The brawl broke out, and Caindidhit Darien.
But that one punch was the only strike Cain got in, and then Darien stomped his face into the floor, letting himself think of nothing but all those innocent people—children included, he knew—who’d died because of this waste of skin.
19
Bloodcurdling screams and the sound of glass smashing tore from inside the house.
Loren jolted in the backseat of Darien’s car, strands of her hair catching in her mouth as her head spun to face the closed front door of Cain’s abode.
The key in the ignition suddenly turned without anyone’s command—and it took Loren far longer than it should have to realize it was the Hob starting the electrical system without starting the motor. Hardcore metal punched through the speakers, causing Loren to jump again, Dallas doing the same beside her.
“I guess this is the kind of music Darien relaxes to,” Loren joked over the noise.
“Guess so,” Dallas muttered, sounding as rattled as Loren.
As if to prove her wrong, the Hob lowered the volume and began flicking through the music. The screen that was set in the dash flashed brightly in the dark car as Mortifer found the Favorites Playlist. To Loren’s surprise, the next song that drifted through the speakers wasn’t heavy metal at all—it was a classical piece.
She let her eyelids slip shut as she listened to it, and soon the elegant sound of the flutes and the harpsichord and the other instruments she couldn’t place eased the tension in her muscles and drowned out the sound of the screaming going on in the house. It elevated her, carrying her away as if she were a soap bubble floating astride the world.
The song that came on after the first was a soft rock track about a found family with a bond stronger than blood. She found herself humming to it, even when the Devils came out of the house a moment later and she caught sight of the rag Darien was using to clean the blood off his rings.
Loren’s stomach dipped and rose.
The Devils didn’t say anything as they got in the car, Lace and Jack squishing into the backseat with Loren and Dallas again. And Loren and Dallas didn’t ask questions as Darien spun the car around, tires screeching, and sped out of Stone’s End.
The music kept playing. No one turned it down, and as the road flew under the tires, the tension in the vehicle melted away, like the final words of a song that faded into the next.
—
As they sped through the city, back to the Victoria Amazonica District, Loren began to feel nauseous. Her tattoo was pulsing in warning—a sure sign that she needed to eat something. Sweat glistened on her skin, and she squirmed in the backseat, choking down the urge to throw up, until she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Darien,” she blurted.
He cut off whatever he was saying to Maximus, his eyes locking with hers in the rear-view mirror. “Yeah, Loren.”
“I think I need to get something to eat. I’m not feeling well.”
Where he was squished against the back door like a pretzel on the left side of the vehicle, Jack said, “I’d be pissed right off if no doctors could figure out what was wrong with me.”
“Nothing’s wrong with her, Jack,” Darien said. The glow of streetlights passed over the car, shining in through the sunroof and gilding his night-dark hair. “Don’t be rude.” Having Darien defend her like that when he himself teased her on a regular basis… It made her feel flattered, she supposed, for lack of a better word. And it made her wonder if she really was right about the mask he wore.
“I wasn’t being rude, you dickbag.” Jack placed his boot on the back of Darien’s seat.
“Get your foot off my seat or I’ll throw you out the window,” Darien threatened mildly. “And I won’t open it first.”
Maximus chuckled.
“Besides,” Jack continued, as if Darien hadn’t said anything. Though he did—wisely—remove his boot from the back of Darien’s seat. “There’s something wrong with all of us. I like to gamble. You like to throw punches at the Pit—”
“Jack,” Darien warned, eyes flashing in the mirror.
That got Loren’s attention, distracting her for a moment from the need to vomit. “You like to fight?” Darien was avoiding her gaze in the mirror as he took the exit into Jubilee Square. “Like, in fighting rings?”
Darien pushed up the turn signal as he approached a stop sign. “Sometimes,” he admitted with a mumble.
“More like every weekend and most weeknights,” Jack said, grinning. Lace swallowed a snort, fueling Jack’s amusement, and their laughter soon became deafening. Dallas snickered, and Max merely pressed a hand to his temple and shook his head.
Darien shot Jack a glare. “Are you familiar with what cement tastes like? Because you’re going to eat it in exactly three seconds if you don’t stick a cork in it.” Jack held up his hands in surrender, though he continued to snort under his breath over Darien’s murderous expression.
