“And we certainly proved that, didn’t we?”
“Several times, as I recall.”
“Are you two fuckingcrazy?” The roasted demon in question—a vile, sniveling knob called Jordan, according to the embroidered patch on his mechanic’s uniform—squirmed in his chair. He was already nursing third-degree burns on both arms, and blood leaked from a gash on his head, courtesy of his own tire iron.
To be fair, he’d swung first. And that was only after they’d walked in on him terrorizing a young woman in one of the auto detailing bays, his hellspawn brethren cheering him on from the sidelines.
If Dorian had any thought of going easy on the demons today, he’d lost it the moment he’d seenthatsick little show.
Between Isabelle’s quick work with the binding magic and Gabriel’s quicker work with the tire iron, none of the assholes had a chance. After ensuring the woman wasn’t physically injured, Dorian compelled her to forget the demonic torment and escorted her outside to safety.
By the time he returned, Isabelle and Gabriel had everything under control.
Now, all five of the demons they’d found here were doubly bound—chained to metal chairs strategically positioned on top of devil’s trap sigils Isabelle had painted in vampire blood. The measures eliminated all possibility of escape—bodily or otherwise.
The chop shop itself was proving to be the perfect torture chamber—a mid-sized operation posing as a legitimate auto mechanic and detailing business chock full of power tools and sharp, heavy implements. Isabelle had spelled it to appear closed and gated from the outside, leaving them to do their business undisturbed.
It really had been a bloody brilliant idea.
“He’sdefinitely crazy,” Gabriel said to the demon now, arcing his thumb at Dorian. “Me? I’m just bored.” In a blur, he grabbed the blowtorch from Dorian’s hands and raked the flame across the demon’s thigh, cutting clear down to the bone.
The demon howled in agony, his screams echoing off the concrete floor.
Music to Dorian’s ears.
He no longer cared about Accords violations, or demonic retribution, or his own dubious moral compass. These bastards reported to Rogozin, which meant they were connected to Estas, who was connected to Rudy, who’d kidnapped the sister of the woman Dorian loved.
Furthermore, if Dorian followed the chain of command from Rogozin up through the levels of hell’s top management, he’d eventually reach the demon lords—one of whom was under the mistaken impression he had a claim on Charlotte’s life.
Dorian was more than eager to set that particular record straight. If he had to brutalize a few hellspawn minions in the process? Well. Who said mixing business with pleasure was a bad thing?
“Aiden was right,” Dorian said brightly. “Torturing demons isdefinitelya two-man job. Mind if I give it a go?”
“By all means.” Gabriel passed him the blowtorch, the mirth in his tone a stark contrast to the ice in his gaze.
Not since childhood had Dorian felt so connected to his little brother. As much as Dorian had judged him—despised him, even—he was certain if he looked in the mirror now, he’d find the same frigid determination in his eyes, the same cold cruelty that had earned Gabriel such a merciless reputation in Las Vegas.
Perhaps it should’ve bothered him—how close he felt to his own darkness. His own savagery.
Instead, it only fueled him.
He grabbed the demon by the throat and brought the flame to his eye, melting it in an instant.
“Stop!Stop!” Jordan bellowed, piss soaking through what was left of his torched pants. “I’ll tell you anything! I swear it!”
“That’s what you said fifteen minutes ago,” Dorian reminded him, unrelenting in his torment. The skin around the demon’s eye socket blistered and blackened, smoke wafting up from the wound. Fat, juicy tears leaked from his remaining eye.
“I mean it this time!” he cried. “Just… God, please stop! Please!”
Dorian finally backed off. “God? You’re a demon, for fuck’s sake. Show some self-respect.”
The demon turned his head and spit out a mouthful of blood, but offered no witty comeback, no threats, no curses.
Demons could withstand unfathomable amounts of pain, but now, he was utterly broken.
Perfect.
“What does Rogozin want with Duchanes vampires?” Dorian asked, handing the blowtorch back to Gabriel.
