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But, then again, cockroaches were known for their resilience.
I took careful steps in the direction of his voice. The motion prompted the sensors, and more safety lights illuminated the first fifty feet of the right hallway. Through the hazy gloom of the basement, I was able to make out three—no, four—cells. Raphael’s arms dangled between the bars of the one farthest from me.
My husband would be getting a dictionary for Christmas ...
I inched my way closer. The shadow that concealed him slipped away.
I sucked in an abrupt breath and covered my mouth with my hand.
If I didn’t know that was Raphael Flynn’s bloodshot eye staring back at me, I never would have recognized him. The second eye was swollen completely shut. A full beard covered what I knew were only more bruises and contusions because his face was too deformed for it to be otherwise.
“You look like shit,” I blurted.
His mouth curved into an evil grin. His bottom lip was split right down the middle with a gap so wide it would take several stitches to put it back together. “Interesting—I feel fantastic.”
I shook my head. “You’re still a dick.”
“Says the girl who wanted to marry me just so she could kill me.”
My tongue was ready to deliver a blistering retort, but I shut it down. I needed to play nice. I needed his help. As revolting as the idea was to me.
Raphael retreated into his cell. He lowered himself to the cot that had been pushed against the back wall. Each hesitant movement, grunt, and grimace belied his cocky front.
The distance gave my temper the space to flame out.
“What happened to you?” I asked. Deep in my bones, I already knew the answer.
Raphael had been condemned to hell.
And the Devil was getting his due.
“Lucifer,” he confirmed. “Every time you have a nightmare, my brother has the urge to spar. Have you tried avoiding sugar before bedtime? Why don’t you do us both a favor and give it a shot?”
This explained why Lucifer’s hands were beaten to shreds, but if he’d been fighting Raphael, how had he avoided any blows to the face?
“You’re not fighting back ...” I whispered.
His head rested against the concrete wall as he studied the ceiling.
“Raphael.”
“Willa.”
My fingers curled around the bars of the cell door. My voice thickened as I reframed my words. “Why aren’t you fighting back?”
“Why are you here?”
I swallowed hard and reversed a step.
Good question.
I’d come down here with a singular mission. Just because I didn’t want to kill Raphael any longer didn’t mean I owed him a sliver of my humanity. Lucifer had turned him into his own personal punching bag, so what? Who was I to judge? Or care?
It was the least of what Raphael deserved and what Lucifer was owed.
Raphael had been Tiernan’s accomplice.
Raphael had been complicit in his father’s lie, which had forever changed the trajectory of Lucifer’s life.
