His hands slid down her spine until his fingers grazed the top of her back pockets. The ensuing tremor rocked her body, and her brain buzzed. She pressed the heel of her hands against his chest.
“You shouldn’t touch me. My empathic abilities.” She blurted the painful truth. “I'm too wound up. I can’t stop the buzzing. Or the tingling.”
“Tingling?” His lips curved into a grin.
“Don’t you get it? I’m weakened. My barriers are down.”
His fingers pressed into her butt. “All of them?”
“Stop messing with me. I’m fighting not to read you.”
“Then stop fighting.” Jesse’s low voice seduced. “I don’t think what you feel is your gift at all, Princess.”
“It is. And I’ll give in soon.”
“God, I hope so.” He leaned close enough she could feel his breath on her face. “If your powers are so strong, what am I going to do next?”
Anticipation blazed from her heart to her lips. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t read minds.”
“Neither do I, but I know what you’re going to do,” he said, using the deepest registers of his voice.
“What am I going to do?” She focused on his sensuous mouth. Even the way he shaped words was sexy.
“You're going to break another stupid rule.” With a grin, he tilted his head to the side and nipped lightly on her bottom lip.
His desire shredded through the last of her strength, and a thrill rushed to her core. Never had she read anyone where the emotions were directed at her.
Prudence shuddered and clutched the front of his shirt. Knowing Jesse’s true feelings, knowing he liked her, wanted her as much as she did him, well—that changed the game.
“You call that breaking a rule?” she taunted, wanting more.
“Small one.” He smirked wickedly. “The key is to convince you to break them all.” Fingers tangling in her hair, he cradled the back of her head with one hand and planted soft kisses on her forehead, her eyelids, and her warm cheeks.
“Good plan,” she murmured against his lips, meaning it down to her smoldering core.
At last, Jesse captured her mouth, softly, his chiseled lips more gentle than she’d ever imagined. He dominated her without ravaging. Small kisses at first, successively becoming longer and more sensual, a teasing tenderness fueled by heat and threatening to combust.
Like hot sugar, her insides melted and she ached for complete satisfaction. She still had her old office key. A trip back to their apartments seemed insufferably long. Prudence wanted, no, needed naked touching. Now.
As if reading her mind, his free hand slid low, molding around the swell of her ass and caressing her through her worn jeans. Desire spiking, she pressed every available inch of her body against his.
Unable to endure his torturous seduction a moment longer, she stood on tiptoe and deepened their kiss, mingling their tongues.
Jesse groaned loudly into her mouth, and for a split second, she felt a darkness radiate off him. Abruptly, he pushed her away. He had shuffled back a good ten feet before she could comprehend their dazzling, long-awaited kiss was over. A hand covered his mouth, and his brows furrowed into an angry ridge.
“What was that?” he said, his tone accusatory. “Was it part of your gift?”
Confused, she stepped toward him, reaching for his hands. “What are you talking about?” Every cell in her body craved his touch, his expressive mouth on hers. She kicked the discarded water bottle she’d emptied only moments before, and it landed across the lawn.
“You didn’t feel it?” He retreated and the bottle crunched under his shoe.
“Feel what?” She’d felt something, apparently not the same thing as Jesse.
He glanced down, hesitated, and then stooped to pick up the bottle. Scowling, he turned his now feral gaze on her. “Holy Water.” His chest rose and fell in deep, labored breaths and his mouth set in a grim line. “This is yours, isn’t it? You drank it.”
“Yes. Just now.” The door was open. She might as well tell him the whole truth, and she trusted he could keep it secret. “Right after we became partners, Deschamps called me into his office and suggested I experiment with drinking—”
“How often? How much do you drink?”
“One bottle. Every day.”
He swore under his breath and then crushed the thin plastic container in his fist. “This is how you injured the demon.”
“I think so. Maybe.” She still fought against the resignation her moment with Jesse had passed.
“You metabolize it. For some reason, your body converts the water into demon burning sweat. It’s another gift.” He chucked the used bottle aside and cursed again.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He turned his back on her.
She couldn’t bear the cold shoulder. Couldn’t understand it. Not after everything they shared, and most of all, the hottest kiss she’d ever had.
Circling around to face him, she didn’t care what the cameras might see. “What made you realize that now? At this moment?”
He huffed. “There’s something I’ve never told you.”
A throat cleared, irritated and impatient. “Normal people get a room.” Connie emerged from behind the statue of The Three Shades, dressed in tight black jeans and an equally tight black sweater. “It would have been wiser.” She pointed to the security camera at the edge of the building.
Heat blossomed onto Prudence’s cheeks. How much had Connie seen? How much had the camera recorded once they left the protected space against the wall?
“Don’t look so worried,” Connie assured her. “I tinkered with the controls long before the two of you returned. I knew the mission wouldn’t end well, and there might be a scene. Just not so steamy.”
“Why are you here?” Jesse gritted out the question.
“I need to speak with you,” she said to Jesse and then glowered at Prudence. “Alone.”
“Can't it wait until tomorrow, Con.” He passed a hand over his mouth. “I need to—”
“Cease and desist.”
“At least let me take her home.”
“Never mind.” Suddenly, feeling like the other woman, Prudence slipped into her jacket. Pride brutally wounded, it would be a relief to leave. Everything about tonight had gone wrong. The mission. The demon. The kiss. She grabbed her purse. “He’s all yours. I’ll catch a bus.”
“No.” He jabbed a finger into the air and pointed at her. “Wait right there. We won't be long.”
“Yes, we will. And this—debriefing can’t wait until morning.” Connie spoke directly to her. “You shouldn’t take the bus this time of night. You know how to drive a stick?”
“Of course.”
Connie tossed her a huge key fob, and she caught it one handed. “Take my Beamer. Don't grind the gears. I'll pick it up from the complex later.”
She simply nodded and then dashed toward the street.
“Prudence!” Jesse called after her, but she couldn't turn around. She couldn't let him see the hot tears washing away his kisses.
“She'll be fine, Thorne,” Connie said more than loud enough to be heard. “It's time for her to learn things don't always go her way. Including with you.”
Chapter Twelve
Jesse parked his motorcycle in front of Connie’s Society Hill brick row home. He never understood the appeal of living so close to other people, no matter how fancy the digs or prestigious the zip code.
Hopping off the back of his bike, she removed Prudence's helmet. After hitting the kickstand, he pulled off his own but sat with the bike running. She had two minutes to say whatever was on her mind, to say whatever was so important she had to drag him away from the most important conversation of his life.
“Buck up and stop sulking. She’s your partner. You should have never kissed her in the first place. Number one rule—don’t party where you poop.”
It was a good rule, one he’d always followe
d, but Prudence wasn’t some girl at the office. His new partner had revived what seven years of the job had killed, not to mention the added thrill of breaking Jack’s red rubrics with her. His body missed the excitement of crushing her against him and her sweet taste on his lips. That is, until her tongue set his mouth on fire.
For the second time in one night, he’d let his partner run off on her own, the last time hurt and confused by his hesitation to explain something he’d hoped to hide forever. He touched his fingers to his semi-sore lips.
Forever was over.
He jabbed at the stand with his heel and revved the engine.
“What the hell are you doing?” Connie shouted and grabbed a hunk of his leather jacket.
An upstairs light went on next door. They’d woken the nosy bluebloods.
He eased off the gas and challenged her angry gaze. “I want to get back before she falls asleep. I've decided to tell her everything.”
“Everything? Then what? Ask her to stop drinking Holy Water so you can have sex?” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “No can do, Jess. She needs that gift, and you’ll need her. Besides, you can't tell her everything until you know everything.” She let go of his jacket. “I have more information on The Door. Now turn off that noise maker before you wake the rest of the neighbors. Come inside.”
Inside meant he’d be in for the night. But she might have word from Swift.
“Stop being contrary. Have a cold beer for your burning mouth.” She stepped onto the curb and leaned on the handlebars. “After we talk, then you can tell your partner about our little quest. And how you’ve been possessed by a demon. And how you can never ever kiss her again. In fact, I encourage it.”
Though it vexed him to the core, Con was right. He shouldn’t divulge anything to Prudence without thinking it through. No matter how much he wanted to purge his soul.
She skipped up the front steps, and her boots clicked against the concrete like the second hand on a stopwatch. At the top, she turned around. “Fine. Leave. Make more bad decisions.”
That was one of the things he hated about Con. She knew how to set you up to do her bidding. A true manipulator.
He cut the engine and got off his bike. He hated her self-satisfied grin almost as much as the fact she was right.
“You’re a shitty sister—you know that?”
»»•««
Connie crossed the kitchen in her stocking feet, her expensive looking knee-high boots discarded in the hallway. She handed him an open bottle of American lager. “Since you’re still a flight risk”—she turned way and circled around the granite-topped center island— “I’ll get right to the point.”
He hesitantly entered the brightly lit kitchen, each step feeling like he was betraying himself. A strong whiff of eucalyptus assaulted his nose, mentholated and sanitary, hovering in the air as if freshly ground in the garbage disposal. As always, the glass-fronted white cabinets glistened like brand new. The same could be said of the shammy-shine on the marble counter and stove top, yet he knew his half-sister despised eating out. Clean freak, a gene he didn’t inherit.
Tipping back the beer, the cold brew soothed his mouth and diluted the too-clean stench. “So, let’s have it.”
From the opposite side of the island, she stared him down, her brown eyes hard as pebbles. “Destiny is not done with you. You’re not meant to run First Ring offenders from Hell for the rest of your life.”
“This sounds a lot like bullshit I’m not going to believe.” He took another long pull of beer. “I thought this was about The Door. Not that I believe that either.”
She opened a drawer to her left and removed a stack of papers and two digital photographs. Retaining one photo, she pushed the other over the slick counter for him to see. “We've recovered another scroll. It contains this reference to the Prophecy.”
He glanced down at the enlargement of unreadable script. Several lines were circled in red.
“There are three parts or people who make up the whole. Swift is central. He is the Prophet, no doubt there since he’s the only one who can actually read the scrolls.” She straightened and squared her shoulders. “I know you’ll think this next part is sketchy, but your Prudence is right here.” She tapped the picture with a manicured nail.
Heat rose to his face. “If this is some sort of ploy to get me on board, it’s not going to work.”
“Not a ploy. Originally the Prophecy spoke of three gifted humans that would set all the souls free from Hell. But this section lays out the specifics.” She pointed to the circled passage as if he could read it and then recited the translation to him in English. “Gifted is the Prophet who can decipher these scrolls, but gifted more are the two destined to Run Hell.”
“I don’t want to rule Hell.”
“It doesn’t mean rule. It literally means run, which is what you do. And it you weren’t so impatient or stubborn, you’d let me finish.”
“Like I have a choice.”
She sniffed but continued. “One of the two is a woman rare. A Vessel for souls who seek redemption. When led by the Pathfinder from Ring to Ring, she’ll honor her destiny and them to Heaven she’ll bring.”
“You forced that to rhyme.”
“Yeah, but the flat translation is just that. Flat. I know you don’t want me to recite the whole mess, but long and short of it—your little partner is the Vessel of Souls, the chosen one who can spirit the repentant out of Hell. She proved it tonight. The Vessel can carry more than one soul at a time. In fact, hundreds at once.”
“Two isn’t hundreds. It’s a fluke,” he said, but a twinge of doubt needled him. The mother and child had flowed into Prudence without a hitch.
“And the third—”
He tensed, knowing what she would say.
“Is the Pathfinder, the one who can track the Door. Jesse, you know—”
“Bullshit.”
Annoyingly determined, she picked up the other picture and held it right in his sights. “This is the mark of the Pathfinder.” She pointed to the bare shoulder of a woman he recognized as his birth mother. A brown circle with an arrow in the center, much like a compass, marred her pale skin. “The symbol, and the gift it represents is inherited. I know she didn't pass it on to me.” Her jaw set as hard as her gaze.
He pushed her hand out of the way, not needing to study the mark. He knew it all too well. Avoiding direct eye contact, he lied. “I assure you, I didn't. And you are entirely illogical. My father was not a Hell Runner. He was not gifted. He was some plain old Joe who thought with his dick.
“Conversely, your father was gifted and powerful in the Society. It makes sense you would inherit if what you say is true, which I doubt since you don’t have the mark. And if our mother had the mark, why didn’t she find the Door to Heaven?”
“You’d have to ask Della. Jack’s wife was her partner back in the day, and I suspect a Vessel. Or she may not know at all. Mom didn’t say, and she refused to reveal the name of the original Prophet. It takes all three.”
“And she shared all this on her deathbed?” he said, sarcastically.
“No. During her months of chemo. That's when she confessed about giving birth to you, too. Her love child. She wanted to see you. I’d hoped to find you before she died.”
He instantly regretted his snarky remark. “Sorry. Must have been hard.”
“Yeah.” Her eyes didn’t mist, but she spoke quietly. “Anyway, I kept my promise to bring you into the fold, if you possessed her gifts. And you do. I can't strip you down,” she said as she pointed an accusing finger at him, “but I know you hide the mark.”
He didn't deny it again. “Answer me this. How do you know the Prophecy isn’t a hoax devised by Hell to trap Runners in one of the deep rings? Undead humans are gold. Not to mention, it would shut Hell Runners down for good.”
“No. The scrolls are in angelic script.”
“Because Swift says so?” He smirked and sipped.
“Cut the crap,
Jesse. You believe too, or you wouldn’t be protecting him.”
“I’m protecting my crazy friend, not his ideals.”
Eyes filled with disdain, she crossed her arms. “You didn’t get all the gifts, brother dear. As an oracle, I’m blessed with a certain amount of intuition. I sense your self-doubt. It’s a shame we didn’t bring Prudence. She could prove what I know about you.”
“Prudence wouldn’t read me. She wouldn’t betray my trust.”
“She wouldn’t betray the truth. And ultimately, neither will you. Righteous indignation oozes out of your pores, more potent than the cheap cologne you insist on wearing.” She waved the air and then picked up her last piece of evidence and tossed the stapled pages onto the counter in front of him. “This is a translation of the scrolls from Swift. Read it. After that, you can tell Prudence everything. She’ll have a mark on her, too, by the way. There’s a picture of it on the back page.”
He knew his curiosity would get him, and she counted on him to go right for the picture. She turned to retrieve one of the fancy wine glasses and then poured herself a healthy portion of something red and waited him out.
Though it was a struggle, he resisted, refusing to give her any satisfaction. He’d study the translation when he was alone and objective. As for the surprise about his partner—it wasn’t.
Prudence.
If she hadn’t consumed a lake full of Holy Water, if Connie hadn’t pulled him away, he’d be kissing her hot little birthmark right now.
“Fine. If you’re going to be stubborn, I’ll tell Prudence myself.” She ambled past him into the short hall. “I have many copies.”
“I’ll make the decisions where my partner is concerned.” He followed her into the small square living room. More white walls contrasted by dark furniture and modern art popping with color. Too dramatic for his taste, but more comfortable than the kitchen. “She’s not ready for this. It’s bad enough she suffered through the burn directive.”
“About that.” Flopping onto a purple velour chaise, she stretched out and crossed her feet at the ankles. “I didn’t want to issue—”
“It wasn’t you.” He shook his head. “But I know it wasn’t Jack either.”
Rule Breakers, Soul Takers (Hell Runners Book 1) Page 14
