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As Loki parks the Civic, I put the gun away and take a deep breath. "Now that you're on our side, can you tell us where the hell we are?" I ask.
He turns, smiles, and opens his door. The parking garage is dark, dirty, and damp. "Welcome to Mecca," he says.
We walk up an old stairwell. Syringes litter the ground, so I tenderly take Raven's hand and ask, "May I?"
I swing her into my arms. I may not be a wrecking machine like Loki, but I know what I'm doing.
Her eyes are deep, like she knows more than she lets on. "Wow. Chivalry isn't dead. Okay. Why not?"
Nope. Not dead. Just waiting for the perfect moment to show itself.
I like her. There are a million reasons why. Her body is incredible. Her smile is heavenly, and the way her lips curl to the side, perfectly uneven, shakes me like a fucking earthquake.
Back in college - back when I had my head on straight, women really dug me. Okay, maybe that's saying too much.
I wasn't like the other guys. I didn't take a new woman home after every single party, but I always knew how to treat a girl right.
As I carry Raven up the stairs, I start to wonder if I'm not moving too fast with this whole thing. We still don't know why we ended up together.
We have no clue who the hell this Lucifer character really is, and I'm wracking my brain over the reasons why he'd want this incredibly beautiful woman dead.
And why he'd want me to kill her...
The smell of burnt rubber brings the odd sensation of home back into my reality. Life underneath the overpass was awful. I'm grateful that I might never see that place again. I have a chance at figuring out who I am. Maybe, just maybe, I can fix my head.
If that is possible, maybe we can move past this holding hand bit.
I set her down as soon as we reach a door near the top floor. Religious icons and cutout pictures of activists such as Gandhi cover the frame. "Mecca, huh?" I ask.
He winks. "The pilgrimage starts here, brother."
As Loki twists the knob open, I hear someone walking around inside. I reach for my gun again, but he nudges his hand against my chest.
"It's just my roommate," he mutters. "If you can keep the gun out of sight, that would be great. We are a peaceful home."
"Oh, uh... Sure thing," I say.
I'm a bit wary of freeing my hand of a weapon, but I pocket the gun nonetheless.
When we step inside the flat, I can see that his roommate is safe. He is sitting on a couch, examining what appears to be a hollowed out horn from an animal.
He's pale, but not in an unsettling way. In fact, he seems to shine against the moonlight that floods in through the window.
He looks up from his carving. "Loki, who have you brought into my castle?" he asks.
Loki laughs and sits down next to him. "Be nice, Heimdall," he warns.
Heimdall smiles, but he holds a look of caution. "I'm always nice."
"This is Heimdall. He's an immigrant from Norway. Met a while back at a welding competition," Loki says.
Heimdall says, "He is Scandinavian, too, you know."
Loki winces. "All American, here. Father immigrated. Anyway, that's not important."
Raven sits on an old chair. "So you two are blacksmiths?" she asks.
Heimdall holds the animal horn to his eye and squints. "I used to be, but it's not a passion of mine anymore. I'd much rather focus on important matters."
