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“What the hell is wrong with you two?” Lucifer asks, his tone chiding, and his eyes narrowing on us both as he stands up and braces his knuckles on the desk.
Some things never change. And fuck if that little banter didn’t feel good.
“Nothing of importance,” Daemon says, straightening his shirt, and then holding out the black box he continues, “this is why I’m here.” He removes the top of the box, placing it on the desk. Tipping the box over, he dumps out hundreds of photos. They’re all of Gemma. Gemma alone in her apartment or walking down the street. Gemma with Daemon, many of them in vulnerable moments that were meant to be private. All surveillance photos, from the look of them.
“What the fuck is this?” I growl, picking one up that was taken from outside of our garage, moments before she was murdered by Sid.
“This isn’t even the worst of it.” Daemon reaches into his back pocket and pulls out another photo. From where I stand in front of him, I catch sight of a familiar scroll of black ink on the back. He places the picture on the desk and everything inside of me demands blood, screaming at me to hunt, to protect. The beast demands retribution.
Lucifer picks up the picture of Eden outlined in a sniper’s crosshair and flips it over. His eyes flit back and forth as he reads and rereads what’s written on the back. With each pass, his lips thin and the muscles in his jaw tick as he grinds his teeth.
Lucifer’s gaze locks with mine, and I nod. “He knew,” he says, clutching the photo tighter. “He had a hand in all of this; even from afar, he was pulling the strings for years.” Lucifer’s voice drips with venom and his hands shake with unchecked fury.
“What are you talking about?” Daemon asks, looking from Lucifer to me.
Lucifer pulls the note that was delivered a few days ago out of his top desk drawer, the one from Virgil, and hands it to Daemon.
“I don’t understand.”
Lucifer lays the picture on the desk, face down, and takes the note from Daemon, placing them side by side. “It’s the same handwriting,” he explains, pointing to the script on both.
“Shit,” Daemon whispers, narrowing his eyes on the desk. “You think he masterminded the hit that got Gemma killed?”
“Or he knew about you and Gemma and had other plans, but Donovan went rogue and messed them up, and he’s capitalizing on the emotions of that event to his advantage now.”
“That makes sense,” Eden says, standing in the doorway.
“What are you doing in here?” Lucifer barks with a bit too much venom. He’s in leader mode, and softness, even for her, is not something he’s afforded in this state.
I take a step to the side, about to go to her to soften his blow and assure her that he’s not upset with her. But while she flinches, she stands her ground, only raising a brow at his commanding and gruff tone.
A smile ticks up one corner of my lips at her show of strength. Her refusal to cower under the weight of my brother’s glare.
Eden pushes off the frame and strolls into the office, seemingly unfazed by his gruffness, coming to stand between me and Daemon, her hands tucked in the pocket of her hoodie.My hoodie.The possessive, domineering side of me loves seeing her in my clothes, like a claim has been made over her. Or maybe it’s her claiming me.
“Kitty called. She has some concerns. First, there are two strangers that seem to be taking over the club, pushing Donovan out. Second and worse, she hasn’t seen Harley since he was put on Donovan duty and followed him upstairs. A few hours ago, Donovan came down, but Harley never resurfaced.”
“According to one of my CIs, whispers of a power shift are making their way around the underground. There’s a storm coming, and I don’t think anyone is ready for it.” Daemon’s note of doom and gloom hangs in the air, sour and bitter.
The ping of a cellphone notification jars me from my spiraling thoughts of end days and plans to keep Eden safe. It serves to reminds me of Harley’s earlier text. “I got a text from Harley early this afternoon. Virgil is forcing Donovan to stand down, and he’s called a meeting of select network area leaders. Harley thinks he’s trying to replace Donovan with someone he can control, Vincent most likely, by using his daughter as a bargaining tool.”
“As if I’d play along,” she scoffs, brushing aside Virgil’s plans for her and focusing back on what really matters, Harley. Genuine concern for the man who’s become like her big brother in their short acquaintance thickens her tone as she asks, “Have you heard from him since?”
“No.” I pull my phone from my pocket and hit call next to Harley’s name. We all stand in anxious silence as the sound of ringing echoes through the room.
“If you’ve reached this recording, I’m either working or hanging with my favorite girl, either way, leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.” Harley’s cheerful tone and the giggle of a little girl in the background heightens the tension in the room.
“If Virgil hurt him, I swear to god—” Eden’s hands fall from the hoodie to her sides in tight fists. “I’ll castrate that son of a bitch.” Her protective nature over the man who quickly rooted himself in her life fuels my own. And her vow of vengeance sets off a burning desire that shoots straight to my cock. I’m going to need a long, cold shower tonight.
I tossedand turned most of the night. Between Harley’s radio silence and the Virgil, Donovan situation, well sleep was illusive at best. While immemorable nightmares had a play in my restless night, I must be dreaming right now. That’s the only explanation for the vision of the angel dressed in white with long blonde hair shining in the sunlight. Pure light and goodness stands across the room from me glancing out the large bay window. Her fingers toy absentmindedly in the heavy drapes, deep in her own thoughts.
A strong desire to touch her, to bask in her glory and light, overtakes me, propelling my feet forward. I know I shouldn’t. I should announce my presence, tell her I’m here. But I have no voice, no form of communication. Four long strides, and I come to stand behind her. My hands find her hips, and I marvel at how well she fits in my hold.
An elbow connects with my ribs, and I groan, leaning into the sudden shock to my system. The hips in my hold are replaced by air. And in a blink, Eden is across the room, pacing the length of the far wall as she wrings her hands together. Like a broken record stuck on repeat, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” pours from her ruby lips over and over again.
I step into her path and grab her by the shoulders, she jerks once against my hold, but I force her to stop. With one finger under her chin, I guide her face up and wait for her to look at me.
“I’m so sorry,” she gasps out breathlessly. Panic fills her eyes and tears line her bottom lashes, ready to fall.
