around. Not worth losing the Scion over but better than a biscuit.”

  Galina couldn’t move. Her bones were liquid with release, the broken images vividly unfolding again in her mind, the charred taste thick on her lips. She heard the shower snap on, heard him humming in contentment as he washed away the evidence of their wicked union. She was still held frozen by the flames. The buzz of an electric razor barely penetrated the agonized sobs of a once-five-year-old little girl.

  “Good, you’re still naked.”

  The towel around his hips highlighted the cut of muscles in his back. Water trickled down his spine as he opened the door. Three lowly Soul-Leeches entered, their eyes glistening in excitement, forked tongues tasting the rich sex-scented air. Their gaze locked on her like thumbtacks. Samael pulled a shirt from the dresser drawer as the Leeches began stripping.

  Fear cramped her belly. Scrambling toward the headboard, she curled into a ball, shielding her breasts with her arms. They’d kicked the sheets away and had knocked the pillows from the bed. She had nothing to hide behind.

  “Please, Master, you promised. You said I’d never have to serve others again.”

  Samael shrugged. “I lied.”

  Six hard hands grabbed her. A tiny voice rang in her ears. “Mama? Where are you? I’m scared.”

  This time, there was no pleasure, only blood and pain and her screams were savage. Samael dressed then stood and watched for ten minutes, basking in her torture. He slid his wallet into his pocket and leaned down to brush a damp bit of hair from her cheek.

  “Entertain them well. I’ll be back tonight and we’ll play some more. By then, I might be in a better mood. Get me Lacy Cooper and don’t fail me again. Next time, you burn while I fuck her ass.”

  Her pointless screams died on her tongue as the door clicked shut.

  “Hot, Mama. It burns, Mama! Help me!”

  “Who are you texting?”

  Rex’s thumbs moving at lightning speed. “I’m not texting, I’m tweeting.”

  “What’s that?” Nomad’s perma-scowl deepened.

  “Jesus, you need a life.” Dray speared another Gummy Bear on a toothpick and added it to the dozen in a pile, already skewered. “No wonder you’re as much fun as inflamed hemorrhoids. It’s a social network thing.”

  Vike hid his snicker as Nomad’s loud snort ripped through the room. “Never mind. I’m anti-social.”

  “No, you?” Rex adopted a shocked look for all of thirty seconds before he burst out laughing.

  Nomad flipped up both little fingers in an ancient ‘fuck you’ gesture. “I got bored with the whathefuckery around the third century…and that’s B.C.E., you neophyte.”

  Dray had run out of toothpicks so he popped the last yellow bear in his mouth, chewed then fixed an innocently sympathetic look on his face. “Aw, somebody grumpy. Do you need a hug?”

  “Touch me and you’ll need traction.”

  “Your brother would know. Oh wait, he didn’t get traction, he got dead.”

  Nomad’s eyes pinched to tight slits, his knuckles going white. Sela cleared her throat pointedly. “Boys, stop picking and get back to work. How many?”

  “Twenty-three.” Vike rubbed his gritty eyes. Not needing sleep didn’t mean his eyes didn’t get tired from staring at battle plans. Everyone was getting punchy, their focus wavering. He had to force his mind to process. “Ten in Portugal and the rest in Madagascar.”

  “Didn’t Samael used to prefer the mountains near Ekron?” Myth rolled his pen across the table. “He might have Scion soul-boxes stashed there. It’s worth a look, anyway.”

  Sela nodded. “Zale, that’s your old grounds so you check that out.”

  The general didn’t look pleased. The ancient Babylonian hillside had to hold unpleasant memories for him but he said nothing and quickly left to follow her command. Vike tried to muster sympathy but couldn’t. Zale was a prick. He’d made his bed eons ago, lined it with dead bodies and now reaped the ugly seeds he’d sown. They all had their sins, Zale’s were just more vile than others.

  “This amateur Indiana Jones bullshit is all fine and dandy,” Rex said, tucking his phone away. “But it still doesn’t help us locate any living Scion. That’s what we need to concentrate on.”

  Dray scoffed. “How? It’s not like they check in with Facebook daily. There’s no record of Scion lineage to follow.”

  “Actually, there is.” Nomad swiped his hands through his shaggy hair.

  Hope surged in Vike’s gut, but Sela shook her head. “I can’t interfere with the Watchers again.”

  “Who are the Watchers?” Dray looked up from his Gummy Bears. They gaped at him and he rolled his eyes. “People, get with the program. As Oscar the geriatric Grouch loves to remind me, I’m the baby. I’ve only been Awake about five hundred years. I have no clue who you’re talking about. Educate me.”

  Sela sighed, massaging her temples. “When the Vangelus came to the Earthly plane before the Third was expelled, some mated with mortal women. Their offspring were more like enraged beasts than humans. We called them the Irin. They were giants: massive, cruel and near crazed by their own mixed blood. They killed, mauled, fucked and destroyed whoever came within their path.”

  Dray whistled. “Holy fuck.”

  “More unholy than holy. It was like a pack of rabid wolves set loose in a flock of sheep.” Nomad swiveled in his seat, the slight squeak-squeak grating on Vike’s tense nerves. His own homeland, as well as most other cultures, had legends of terrible giants he now knew stemmed from those very hybrids.

  Despite the devastation wreaked by the Irin, their heavenly fathers couldn’t bring themselves to kill their damaged children. They imprisoned the Irin on the spiritual plane. However, that didn’t end the bloodline. Countless women had been raped by the Irin and bore Scion children; wild, rambunctious and physi
cally dominant, but with a moral soul that could be harnessed and taught.

  The wild blood thinned through the generations until it became no more deadly than freckles or extra long fingers. It was a blip in the genetic makeup that sang to those Awoken from soul-sleep, calling for protection. Like Lacy.

  “It took dozens of Vangelus to overcome the Irin.” Shaded with memory, Sela’s voice lilted with the lyrical flair of her creation. “The Holy Seven and the Seraphim Guard worked without rest for months to capture them all. Gabriel built a prison unlike any ever conceived. No pure human blood can survive inside and no mixed blood can cross through the walls. The Irin became the Watchers. They watch over those in their lines through a mystic portal and record every birth and death in the Eyts Vangelus, the Tree of Angels.”

  “Talk about invasive spyware, that’s just fucked. And not to be Dudley Downer here but what keeps Samael’s chiefs from knocking up some mortal chick and popping out a new Scionim?”

  Sela angled her head, those glowing kaleidoscope eyes falling on Dray like fire. “They can’t. The seed of mortal men was too weak to take root into a female Vangelus womb, so only male Vangelus accidently sired offspring. The Creator removed the gift of progeny from male Vangelus to prevent such an abomination from ever occurring again.”

  Vike blew out a breath. “Thank Frey for gelding the enemy.”

  “No shit. Permanent blanks in the holy meat-rifle.” Dray snorted. “Why don’t we just steal the Eyts-whatever?”

  Nomad hurled a pencil at Dray. “Because, you stupid nut pollen, Sela was their jailer. She walks in there and they’ll rip her apart.”

  “Enough.” Sela looked down the table, her gaze touching each man before recapping her pen. “We’ve strayed from our goal. As we always have, we do this without help. But having Lacy in our midst places us under certain restrictions. For now, we’ll keep mortal hours. It’ll help keep us fresh when we need to be. It’s late. Go relax, rest your minds. We’ll reconvene at seven a.m.”