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The ache in my chest hadn’t gone away, neither had the throbbing of my clit whenever I thought of Ilsa, and I was irritated that she had awoken something in me I couldn’t seem to deal with purely by ignoring it. Eventually, I’d need to satiate the part of my nature that craved sex, but it didn’t feel right at the moment. I had no idea why, but I’m sure my body would sort it out. Maybe it was some physical reaction to spending so much time with one human or from my demon coming to the surface and being put back in its place too many times without full transformation.
I didn’t care to think about it too much.
Emrick sent me out with his men, so far only to other clubs in the city, two of which were smaller clubs trying to carve their own territory and encroaching on Emrick’s substantial one. The third was a club owned by him, but he had got wind they were skimming off the top and trying to go out on their own.
The rumors were correct, and those responsible were not happy about being taken down a few pegs in front of their employees. We provided an extremely clear warning that next time there wouldn’t be the mercy of them being left alive to repent their actions.
Emrick knew I couldn’t kill. Unlike him, I was still bound by the rules. But he had plenty of others to take that final step if and when it was required. Again, I didn’t need to think about that part of it, I was enjoying myself too much. I had freedom now, more than before. When I had to do my own research and planning—not that there was a great deal of it—it took some of the joy out of the act of destruction itself.
But simply being pointed in a direction, toldgo,and being able to unleash was invigorating.
I am demon, hear me roar.
Emrick was an odd one, and apart from his explosive admission he was a fallen angel when I asked—no begged—him not to kill Ilsa, I had learned almost nothing else about him. The admission might not have meant much to Ilsa, but it was huge. I had no idea what he had done to fall, but it must have been fucked-up because angels don’t fall for no reason. Whatever it was, I could see in his eyes he was haunted by it and resented the hell out of his punishment.
Most of my knowledge about Emrick was only what I needed to know—how much of the city fell under his territory. Which, as it stood, was little over one third of the area. Not bad, considering how many others were out there trying to rein some of the territory back into their own smaller operations.
It was so tempting sometimes to ask Emrick what he had done. I really wanted to know, call it morbid curiosity, but I wondered what sort of an angel he was before he fell and what pushed him over the edge.
He wasn’t one for talking much.
So I focused on my work, and as I stood with the heel of my boot pressed in the mouth of one of Emrick’s employees, I didn’t need to think about anything else. He stared up at me, all wide-eyed and innocent as though he didn’t knowexactlywhat he did to deserve a visit from us. His eyes kept darting to the knives strapped to my thighs, and I’m sure he knew there was no way he could be fast enough to get near them before I pushed my heel through his cheek.
It wouldn’t kill him, but it would hurt like hell for a long while.
“Found it,” Tate called from the rear of the building.
He’d been searching for product stolen from one of Emrick’s shipments, everything was labeled and accounted for. I’m not sure how these men thought they could get away with stealing from one of the most powerful men in the city with one of the darkest reputations. I asked the man lying under my foot as much, and he mumbled something around my heel. Removing my foot, he spluttered, “P-Please, we’ll never do it again.”
Tate came up to my side, his presence alone enough to silence the man at my feet. He always wore a long black jacket, looking ever darker in contrast to his white-blond hair like a shadow that flowed around him, making his movements smooth and supernatural. I wondered if the jacket was chosen for dramatic effect or if it was to conceal whatever weapons he carried with him.
Or to conceal his scars if my suspicions about him were correct.
Tate was a demon, I could tell that much, but not like any demon I’d ever smelled before. It was like he was a half-demon of some sort. I had taken a guess once and asked him what had happened to his bonded partner. I had no proof he ever had one, but his scars looked like those left behind when a bonding was broken. I’d only ever seen them once before in person, and I guess in Tate’s line of work they added to his menace. Like rope burns, as though he had been bound and the ropes had been dragged slowly and painfully across and around his body, leaving large red welts and marks that snaked across his arms and neck, and I suspected the rest of his body too.
The look Tate threw me when I had asked told me I was on the right track. He smelled like a human infected with demon blood, a bonding gone wrong. Before I could continue the line of questioning about his lost mate, he was at my side, holding a silver knife to my throat.
“You can’t heal while silver is in your body, can you? What would happen if I drove this into your jugular then removed your arms?”
“That would be a bit of an inconvenience, I’ll admit,” I answered, stretching my neck away from the blade.
“As long as we’re on the same page.” He stalked away, and I had backed off my line of questioning.
For now.
Tate stared down at the man on the floor, his lip lifted in distaste. “Not only will you not do it again, you’ll work for free for the next three months.”
“You can’t… I can’t… I need the money.”
Tate shrugged, reached into his jacket, pulled out a revolver, and rolled it across his fingers. It was dirty. I didn’t know much about guns, but I was certain they were supposed to be kept cleaner than his was. Maybe he had a history with it, a reminder he felt he’d erase if he cleaned it.
Demons aren’t exactly known for their nostalgia. But if Tate were human, gaining his demonic powers through bonding, perhaps he was more emotional than his blank expression and hollow eyes let on.
He sneered. “You should’ve thought about that before you tried to skim off the top. Now…” he crouched, pushing the barrel of the gun to the man’s temple, “… I think it’s quite clear what your options are here.”
“Please,” he mumbled, already aware it was useless.
Tate arched a brow at him, cocking the hammer and pressing the gun harder to the man’s temple, making him whimper. Tate said nothing further—he didn’t need to—the cold metal and his bared teeth spoke for him, and the man simply nodded. He stood slowly, releasing the hammer and placing it back inside his jacket.
