The Bastard (Baddest Boys in History)

by Inez Kelley

  Vike jolted. His muscles snapped taut and his bones cracked. Searing pain lanced across her belly and she felt the phantom organs in her gut spill out. This he’d experienced both in First Death and today. He had to relive it twice over. He fought her, the human instinct to shy from pain basic and dominant. She gripped his hair, holding his mouth in place as she breathed again. Every system in his body rebelled, repaired and convulsed and hers screamed in misery.

  Beneath her ribs, she felt his abdomen ripple, the muscles and sinew knitting even as remembered blades hacked into their bodies. Her mind saw them all, saw every enemy he’d fought in life go down before him. That pain ricocheted from him to her in a loop of torment. He screamed, filling her mouth with heat. She sucked it in and blew it back. His spine arched, his powerful legs nearly unseating her. She clamped her thighs and rode out the spasms. More blood, more injury, more death. Her soul cringed at the sins that assaulted them, sins he’d committed in life.

  His heart surged, stopped then raced. Minor wounds along his arms and face healed, crusting with thick scabs that formed, fell away and left unblemished skin. Memories of war cries, of weapons clashing, of human life ending soured on her tongue. Hard hands gripped her thighs, shoving at her but she squeezed tighter, breathed again. More death. More pain. More suffering. She gave him one last breath, forcing her gift into his lungs.

  Shock nearly forced Sela away as his pain filled her. Not the pain of his body, but of his heart. The fear of leaving Lacy, and the fear of loving her so completely, was a new spice in his soul. It stung no less than the wounds his body had suffered or that he had inflicted on others. A single tear squeezed from her eye as she bathed in his love for Lacy.

  He gasped, tore his mouth from hers and cried out. Sela collapsed on his chest. Dizzy with expended oxygen, she rested for a few seconds, until the spell passed and her body stopped throbbing with remembered wounds. She pushed up and swiped the sweat away from his face as his eyes fluttered open.

  “Welcome back, my warrior.”

  Lacy scrubbed the last inch of the floor. A brisk knock made her jerk, the mop dropping from her fingers. She raced to the door and flung it open.

  “Damn it, Dray, I’ve been worried si—” Zale’s malevolent glare froze the words on her tongue. “Zale. Is everything okay?”

  “Come with me.”

  Lacy sucked in a soft breath. It was the first time she’d ever heard him speak. He sounded like music. The deep vibrations of a cello carried in his voice like classical music. Somehow that beautiful voice matched his face, but seemed so odd when paired with his frosty eyes. She looked down. He had a deep cut along his arm, the dried blood scoring his golden skin like a knife. A bruise discolored his jaw and dirt coated his skin in patches, matted along his hairline.

  “Where? What’s wrong?” A lump wedged in her throat. “Erik? Is he okay?”

  “He was injured.”

  The lump dropped into her stomach. “How bad?”

  “Come and see.”

  She followed him, all fear bleached away by her concern for Erik. He led her to the stairs rather than the elevator but that was fine. It kept her moving. Their shoes echoed on the austere steps and rang against bare walls. The exit deposited them near the Roman bath. They passed the library, the weight room, Myth’s immense office and four closed doors that stood like silent watchmen. Dread filled her as the medi-room came into view.

  Zale pressed one long finger to his lips. She nodded, realizing off-handedly that she couldn’t feel her cheeks. Fright had robbed her of sensation. Silent as a cat, he led her to a side room and nodded toward the closed door. She stepped closer and looked through the tall window.

  Shock slammed into her. Erik laid on a narrow cot-like bed nearly naked, a bandage around his stomach. His injury wasn’t what stunned her. It was Sela, straddling him, her body moving in sensual grace. Erik bucked his hips and his hands gripped her thighs. Lacy had felt that touch many times over the past weeks, knew how he felt moments before orgasm as he strived to get deeper inside her.

  She knew his face, how it contorted with release, his voice as it growled in completion. A shudder worked his shoulders and he ripped his mouth from Sela’s, a grimace of pleasure-pain twisting his lips. Sela sagged, dropping to press her cheek into his shoulder. Lamplight glistened on their bodies.

  Denial was futile. She’d witnessed it all. Erik was screwing his boss.

  Zale’s reflection was a ghostly image that hovered above her shoulder in the window. A sly grin spread satisfaction across his face.

  “Why did you show me this?” Her whisper carried hurt and betrayal. “You knew what I’d see.”

  A cruel lift to one brow intensified his devilish looks. “You needed to know.”

  So blunt, that sentence rammed her gut like a knife. Pain swelled, threatening to crack her heart wide open. She whirled and ran, thrusting the stairway door so hard it smacked the wall. She took the steps two at a time, her breath heaving her chest. Tears she refused to shed blinded her and she swiped an angry arm across her face. No, she wasn’t going to cry. Not for him. Not for a cheating dog who couldn’t keep his pants up.

  His apartment was silent, mocking her. Only last night, they’d made love on that couch, too hungry for each other to make it to the bed. Bastard. Anger flushed the ache away. He’d lied to her since they met and she’d let him, all because it was easier to believe she was what he wanted. Not anymore. She didn’t have any bags so she grabbed one of his duffels and shoved her clothes inside. Clothes he’d bought her. Her hand fisted around a pair of panties. She didn’t want anything he’d touched. Throwing the half-packed bag in the middle of the floor, she snatched her purse from the night table and barreled out of the apartment.

  She ran face first into Dray’s chest.

  “Whoa, whoa.” His hands griped her arms. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need to leave. Can you take me to my sister’s?”

  He’d changed from his BDUs and now wore his night-time play clothes: leather pants and jacket over a tight tee shirt, a chain around his waist, a spiked band on one wrist. His previous limp was nonexistent.

  Confusion firmed his mouth. “Lacy, there are people out there who want you dead, as in not alive, as in cease to exist. What’s going on?”

  “Please, I just… Erik… He’s sleeping with Sela.”

  His jaw swung open. “What?”

  “I saw them. In the medi-room. They were having sex.”

  “I think you probably misunderstood wh—”

  “I saw them, Dray! She was grinding on him like a slut in heat and he… he… Please, if you won’t take me out of here, give me directions so Annie can come and get me. I can’t stay here.”

  Something secretive flashed in his gaze but he looked away, rubbing his forehead. “Fuck, what a cluster. Okay, I’ll take you to your sister’s but only if I stay. You’re our mission, Lacy and I’m not going to flake on that because…because of what you saw.”

  The only thing Erik hadn’t lied about was someone wanted her dead. She was pissed off and hurt but she didn’t have a death wish. “I need to go now.”

  “Come on.”

  Dray took her elbow and led her to the elevator. A quake started in her belly but she gritted her teeth. Not yet. She was not going to break down in H2Q. She needed distance and space and something highly alcoholic before she’d let that happen.

  The elevator stopped on the ground floor. She stabbed Dray with a questioning glance.

  “My keys are in the common room, hold on.” He darted out and fisted a huge set of keys from the coffee table. He turned but before he could enter the box, Sela and Erik stepped into the room. Sela wore a short hospital robe and Erik only a white towel around his hips. Both were damp. The bandage was no longer around his stomach and she couldn’t even see a bruise. Her fists clenched. She’d been afraid he was knocking at death’s door. Instead, he’d been knocking something else.

  Erik looked from Dray to Lacy, h
is frown tugging his traitorous mouth down. “What’s going on?”

  A scream of pure exasperation knotted every muscle in her body. Lacy lifted her chin and glared at him. “Dray’s taking me home.”

  His eyes bugged. “Lace, you don’t have a home right now.”

  “Fine,” she spat. “He’s taking me away from you, you son of a bitch. Go screw until your dick falls off. I don’t care.”

  Sela sucked in a swift breath and Vike groaned. “Lacy, it’s not like that.”

  “I’m not blind, Erik. Zale took me to the medi-room. I saw you.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah, that would be it,” she sneered.

  “You can’t leave!” He smacked the elevator door with one broad palm. “They’ll kill you!”

  “I’m going with her,” Dray interjected, scooting past them into the elevator.

  “Don’t do this.” Erik’s eyes bore into hers, pleading and begging.

  She hit the Close button. “Rot in hell.”

  Dray said nothing until the doors slid open and the vast parking garage stretched before them. He led her to a plain sedan, one of four that lined the wall. “Sorry for the wheels. These are communal cars. I ride a Harley so we have to take this. It doesn’t stick out. I’ll be able to watch your sister’s place from the street.”

  Lacy barely heard him. Parked across from the sedans was Erik’s red truck. It gleamed in the work lights of the garage, pristine and powerful, everything she wasn’t. Resentment flooded her belly until it ached. She crossed her arms and hugged herself, striving to stay in control.

  Dray cocked his head. “Life’s been real shitty to you lately. Holding all that inside is going to give you an ulcer. Let it out.”

  “Just get me out of here.”

  He popped the trunk and pulled out a tire iron. “Here, go for it.”

  “What?” The steel was heavy in her hand, foreign and strange.

  He motioned toward the truck. “Vike can afford a new truck. Pull a Carrie Underwood. You’ll feel better.”

  “That’s property damage.”

  “Yep.” He grinned. “And it’ll feel great. It’s a vehicle, Lacy. An object. No one is going to get hurt. Go beat the shit out of the truck and pretend it’s Vike, or Sela or — hell, I don’t know, Mickey Mouse if you want.”

  The tire iron grew sticky in her hand. She couldn’t. It was wrong. It was… tempting. The driver’s side headlight held her attention. All chrome and plastic, rigid and silent. Like a huge unblinking eye staring at her. Her fingers tightened around the bar.

  The first strike wasn’t hard but the light covering cracked with a satisfying crunch. Dray was right. That felt good. She swung again, harder. The door dented. The dam inside her burst and everything came rushing out. She didn’t ask for any of this. She wanted her life back. She wanted the Children’s Home to still be standing, her house solid and the diner to never have fallen. Those people shouldn’t have died in her place.

  She never should have fallen in love with a man she barely knew.

  Lacy saw nothing but twisted buildings, flames and Erik’s fingers biting into Sela’s thighs, heard nothing but screams, the crackle of fire and moans of pleasure. Her arms burned with exertion but she kept swinging, kept pouring everything out on that shiny red chassis. The windshield shattered but didn’t break. It took two more swings for that. The side windows only took two. The mirrors clanked to the cement floor with a single swipe. The bumper refused to budge but she beat the hell out of it anyway.

  The first thing to penetrate her swirling mind was the noise. Someone was screaming, a hysterical woman who sounded crazy. The second thing was that the woman was her. She’d been shouting, venting her frustrations into the air without thought, without censorship. The third thing was her arms felt like oatmeal. The fourth was Erik’s truck looked like it French kissed a locomotive. Sweat trickled down her temples and the bar clattered to the ground with an echoing clank. Her fingers ached and she looked down. Where did she get Dray’s knife?

  All four tires had huge gashes. The leather seats were split and the padding beneath jerked from the wounds. She dropped the knife as if it was dripping with blood. Gulps of air dried her mouth. Her face was wet with tears she didn’t remember shedding. Her trembling knees buckled and crashed into the concrete. The stone was cold on her hot cheeks but she reveled in the sensation. Her sobs broke free and she wept in complete abandonment.

  Dray sat on the sedan hood, loose arms crossed over his spread knees, watching her. He let her cry until her stomach twisted. When she was done, she wiped her sweaty, snotty face on her shirtsleeve and sat up.

  He nodded. “Let’s get you home now.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Vike stared at the hunk of metal that used to be his truck. Lacy had a hell of a temper, apparently. Irony closed his eyes. Well, didn’t that just fucking suck? The Berserker fell in love with a valkyrja.

  In his first life, he’d prayed a valkyrja, a Norse warrior angel now commonly called a Valkyrie, would save his soul and whisk it to Odin’s Hall where he could dine in splendor and love in her arms forever. He’d finally found her and she destroyed his truck and walked out on him.

  Tonguing his cheek, he yanked the cell from his pocket and hit number four. Dray answered after one ring.

  “Took you long enough, Viking. Chill. I haven’t seen a single Leech but my Mark’s thrumming like a guitar. I’d place a money bet Galina is slinking around somewhere close. Lacy is halfway to shit-faced. Her sister is a looker, too. I’m parked where I can see in her bedroom window and damn, what an ass.”

  “I found my truck.”

  “Oh.” Dray cleared his throat in a guilty sound. “Yeah, she was out of her mind. I tried to stop her.”

  “You lie.”

  “But I’m pretty.” The humor did nothing for Vike. Dray quieted, his voice dipping into commiseration. “I had to give her some way to get rid of the hurt or she’d go nuts. This situation’s fucked six ways from Sunday, man. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Hang with Lacy. I’ll call you.”

  He clicked the phone off and closed his eyes, leaning on his demolished passenger’s door. What was he going to do? There was no way to fix this. Lacy shouldn’t have seen his healing. He knew what it looked like, what it felt like.

  Zale. The bastard did this deliberately. Why? What purpose did hurting Lacy serve? Even if he hated Vike, Lacy was Scionim. They were drawn to protect her, not break her heart for a twisted version of the truth. He couldn’t control his body’s reaction to a Vangelus Breath of Life any more than he could grow horns.

  The pain in her eyes scalded his memory. She didn’t deserve that wound. He hadn’t inflicted that hurt. Zale had. Fury burst through his blood like venom, bleeding across his newly healed stomach. His heart ached, an agony that ate deep into his soul until it cried for mercy. He had no mercy. Rage squelched it. God damn Zale to the lowest pit of Samael’s lair.

  He’d shown her the ugly scene but hadn’t explained it. Zale’s creation prevented him from lying. Nothing but truth could cross his tongue, but giving Lacy nothing was worse. He let her think Vike had betrayed her. It wasn’t Vike who did the betraying. Zale betrayed him.

  His axe handle solidified in his palm as his feet thundered toward the elevator. He bypassed the automatic doors and charged up the dimly lit stairwell. Scarlet ringed his sight and the drums of battle echoed in his blood. He was barely human at the minute. He knew it on some deep level, but it didn’t matter. Lacy mattered.

  He was going to feed Zale his own fucking heart, if he could find the tiny lump of crystallized ice.

  Myth’s eyes went wide, white showing around the brown as he jumped out of Vike’s resolute path. The low sounds of conversation drew him like a moth to a flame and he welcomed the burn of fire. Kicking the common room door open, he tightened his grip on the wooden handle.

  Rex bolted from the couch, shock swinging his jaw wide. Nomad glanced
up from the pool table. “No, Vike!”

  Zale stood shirtless, jersey shorts low on his hips, damp towel around his neck, and sweat streaming down his back. Vike took one second to focus on a single drop trickling along his spine, then hurled his axe.

  The team leader’s arms splayed wide as the force of impact knocked him to his knees. The axe handle quivered as Zale’s bones stopped the blade’s flight. Blood arced, spraying the white wall with a macabre splatter of crimson. Nomad cursed and dove for Zale. Myth and Rex piled on Vike, taking him to the ground in a struggling mass of arms and fists. Omen barked, adding to the chaos.

  “What the sweet fuck are you doing?” Rex ground out, plastering his body across Vike’s chest. Vike tried to force the Roman from him. He couldn’t get any leverage with Myth pinning his arms.

  Nomad pried the axe head from between Zale’s shoulder blades and jammed the towel against the gaping wound. He swiveled on one knee. “God damn it, Vike. You hit less than a quarter inch from his Mark.”

  “Let me up and I won’t miss again.” Myth’s huge hands flipped him and his cheek ground on the tile floor, someone’s knee on his neck, another in the small of his back. He fought but there was no escape. “Why, you cocksucker? She didn’t understand.”

  Zale lifted his head, his gaze as cold, as empty, as Samael’s soul. “I need fighters, not lovers. She made you soft.”

  “Soft?” Vike snarled, a pure animalistic sound that powered through his bones.

  “If you hadn’t had your mind on her, maybe Gen would still be here.”

  Guilt so sharp it cut drove into Vike’s heart. That night replayed in his head, every move, every action. He’d been focused on saving Lacy. Not once had he turned and offered Gen any help. Granted, Gen would have been insulted, but he might still be here. He wouldn’t be a silent handful of dust, soul-sleeping in a box.