Damnation's Door: A Cursed Book (13 page)

Warrick’s voice cut me back to the present. I was about to say no, that I didn’t hear anything, but then I listened carefully, and caught the sound of raised voices and wicked laughter.

My heart began beating faster. It was too soon for another attack, and we weren’t anywhere near the right location. Whatever was happening couldn’t be related to the fragments.

The first thought that crossed my mind was walking away. Take any other street or alley and get the hell away from whatever was causing the commotion.

Then I heard a woman’s sharp cry of pain, and knew I couldn’t run. Not this time. Not with that other woman’s scream ringing in my head, and the sight of her murderer’s bloody smile and wave burned into the back of my mind.

So I took off running, hearing my friends curse before they followed me.

Two blocks is nothing when you’re running at a full tilt. The closer I got, the louder the battle cries were. I was hearing snarls and shouts, and it wasn’t long before I smelled blood. I swung around the last corner in the direction of the fight, winding up in a dirty alley behind a brown-brick building.

Four men were pinning a woman to a wall, beating the life from her. I couldn’t tell who she was, but she was fighting back with all her strength. The thugs didn’t see me coming, which made it easy for me to run up to the one closest to me and kick him in the side.

He grunted and turned around, sneering at me. I spun my leg in a wide arc, and kicked that look right off his face.

This was when the rest of his heavyset pals noticed me. I was hoping they would be stupid and come at me one at a time. Unfortunately, the dirty hulks had some intelligence in their thick skulls. They rushed me at the same time.

I stepped back and snapped out a kick into the ribs of the closest man. It made him stagger and bought me seconds, which is when his last two friends pounced. I ducked under a fist and drove my fist into the third man’s stomach. Just as my hit connected, the fourth man punched me in the head. My neck twisted to the side and I backed up, blocking the next hit from the third man. I saw the fourth man’s fist moving for me again, but I leaned away and grabbed his outstretched arm. I socked him in the jaw and kicked him in the chin, then whirled around him. I kicked forward as hard as I could, knocking him back into his friend.

Just as I was stepping back, heavy arms looped around my chest and locked me to someone’s chest.
Damn. Forgot about the other two guys.

The one rushing my front was the second man I had kicked. My arms were still free, so I reacted fast, reaching into my jacket and grabbing a silver knife. As the second man approached, I slammed the back of my head into the nose of my captor. He cursed as I shattered his nose, loosening his hold on me. I kicked the knee of the second man when he was in range, causing him to stumble. Before he could regain himself, I stabbed him in the side of the head.

My knife shuddered when it struck the bone, and it wasn’t easy to pull back. The man behind me drove his fist into my ribs, making me wince. I repaid him by sending my elbow into his cheek. Dazing him again, I twirled the knife in my hands, then stabbed it back into his ribs.

The man screamed in pain, making my ears ring. I twisted the blade and he was forced to release me. I stumbled forward, barely getting to my feet when the third and fourth man charged me. This time, they had knives, too. I wasn’t ready, and there was no way I could avoid being hit and stabbed.

But they assumed I was alone. The third man was caught completely off-guard when Warrick shot into the alley and delivered a powerful uppercut to his chin. The man skidded back, head tilted skyward and his throat exposed. Warrick planted a sidekick into his stomach and sent him into the wall.

The fourth man suddenly realized what was happening, curving his knife wrist toward Warrick, but Sephiel had slipped behind him. He snared the man’s arm and wrenched it upward, almost to the point of breaking it. As the man cried out, Sephiel drove his knee into his back. Then he lifted him up, stepped back, and slammed him into the ground. One solid kick to the face, and the man was out.

My hand moved subconsciously to my middle, carefully prodding my ribs. None of them seemed broken and my face was going to have a bruise. All things considered, I’d gotten away lucky.

While Sephiel made sure that none of the four thugs would be getting back up, Warrick marched over to me. His hands cupped my chin and gently lifted my face.

After frowning at the bruise forming on my face, Warrick looked in my eyes.

“That was reckless, stupid, and extremely brave,” he told me.

I couldn’t hide my grin any more than he could. “Glad you’re impressed,” I said.

Warrick stifled a laugh and pressed his lips to my forehead. When he pulled back, Dro appeared at our side. Her icy blue eyes traced down my body, searching for injuries. I waved her off.

“I’m fine, Dro,” I promised her. I nodded at the woman who was pushing herself up from the ground. “Let’s go make sure she’s okay.”

Just as I said that, the woman turned and looked at us. She had a bloody lip and a blackening eye, which made her hate-filled scowl even more ferocious.

“
You,
” she spat.

I made a face that was somewhere between a smirk and a snarl.

“Hello, Elle.”

Chapter 11

Elle and I had two things in common. We were both fighters, and we hated each other.

It was inevitable, really. I had an attitude that would make any nun faint, and Elle was about as friendly as an agitated pit viper.

But I believed she was loyal to the demon slayers. They lived by a loose but ever present code, and she was adamant when it came to killing demons. She and the other slayers had been ready to destroy Dro, regardless of her angel half.

Needless to say, we didn’t get along.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she demanded.

I stared at Elle blankly. Aside from the bruises and blood, she looked exactly as I remembered her; blonde hair falling out of a loose ponytail, nice cheekbones, full lips, perfected eyebrows, and bright blue eyes. She could have been a supermodel if she weren’t dressed in black combat clothes and carrying a knife on her hip.

“I could ask you the same question,” I shot back, pushing myself away from Warrick. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Her scowl intensified, nearly twisting off her face. I didn’t move my eyes from her face, but Warrick stepped in front of me.

“Where are the others?” he asked. “Where are Carver and Jackson?”

I was pretty sure he only really cared about Jackson. Carver was Elle’s father, and she had obviously inherited his callousness and frigid attitude. Jackson, however, actually had kindness in him. He was Warrick’s friend, and he didn’t immediately want to kill my sister when he met her, which put him in my good book.

“What does it matter to you?” Elle spat. “You made it clear where your loyalties lie.”

Ouch. That’s low.
So low I thought about punching her for it. Warrick might have chosen us over his fellow demon slayers, but I had no doubt that he would help them however he could. He was happy to play the White Knight whenever he had the chance.

Though the moment the words left her mouth, I heard boots stomping against pavement behind me. I turned around, tightening the grip on my knife. Dro and Max backed up while Sephiel slipped in front of them.

Elle must have been wearing some kind of earpiece or microphone. It was the only way Carver and Jackson could have gotten here so fast.

Jackson was a tall, muscular dark-skinned man with large lips and dark eyes. He wore the same black, tactical outfit Elle was wearing, but he was carrying a large automatic rifle over his shoulder.

Next to him was a brawny middle-aged man wearing a black shirt and cargo pants. He was carrying a rifle as well, but also had a riot shotgun slung over his back. The short grey hair on his head was starting to grow longer, and sharp stubble was now circling his mouth. His face was hard and his eyes were cold. There was no mistaking that he was Elle’s father.

His eyes flicked back and forth, taking in the whole scene and all the people in it. He glared at Warrick, Dro, and me the hardest. He didn’t like me– shocker– and felt that Warrick had irreparably betrayed him. He wanted Dro dead simply because she existed.

This was not going to go well.

“Jackson,” Warrick said, nodding to his friend. The large, onyx-skinned man nodded back. Warrick’s eyes slid back to Carver, and he sighed. “Carver.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Warrick?” he demanded, the same way Elle had moments ago. They were cut from a freakishly similar cloth.

“We heard someone being attacked,” he explained. “We wanted to help.” Warrick looked at me with some pride. “Constance saved Elle.”

I didn’t react. Carver would care about my saving his daughter about as much as he cared about the beetle he crushed under his boot.

Still, the man did have some emotion beneath his self-righteous mask. He turned his eyes to Elle and started shoving us aside so he could get to her. He stopped in front of Elle and cupped the back of her neck. Warrick stepped away to give them space, glancing at me to make sure I wouldn’t start a fight.

I didn’t plan on starting one, but if they gave me a reason... Well, it wasn’t the first time I’d butted heads with the demon slayers.

After assuring himself that Elle was all right, Carver turned back to Warrick. “You didn’t answer my question. What the hell are you doing here?”

Warrick hesitated, but only barely. “The same as you. We’re trying to stop the demons.”

“You should have let us handle it,” Elle said over her father’s shoulder. “We had a lead, and you fucked it up.”

“I’m sorry,” I interjected. “Was getting the shit kicked out of you part of your plan?”

Elle practically snarled at me. I had to hold back my laughter.

“I was waiting to get information from my contacts, you bitch,” Elle snapped. “Now they’re dead, and it’s your fucking fault!”

I looked at the bodies, really seeing them this time. Any attitude I had disappeared when I saw the tattoos on their bodies. I was suddenly very still, and very, very serious.

“These were your contacts?” I asked.

“Yes.” Elle’s reply was exasperated, but I didn’t care.

My blood went cold. “They’re Blood Thorns,” I stated.

The tattoos on their arms and necks gave them away, the mark of a thorn weaving in and out of their skin, with drops of inked on blood hidden behind real blood.

“We know who they are,” Carver said.

I stared at him, unbelieving. “You know?! And you still wanted to deal with them?!”

“We were doing a recon mission,” the older slayer defended. “We know the Blood Thorns are working with the demons. Offering to help them was the best way of understanding their operation. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as the saying goes.”

He explained it perfectly, but I still couldn’t understand what he said.

“What the hell kind of deal did you make?” Warrick burst.

“I don’t see how that matters–”

“Of course it fucking matters!” I shouted. “If you think for one second that they won’t feed you to hellhounds the second they have a chance, you’re even stupider than I thought.”

When Carver glared at me, I could practically feel the hate wafting off him. I was too pissed to care. They had no idea what they were getting themselves into. By the time the Blood Thorns were done with the slayers, there wouldn’t be enough left of them to scrape off the pavement.

“How did this even happen?” Warrick asked, turning his head to look at Jackson.

The big man hesitated, then sighed. “After that fight in Washington, when you guys disappeared, things went to shit, John. The entire country was falling apart, and we couldn’t fight back. We had to come up with another plan. So we grabbed whatever Possessors we could find and made them talk.”

Jackson didn’t sound pleased with the methods they must have used. I remembered Gabriel’s pulped face, trapped in chains in a circle. I gave Carver another dark look. Yet another person who wasn’t beyond torturing anyone if he wanted information.

“Eventually we learned that all the demonic activity was coming from here,” Jackson continued. “We came into town, learned that the Blood Thorns were working with the demons, and that their leader was connected to Lucifer. They didn’t know who we were, so they let us join up. We’ve been acting as messengers for them, trying to get as much intel as possible. But we’re not getting as much as we hoped for.”

“Because Mateo’s using you,” I snapped. “That’s what he does. You’re never going to learn anything from him.”

“Do you know about the fragments?” Elle asked.

I glared at her. “Yes. And I did it without taking the side of the fucking King of Hell.”

Elle’s lip curled into an ugly sneer. I laughed at it before, but now it made me want to smack her.

“And how close are you to obtaining those fragments?” Carver asked me.

I wish I’d spoken, even if it would have been a lie. It would have been better than letting him know that we didn’t have anything except information on the fragments, and that they were dangerously out of our reach. I couldn’t get them until tomorrow, but if the slayers tried hard enough, they’d find a way to get them sooner than that.

Is that such a bad thing, Constance? Letting someone else do the hard work? This way you don’t have to get anywhere near Mateo, Drake, or Lucifer.

But there was a nagging in the back of my head. This situation didn’t feel right, the obvious traitors aside, and I had no idea what Mateo or Drake might have told them, if they’d mentioned anything about capturing me or why. I could have asked, but there was no guarantee they would tell me the truth. I generally placed anyone associated with the Blood Thorns in untrustworthy categories.

My hand went to the hilt of my hatchet and I stepped to the side to keep all three demon slayers in my line of sight. Even Jackson. I liked him, but I didn’t trust him.

“Can you get them?” Warrick inquired. “Have you seen them?”

Carver shook his head lightly. “We’ve tried to find out where their location is, but Mr. Rocha is keeping them well hidden. He brushes off our questions like we’d never asked them.”

He called him Mr. Rocha.
That was my first signal that something was very wrong. More to the point, why were the slayers still waiting here out in the open? Sure, we’d stopped to burden them with questions, but honest slayers secretly working against their employers would want to get off the streets in case unfriendly eyes turned their way.

But here we were, in the middle of an alley in mid-afternoon.

“Drake is on their side,” Max said from behind us, yanking me from my thoughts. “You can’t possibly think being around them is a good idea.”

At the mention of Drake’s name, Warrick bristled. He fixed a stony look onto his former boss and clenched his fists. Betrayal was going both ways now.

“You’re making a huge mistake,” Warrick growled.

Carver’s cold blue eyes locked on Warrick’s furious green ones. “You aren’t in a position to tell right from wrong, Warrick. You make your own mistakes every time you do.”

If I hadn’t been suspicious of the whole situation, I would have let Warrick hit him. I would have stood back and smiled as my lover beat the callous disregard out of his former boss. But the sense of wrongness had clamped itself over my heart, and I knew we were out of time.

Warrick took a step closer to Carver, about to raise his fist, but I grabbed his wrist and held it down. Warrick’s outraged stare turned on me.

“Fuck them,” I said. “If they want to dick around with a bunch of demon-loving thugs, they can suffer the consequences. We don’t need their help.”

Warrick read my eyes carefully, picking out the underlying meaning I had.

Drop it. Something isn’t right. We need to go.

He relaxed just enough. Casting one more deadly glare at Carver, Warrick pulled himself back and started walking down the alley with me. He lowered his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at Jackson, but I could see that the big demon slayer was sad about what happened. Why Jackson stayed with Carver and Elle was beyond me.

Dro and Max watched us. Sephiel looked over my shoulder, watching the demon slayers carefully. He had a bone or two to pick with them since they’d tortured his brother Gabriel.

“What do you sense, Constance?” Sephiel asked as we passed him.

“I don’t know,” I muttered under my breath. “Something just felt off.”

My word seemed good enough. Without waiting to say goodbye, we left the demon slayers in the alley. I assumed that once we were back on the street, we would be able to make our way to a new hiding spot and wait out the night so I could hunt down Mateo and Drake.