Vincent glanced at the end of his cigarette “May I ask what you’re doing on my private property?”
“Doing my job. May I ask what you’re doing here?” Daman arched a brow. Cockiness was sure to get under Vincent’s skin. Vincent craved order, power and obedience. It would annoy him to be challenged, tested. Vincent lived in his empire, his own created little world. Daman rarely saw him coming out of his house, let alone in a cold damp warehouse. This was well out of his comfort zone.
Vincent flicked ash onto the floor. “I really need to thank you in advance. You’ve saved me a lot of trouble finding you.”
“It’s always been my motto to make things as hard for you as I can. How’s life without good old dad?”
Vincent turned cold, glittering eyes onto Daman. Vincent barred his teeth and he knew he’d hit a mark. It was a subconscious gesture and one he quickly concealed. A ghost of a smile replaced the toxic grimace.
“Just about as well as life without a wife.”
Adrenaline punched his system. Somehow Daman was on his feet and had his hands around Vincent’s neck. His fingers locked around the soft flesh and tore into Vincent’s throat. He felt for the thick hardness of the windpipe and crushed it, sinking his fingers in deep. He kept the charge, dragging Vincent’s body in motion. Vincent staggered backward, brought off balance by Daman’s unexpected charge. Daman positioned his foot, catching one of Vincent’s ankles. Vincent stumbled, his feet losing purchase and balance. Daman maneuvered his body so that Vincent dropped. Daman used his body weight and the motion to drop Vincent to the floor, landing square on top of Vincent’s body. There was a satisfying crunch of bones and a hollow whoosh as the air emptied from his lungs.
There were hands on Daman’s shoulders, fingers digging into his arms, lifting him clear of Vincent, but he would not let go. Vincent’s face was blue, his eyes bulged like ping-pong balls out of the sockets, slippery and wet. Red veins stood out, clinging against the crushing release the pressurized sockets needed. Through sheer force of will, Daman’s fingers remained around Vincent’s neck, squeezing, tightening, close to killing.
A fist smashed into Daman’s side, sinking into ribs. The pain hardly registered. Daman kept his eyes trained on Vincent’s face. Willing death to come hard and fast, although it was not the death Daman had in mind for him, it would be the end of Vincent. His will was his world, there was nothing else but to kill Vincent.
A hand under his chin had his head snap back. He growled, pulling against the strength of the arm. A punch to his head. A second. His fingers stayed locked. He snarled with animalistic rage. The sound of something heavy and metallic grinding on the floor registered, before an unbending force cracked into the back of his head.
His vision became pinpricks of light, flying toward him like fine, white stars. His limbs went limp and he was lifted from his feet and thrown backward to the ground. A foot slammed into his side, another into his jaw. He curled into a ball, riding the hail of fists and feet.
A gunshot ricocheted through the dark warehouse, scattering the men. They shuffled backward, leaving Daman curled on the floor, gasping. He put his forehead to the floor, drawing the cold from the ground to keep himself conscious. He cracked open his eyelids. Vincent knelt before him. One hand held a gun and was aimed straight at his head, the other clutched his neck.
“You’d be dead now, Quade, if I didn’t have another use for you,” Vincent said. To Daman’s satisfaction his voice was a mere rasp.
“You are a gutless wonder, Lepski,” Daman choked.
“I’m a man who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. Haki, bring her out.”
Haki exited through an old wooden office door, with a broken window cut into the top half of the door. A moment later he came back out, his meaty fist wrapped around Angel’s delicate upper arm. Haki pulled her into the room, and her blue eyes immediately sought his. They snapped and locked, the horror on her face riding through their intimate connection.
“Daman!” In the depths of the warehouse, her voice sounded small and frail.
“You bastard. Get your stinking hands off her,” Daman snarled.
“Angel, you will do what I want you to do, otherwise your boyfriend will pay,” Vincent spoke to her, but had his eyes and gun trained on Daman.
Daman’s attention snapped back to Vincent. “What do you want her to do, asshole,” Daman said.
“I’m simply asking her to do for me, what she did for Haki.” Vincent’s voice steeled. “I want my father back, and she will bring him back to me.”
“That’s impossible, Lepski. Your father’s been dead for years.”
“She can do it.”
“What makes you think he wants to come back to a scumbag son like you?”
“Don’t provoke me, Quade. It will only mean more pain for you.”
Daman turned his attention to Angel. “You don’t have to do anything he asks you do to, Angel. Do you understand? No matter what, you don’t have to do it.”
Angel nodded. Her eyes were open wide, wild. Lost.
Innocent.
This was hard going for the toughened cop he was, let alone an angel who’d been on earth for only three days. She shouldn’t have to make decisions based on his pain, shouldn’t be subjected to these baser human actions. She shouldn’t be asked what she was being asked to do.
“Let her go, Lepski. I’ll stay. Do to me what you want, just let her go,” Daman said between clenched teeth.
From the shadows, a large figure barreled toward Vincent. Daman squinted to see Pete’s red-blond hair lightening the darkness. Daman shook his head. Now was not the time. By revealing his presence, he had placed himself in danger. Pete dodged from the shadows and rounded his gun on Vincent. “Put the gun down,” he said.
Vincent turned. “Ahhh. The trusty partner, I see. Shame I don’t have a use for you.” Vincent indicated to someone that Daman couldn’t see. There was an explosion, a shot of red fire spitting in the shadows. Pete hit the ground and didn’t move.
“Pete!” Daman shouted. He went to move, but Vincent’s gun held him back.
“Now, back to business. No more interruptions. I’ll ask one more time. Angel?”
Angel shook her head. “It cannot be done.” Her hair cascaded around her face like streams of silver-gold sunlight.
Without emotion, Vincent pressed the trigger. The blast cut through the air, smoke stung his nostrils. White-hot fire plunged into his leg. He screamed involuntarily, his body rising from the ground as he rode the first impact of pain. Not wanting Angel to know how much it hurt he bit his bottom lip hard so he tasted blood. He pressed his hand to his thigh. Wet heat oozed between his fingers. He flopped back to the ground, panting, trying to block the burning spasms that tore through his body.
“I’m…I’m okay Angel. Don’t…don’t do it.” He clung to the image of Angel. Saw past the horror on her face. If this was the last image he’d see through human eyes, it would last him the Eternity.
“Daman, I can’t…”
“Second time. Will you do it?” Vincent drawled.
“No!” Daman yelled. He groaned into the ground.
“Daman…!” Angel gasped.
A crack. An explosion of pain stabbed his shoulder. He rolled to his back, writhing with the burning agony that consumed his body. Behind his eyes, the darkness was comforting. Here there was no pain, no desperation, no anger. Here was freedom. He let himself sunk deeper, where it was warm. He could let himself slip away, turn his back on the world, and rest a little bit. Just for a short time, forget about the world, about himself. There was luxury in the nothingness.
He frowned. There was someone crying, cutting through the quietness of his world. A scream. Angel crying, calling his name. He listened carefully, concentrated on Vincent’s rasping voice shouting orders. He perched on the edge of the voices and the warm, black void of nothingness that was so appealing. He tilted forward, started to fall.
A dose of freezing water in his face raised him from the soft, cushioning layers of unconsciousness. He rose upwards through the gray fog, clawed his way into the present where he was drenched, freezing, in pain.
Vincent’s voice floated to him, disjointed, as though coming from thin air. “We have all night. After the limbs, I’ll go for the joints. One by one. I’m told the kneecaps are the most painful area of the body if punctured by a bullet. This will be a science experiment. We’ll see if this is true or not.”
Victor aimed the gun. Daman gritted his teeth. Muscles clenched. Expecting.
“Angel?” Vincent rasped.
Daman leveraged himself from the ground, ignoring the pain that ripped through his body. “No!”
Angels eyes were trained on him, her face pale and worn. “No more shooting. No more pain.”
“You don’t know what you’re agreeing to, Angel,” Daman said. “There’s more to this than just me.”
“I can’t stand to see you get hurt. I’ll do it.”
Victor lit a cigarette and strolled over to Angel. He walked around her, staring at her as he paced. Intimidating. Stating his authority over her. “She has the good sense to know what’s good for her.” His voice grated. “Start now, or else he gets a bullet in his knee.”
Angel sent Victor a sideways glare. Anger burnt a path with that searing look.
“Hurry. I’m out of patience,” Vincent said.
“Angel,” Daman whispered, shaking his head, willing her not to do what Vincent asked of her. They wouldn’t be leaving here. As soon as Vincent got what he wanted from Angel, Daman would have a bullet in his head and Angel would be lost here forever.
She looked at Daman; he fell into the bottomless depths of her eyes and he traveled the path of their connection. He felt it. The love. It hit him in the chest with the force of a freight train. He knew without a doubt she loved him with every fiber of her being. It snapped along every nerve, fired every synapse in his brain. Made him want to rise from the ground, wrap her soft, warm body in his arms and never let her go. It made him want to live. To hope. To give back to her what she gave to him. She gave him meaning. She was the reason to keep living, to struggle and fight and find a way for them both to share of each other.
Forever, the words whispered in his mind.
But it wouldn’t be forever. It would never end like that.
She lowered her head. Closed her eyes.
Withdrew.
He instinctively knew she’d gone in search of Vincent’s father. Here, she remained as her body only. Her hair fell as a long silken curtain, covering her face. Her slender form unmoving. Only Vincent’s stride around her, stirred her hair, her clothes.
He couldn’t bear to just lie on the ground, but he was helpless. There was no stopping her. Even if he could get up and move, he wouldn’t get far with four of Vincent’s men ready to kill him without a second thought. He wondered what Vincent had over them to make them so obedient. Maybe they were just as evil as Vincent and did what they did because they liked it.
His life seemed so insignificant in the face of the realization. Even with Michelle gone, in the back of his mind he’d thought he was doing the right thing by bringing these kinds of men down. But he’d missed the biggest point of all. He could take down a thousand Vincents, but there would always be another ready to fill his shoes. He’d killed Vincent’s father, and Vincent had stepped up to the mark and taken the position as the head of the Lepski gang.
He could take out Vincent, and maybe one of these men here would take his place. It would go on. It would never end because there would always be people like them. They liked what they did. They didn’t have the morals or the inner righteous strength not to like to do what they did.
Daman’s life paled into insignificance because of that.
He was the one who’d lost out. His wife. His life and now Angel. The good was struck out while the bad grinned and passed on.
To this minute he’d been ignorantly thinking that he’d make a difference. Now he knew he hadn’t even dented what he’d set out to do.
And it was going to cost him everything.
To die knowing that was the worst agony of all.
His body was a mess, but his mind was unspeakable. He didn’t know he could hurt in so many places.
The temperature dove dramatically. His breath condensed. He shivered as the frigid air closed in on him. A breeze began, a little at first, and grew so that his clothes and his hair stirred. The smell of sulfur stung his nostrils, his eyes.
Angel threw back her head, raising her arms outwards to her side, palms opened and held extended. She whispered words in a strange and ancient language. The words sounded twisted, as though they were being said backward. The wind picked at the long strands of her hair. It writhed in the wind like live snakes, spiraling and thrashing over her shoulders.
Her voice became louder, stronger, pushing through the noise of the wind. There was a screech, like a child screaming in a nightmare. The horror of the sound echoed through the warehouse.
The men drew their guns. They shuffled, looking around, unsure. Unsafe.
Angel’s voice changed and he recognized the words. “I summon thee Marcus Lepski, to the here and now, where there is time and souls encased in flesh and blood. Find your way to back to your son. He calls for you. Come back to this life. The here. The now. Find your way.”
The smell of sulfur turned rancid. Daman stilled the urge to retch. Screams ripped from the air about him. The transparent forms pushed through at him, nails scratching him as though the air were a veil and they hid on the other side, touching him, taunting him. They could see out to him, but he couldn’t see past them.
Something brushed his shoulder. There was definite pressure. He turned. There was a flash of red shadow, then it faded to nothing.
Angel’s arms rose to shoulder level, and up higher until she stood like a bright, burning star. The center of the universe that she’d created in this warehouse. The wind broke on her, moving shadows came toward her as she called. Her head tilted back, her eyes only white.
Shadows merged, becoming solid. Black turned to burning red. He saw strangely twisted animals, scraping feet on the ground, staggering toward Angel. One turned its head to look at him. Daman saw they weren’t animals at all, but human-like beasts. Bald, black eyes, holes for nostrils. They had no lips, just open holes for mouths that were filled with yellow pointed teeth and flickering tongues. Their bodies were misshapen. They had legs and arms, but walked on all fours, knuckles scraping on the ground, claws for nails. Rounded and lumpy backs, small hindquarters and they cowered as though they were used to mistreatment.
He felt their greed, their lust, their aching need for possessions. Their jealousy and maliciousness and craving to feed off the good and kindness of people, to maim and kill. Their inability to feel anything other than what they wanted. Their selfishness was staggering.
Daman lay helpless, silent, shivering, wretchedly watching the parade of evil gathering in front of Angel.
“Marcus Lepski, show yourself. Come forth and unveil yourself to your son in an image he knows of you,” Angel called, loud and clear.
One of the red demons stood on its hind-legs. It reared its head back, clawing at the air. It screeched as lumps moved and boiled beneath its skin. As it thrashed, it grew taller, the skin smoothed, the arms extended longer, the head grew less misshapen, more oval. The eyes came together, the nose formed, the skin paled.
“Marcus,” Daman breathed its name.
“Father,” Vincent cried. He took two nervous steps toward Marcus, revulsion and greed playing on his face. “You’re here.”
Marcus smiled, an evil grimace that made Daman’s blood run cold. It was that same smile he remembered seeing whenever Marcus was about to do something unspeakably horrendous to a poor soul.
“My son,” Marcus’s voice was strong and clear. He held his arms as if to
embrace Vincent.
Vincent staggered toward his father. “I have sought you to come back to this life.”
“Vincent,” The creature’s eyes gleamed. “I have learned a lot since I’ve been here. It will do you good to learn my knowledge. Everything will be yours. You will be king on earth.”
“I am here for you, Father.”
“I need to occupy a body. I cannot sustain the strength to be part of the flesh and blood world without one.”
Victor turned to look at Daman. “There is one here for you.”
Marcus studied Daman. “Interesting choice. It still occupies a soul. But never worry about that. My friends here will help to…evict it.”
With an unseen order, the eyes of the red demons turned on Daman. Slowly they made their way toward him, limping on broken hands and half-formed legs and arms. Intent was evident in their eyes. Some salivated, drool dripping from their lipless, gaping mouths. The closer they came, the more intense the wretched smell grew until it invaded his head through his nostrils and his blood as it sank through his skin. He knew the end of his life had come. In a strange way, he felt no fear, was resigned to it, knowing the certainty that it would be a terrible death. The red demons would make sure of that.
They were so close Daman saw distorted bones protruding beneath sunken skin. They cackled, eyeing him with delight. Daman trained his gaze on Angel. He had to watch something beautiful. Best not to see these…things. Best to let go and remember the last three days without them tainting the beauty of those hours.
A hand snatched outwards, plunging into his chest. Skeletal fingers wrapped around his heart, claws digging into the muscle. He shouted in agony as his heart constricted. His blood became sludge in his veins. A claw sank into his stomach, twisting his intestines in white, blinding pain. The hand came out of his body, entwined in a silvery haze. The pain had moved from his body to the glowing silver thread, disemboweled in the demons hand. His soul. His lifeblood. The bridge between this life and the next.
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