Better get used to it.
“Nope.” She slung her leg over the seat, nestling as far back as she could. Tentatively, she placed her hands on either side of his ribcage to steady her seat.
He turned and yelled over the roar of combustion. “Hold on tight. I plan on making it out to McDevitt’s in twenty-five.”
“Affirmative.” She nodded but barely increased her grip.
Sweaty palms covered the tops of both her wrists. Jesse took a firm hold and pulled until her body rocked against his, which didn’t take much, and her hands pressed flat on his chest. Instinctively, her fingers dug into the worn leather, and her arms braced around him. She lifted her feet up to rest on the foot pegs below.
Hands to chest, breasts to back, and thigh to thigh. The reaction between her legs wasn't all due to the vibrating engine. Perk Number Two.
Jesse punched the gas and Prudence let out a little screech of fear and delight. She crushed her body against her new partner and made a silent vow to despise Perk Number Two.
But not tonight.
Chapter Seven
Though he’d been expecting his nine a.m. to be prompt, the strong knock on his office door startled Astor Deschamps and set him on edge. As a man of great means and a first-class negotiator, he’d rarely experienced being anxious.
But today, all his hopes and dreams teetered on his ability to sway one young woman.
The wait, the search, the planning had taken far too many years. Though barely forty, without immediate and full fruition of the Prophecy, he’d miss his window of opportunity. He’d grow old and feeble and wasted, his destiny as hidden as the network of doors linking Heaven directly to Hell. He’d die unsatisfied, like all the other Hell Runner simpletons too afraid of change.
Simpletons like Farmer Jack Luckett. If Luckett had his way, Hell Runners would maintain the same pointless status quo it had for a hundred years, pulling out sniffling idiots from the dark hole, one at a time.
And why?
To protect his precious daughter. A daughter, as far as anyone with eyes could see, who didn’t want or need protecting.
Good thing. Both Astor and his partners were almost certain that she was the Vessel of Souls, the last person required to complete the Prophecy triad. That was, her and her bullheaded partner. But winning her over would clinch Thorne’s cooperation. He hadn’t met a man yet that didn’t make big decisions without consulting his dick first.
Another knock, more insistent, and a call through the door brought him back to the present.
“Entrez, s’il vous plait,” he said, forgetting not to use his native tongue on this side of the Atlantic.
Prudence opened the door and stood with her hand on the knob, not entering but giving the room he periodically occupied a good once-over. Her face expressed the disappointment he’d felt each time he entered the room. Despite all his clout, the Society refused him office space that reflected his position. Seems all their attention and all of his funds had been funneled to the chancellor.
“Mr. Deschamps. You wanted to see me?”
Though early in the morning for an active Runner, she was bright-eyed if not fashion conscious. Good God. Didn’t she own any clothes other than the jeans and T-shirts she wore into Hell? A waste of a beautiful figure, in his opinion. Then again, the best qualities Mademoiselle Luckett possessed could go to waste if he overplayed his hand.
“Oui.” He stood and smiled, exuding all his warmth. No lie. He actually felt a warmth for her. And he wouldn’t spew one single lie during their consultation. Omissions were another issue. “Please, take a seat.”
He motioned for her to sit in the cheap, upholstered chair facing his desk and then perched on the edge of the plain monstrosity and slouched. A position so unassuming should put her at ease.
Instead, she squared her shoulders and watched him from beneath the smallest crease between her furrowed brows. “Is there a problem?”
Just like all Americans, she’d dispensed with common niceties. He’d give half his fortune for one Yank that didn’t jump the gun rather than wait for him to lead them. Yet, he’d counted on her being defensive, hadn’t he?
“No. No.” He shook his head, “Of course not. How could there be a problem when you and your partner are so…” He hesitated, baiting her.
“Productive?” she replied flatly.
“To say the least.” He stood and smiled down at her. “Not to mention unconventional and a bit devious.”
“If you’re referring to the fact that Jesse and I argued a very good case before the council, I’d hardly call it devious.”
“Then what would you call it? The chancellor, your father, is away and unaware you’ve circumvented his direct orders. I know, for a fact, you didn’t call him.”
Her face flushed, but her eyes flashed blue fire. Unafraid of authority. No wonder she was so damn good in Hell. All that righteous indignity she channeled into saving lost souls would have been wasted behind a desk.
Jack was a complete and utter fool. Thanks to his daughter, Astor would finally prove his incompetence and have the old blowhard booted from office.
“Please, don’t look so distressed.” He moved to the front of his desk closer to Prudence and then leaned back. “I’m not judging, and I don’t blame you. In only four days you and Monsieur Thorne have run back-to-back assignments. Very impressive, especially for one as inexperienced as yourself. I’ve told Jack for years you needed to be promoted.”
Expression relaxing, she inclined her head forward. “Really? You’ve noticed me?”
“You shouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised. All council members and advisors take notice of exemplary students. And I am an advisor, though most Hell Runners only think of me as the fiduciary. Or, more importantly, the bankroll.”
He laughed, and she almost smiled back. “I’m so much more than what I appear. So are you.” He pointed at her and winked, quickly and friendly. “No other Runner has ever trained so long and walked away empty-handed. Or rather,” he chuckled, truly amused. “Almost empty-handed. You refused to be denied your destiny. I don’t doubt, if you hadn’t come to an understanding with Mr. Thorne, you’d have dug your own entrance into Hell.”
Leaning toward her, he took her right hand in both of his and squeezed. With all his sincerity, and he was nothing if not sincere, he latched onto her wary gaze. “I admire that. We need more Runners, more council members, and more staff, as tenacious as you are. We can’t manage Hell without that kind of dedication.”
“Thank you.” Her reply came from a tight throat. Emotional. A good sign.
“No need to thank me. You accomplished your goal all on your own. Which is unfair. Your father should have helped you. To be frank, placing you in research was a travesty from the start. I told him that time and again. And I’ll remind him of that fact when he returns. It will make your transition easier.”
She opened her mouth to respond, either positively or with doubt. It didn’t matter, so he cut her off.
“That is…if you do something for me, first.”
As expected, her gaze narrowed and her shoulders visibly tensed. “You mean a favor? What kind of favor?”
“Sort of, but not really. More like taking good advice.”
“Look, Mr. Deschamps. I’m not against good advice, and I appreciate your support, really I do, but my father is—”
“In need of a wake-up call,” he finished for her. “You know the only good things about this shabby dungeon?” To her, it must have sounded like he was changing the subject, but he was far from done. “The privacy and a refrigerator of my own.”
“Well, no one will steal your yogurt.” She turned in her seat to watch while he opened the insulated door.
“Yogurt isn’t what I’m trying to protect.” Icy air wafted out, chilling his rather warm cheeks. He removed a plastic water bottle and then turned, letting the fridge close on its own.
“And what are you trying to protect?”
“
You.” He tossed the water bottle at her, and she caught it one-handed. “Compliments from my secret stash.”
Reading the label, she looked like she was pondering the true meaning of a Bible passage. He waited for her to ask, to let the new information sink in.
“Holy Water? Bottled Holy Water? Why would you have this? Why give it to me?”
“Come now, Mademoiselle Luckett. You’re prideful of your common sense and hearty training. Use it.”
Her pretty lips twitched, and her eyes studied him like she could delve beyond his fatherly façade. She couldn’t see far without illegally using her gift, and he trusted she wouldn’t. Not because she feared being ousted, but because she like using her sharp mind better. He knew the type. He was the type.
“You have a theory that Hell Runners can use Holy Water, even though it’s been proven too dangerous to carry into Hell.” Not a question. A statement.
“Excellent.”
“Too many unknowns to conjecture further. What’s your theory?”
“The first question you should be asking is why did I give the water to you?”
“You said to protect me. Since it’s a generic sixteen-ounce water bottle, I suppose you think I should drink it, though I don’t see what good that would do.”
“Think harder.” He nodded and motioned for her to continue thinking aloud.
“Harder? Why? It makes no sense. Holy Water burns demons with direct contact. Which is the very reason we don’t carry it into Hell as a weapon. Leaking Holy Water across the expanse is like a breadcrumb trail for birds. Demons will follow, and it will evaporate before we can use it on them. If we’re made, we won’t escape an army of demons no matter how fast we can run. On the chance we manage to escape an onslaught, we’re pulled from the field. For good. It’s a no-win situation.”
“I didn’t think you believed in no-win situations.”
She shook her head. “I can’t see me drinking this. What am I supposed to do, puke it on a demon? I’d rather outrun it.”
“Right on all points. Running is what I want you to do. The same as always. But tell me, what do you think Holy Water does inside the body?”
“No idea. Tell me.” Though he usually despised such rudeness, her impatience mirrored his own.
“I don’t know either. But I want to know.” He let that hang in the air while he walked back to his desk. This time he sat in his chair and stared at her from across it.
“What do you think it will do, Mr. Deschamps? You must have some idea.”
“My only theory is that God wants us to use whatever is in our power to maximize the abilities of this organization. And this organization has not been utilized to its fullest power since it was founded. Too much politics. Too much time spent on researching each case. When souls appear to the oracles, we should simply save them all. No questions asked. No second-guessing. No…” He trailed off.
Hard to tell if her expression was one of mere curiosity or agitation at his criticisms, but the last thing he wanted was push her away.
He shrugged. “It may do nothing at all, except hydrate you.” He stared into her eyes, willing her not to break his gaze. “But I believe Holy Water is powerful. I believe you are powerful. I believe all that power combined will produce a gift that will catapult this Society into a new era. One where Runners won’t need to be afraid for their lives. One where we are capable of saving more souls than ever before.”
“I’m not more powerful than any other—”
“But you are. Because you’re new. Ambitious. Not yet jaded by years in the field and by your obvious determination. Faith in yourself is powerful. And contagious to others if administered by the right person. You’re that person.”
“Because I’m the chancellor’s daughter?”
“No, but don’t discount what a high position can do for your cause. I know that better than anyone. But it’s not the reason I’m requesting your help.”
The gleam in her eyes couldn’t be disguised if she’d tried. He had her. All he had to do was finish her off.
“You can bridge the gap, Mademoiselle Luckett. The one linking the old way to the new. The one where Runners are more productive and more protected. We can’t change God’s rules. We all must adhere to the gamble that is free will. But we can help each other. Wouldn’t you want someone like yourself or Mr. Thorne to save you from damnation?”
“What about Jesse? Why isn’t he here? He should be—”
“No. Not him. Not yet. I want this to be our secret for the time being. If it doesn’t turn into something useable, I trust you’ll keep it to yourself. Especially, after I speak with your father on your behalf. Mr. Thorne on the other hand might be inclined to make a mockery of my experiment. I don’t want to be a mockery. I don’t deserve it. Neither does my legacy.” Too many times, he’d suffered fools that took his financial support for granted. The stipulations of his inheritance didn’t allow him to pull the plug, but he refused to simply continue as their open wallet without some reward of his own. “So…what will it be?”
She didn’t answer yes or no. Instead, she got to her feet. “I assume you’ll provide the water?”
“Of course. I’ll have deliveries sent to your apartment.”
“How much should I drink?”
“One bottle daily, to start.”
“And you’ll keep my father off my back?”
“I’ll support your transition in every way. How he reacts, I can’t control. But he can’t fire you. That I won’t allow.”
She nodded, and her bow of a mouth turned up at the corners. “How long do you think it will take before I show signs of it working?”
“Can’t say. Does it matter?”
“Dad…I mean, the chancellor, will be returning in ten days.”
“Then you and Mr. Thorne should make the most of it. Work the field as much as you can. The more you work, the more chances to prove the water has an effect. Evidence eliminates arguments.”
“True that.” She switched the unopened water bottle to her left hand and thrust out her right. “You’ve got a deal, Mr. Deschamps.”
“Astor. Please.” He grinned, enclosing her small yet strong hand within his grasp. One shake and they were done. Contracted. “Now go. I believe Ms. Larkin has your next assignment.”
Prudence turned on her heel, military stiff, and hustled out, closing his door behind her.
His heart beat like it would never stop. And that was the real plan.
Thanks to the self-righteous ambitions of Prudence Luckett, Astor Deschamps would know immortality.
The demon had promised at least that much. More if all went well.
In return, he’d promised the demon half the souls in Heaven.
And Jesse Thorne.
A fair shake, considering he’d already been marked by Baalberith. Already possessed by the Lord of the Covenant. Soon Mr. Thorne would be leaving Hell Runners for Hell. Permanently.
And that’s where he’d do Deschamps the most good.
»»•««
“Good God, Thorne. This is the fourteenth night in a row.” McDevitt shouted to be heard over the noisy crowd anxiously waiting for the band to start. He dropped two paper plates overloaded with cheesesteaks and fries onto the end of the bar. “You really love the food that much or have you run that many missions?”
“Man’s gotta work.” Jesse couldn’t believe they’d accepted fourteen consecutive assignments either. But Prudence insisted on hitting the Gate every night. Making up for lost time, he guessed. He couldn’t blame her. After a month on the bench himself, it felt invigorating to be back in the field.
He pointed at the row of little tin buckets behind the bar. “Don’t forget, same split.”
“Got it.” McDevitt swiveled to nab a bucket and then turned back to Jesse. “What about your partner? Where’s she tonight?” He stooped, disappearing from view a few seconds and then popped back up, the caps of two longnecks and four sodas visible between each of his strong fin
gers as he deftly gripped three in each hand.
“In the truck. She didn’t want to fight the crowd.”
“Yeah, the metalheads are out in full force tonight.” He dropped the drinks into the bucket and then his hands disappeared below the bar. “Deathrod always fills the barn to capacity. Not complaining mind ya. I’ll have Sonja’s college bills paid off before she graduates.” Lifting a half-gallon plastic container, he dumped a load of ice on top of the bottles. Most of the frozen nuggets bounced away, skittering over the bar and falling onto the rickety wooden floor.
Jesse took a step back to avoid the shower of chipped ice and bumped the guy behind him.
“Watch it. Fucking asshole.”
A month ago, he might have picked a fight over such a stupid reaction. Anything to relieve his pent-up misery. But he felt like his old self again.
“Sorry, dude.”
“I ought to—”
From the loft stage above, the first strands of electric guitar lit the air. A practice riff to test the amps, but the crowd went apeshit. The guy, all tatted up and brawny, forgot the accident.
Time for Jesse to take his leave. He was starving anyway. Grabbing the bucket by the handle, he nodded to McDevitt. “Put it on my tab.”
“Sure.” His old buddy grinned, his black mustache hiding his upper lip. He picked up the plates from the bar and balanced them on Jesse’s open palm. “Glad you’re back.”
The bucket swinging from one hand and the paper plates balancing in the other, Jesse crossed the backyard to his pickup in a lope bordering on a jog. Afraid he’d drop dinner, he couldn’t get to his truck fast enough.
They’d run a double mission and his stomach growled, having burned up twice the calories.
A cool breeze swooped up, flipping the leaves on the surrounding maples. Lucky the rain hadn’t started. They could eat outside in peace, if not complete quiet.
“What took you so long?” Prudence finished unfolding the piece of industrial foam she’d tossed into the flatbed seconds before he thought he’d drop the plates. She plopped down on the tailgate and nabbed a cheesesteak before he lost it all.
Rule Breakers, Soul Takers (Hell Runners Book 1) Page 8
