Randal’s lair was a near-labyrinth of tunnels that intersected with the sewers below the city.
Darien brought Loren and his Devils to a manhole on Arcterus Boulevard at sundown the following day. It was the safest entrance into the crime lord’s lair, if any could really be considered safe. He wouldn’t have been so concerned any other day, but not only did this visit involve Loren, but it was strictlybecauseof Loren. For this reason, he would take zero chances.
He kept Loren at his side as he strode through the tunnels of the municipal water system with Travis, Maximus, and Jack. Waiting on the street above, near the manhole they’d slipped into, were Ivyana, Tanner, and Lace. Darien had been able to tell that Ivyana hadn’t wanted to come here, and although she’d tried to refuse his offer to wait on the street, he hadn’t allowed her to have any say in the matter. Not for this.
It was bad enough that Loren was down here. Having to listen to her heartrate triple in speed as they walked in complete darkness through the tunnels, sometimes for ten whole minutes before reaching a source of light again, was difficult enough.
He’d given her one of his pistols; it was strapped to the weapons belt Ivy had lent her. But regardless of the cargo pants, the combat boots, the weapons belt, and the leather jacket, she still looked like she didn’t belong. Still stuck out like a sore thumb that Darien knew Randal would want to break off immediately.
They found the crime lord near the underground waterfalls. Moments ago, his cronies had converged on them from where they were stationed in the darkness of the labyrinth. Darien had a feeling his thugs had been aware of their presence in the tunnels long before they’d bothered to approach. But the closer anyone got to Randal, the more precautions his men tended to take; the faster they herded them toward Randal, like wolves nipping at sheep’s legs.
His thugs were not your average brawlers. Yet despite the honed physiques and hellseher magic that could be considered weapons all on their own, they wore bullet-proof vests and carried automatic firearms in their hands instead of just on their bodies.
Randal was no different. As someone who’d been in and out of Blackwater Penitentiary more than anyone in history, he took no chances.
So, Darien wasn’t surprised to see the vest strapped to his muscled and scarred upper body; the weapons belt that was heavier than Darien’s own; the boots equipped with retractable blades at the toes. This was a man that wasn’t just ready for a fight; hewelcomedthem—and he often was the one who started them, simply for something to do. Justforshits,as he often said.
It’d been several months since Darien had seen him last, but no amount of time—not years nor centuries—would ever be long enough. He hated seeing this man; hated that every time he looked in the mirror, he was reminded of this prick.
Randal shoved his chair away from the candlelit table that was pressed up against one graffitied wall and stood, straightening to full height as he turned to face their group.
And when he smiled, it was anything but kind.
—
Loren’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of Randal Slade.
At those steel-blue eyes set in a face as brutal as it was handsome; at the short, night-dark hair and cold smile. The most obvious difference was the age: while Darien had just turned twenty-four, Randal was frozen in his mid-thirties. Loren’s thoughts spun as she pieced the similarities together, and when he spoke, his deep voice only confirmed what she feared.
Randal Slade was Darien’s father.
“It’s been a long time since I saw any of my Devils,” the crime lord said, as if they’d dropped in for tea. Eyes that were rimmed in red, as though he hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest in a long while, swept over their group. “And where’s my daughter? Where is my precious Ivy?” His voice—slightly scratchy, as if he might cough at any second—boomed against the walls.
Loren stiffened.
Randal was dying of the Tricking.
When Darien didn’t say anything, Randal looked at Jack for the answer.
Jack’s voice held no trace of emotion as he said of his wife, “She couldn’t make it.”
A long, heavy pause. Randal said, “You sure about that?”
Everyone turned at the sound of footsteps. Everyone except Darien, who stared at his father with hatred as his sister was dragged into the room.
Walking on either side of the two men that pulled Ivyana in by her hair were Lace and Tanner, whose eyes held apologies for Darien. The men holding Ivyana did not release her until Randal gave them the okay to do so.
Ivy snarled as she pushed away from the men and came up to stand between Darien and Jack. Her eyes were glassy with fear, and the way she was holding herself suggested that she was in pain.
“I’d be careful about lying to me,” Randal warned. And then he smiled, and it was cold and deadly thing. “Now that we’re all here.” He clapped his hands once, and his eyes settled on Loren, curiosity gleaming in his cruel gaze. “I see the rumors are true.”
Darien said, “I can explain that.”
“I certainly hope you can.” Randal’s eyes turned black, and the ground disappeared beneath Loren’s feet as he formed a claw with his right hand and made an upward gesture.
It felt as though an invisible claw was wrapped around Loren’s middle, pulling her up through the air, where she came to float several feet above Randal’s head. She couldn’t move a single limb, couldn’t even scream. But despite that she’d lost control of her body, her breaths came in terrified gasps as she hovered twelve feet in the air. Magic burned her airways, and her hair swirled around her face as though she were underwater.
Darien stepped forward, his own eyes turning black. Randal’s men readied their weapons, but the other Devils moved to meet them, hands flying to their pistols, Familiars bursting forth from within their shadows.
