Damnation's Door: A Cursed Book (15 page)

I wondered if the Shredder could track my scent, or if other demons would be following it now that my sister and my friends had escaped them. I slowed down and took off my lucky jacket, grabbing all the weapons from it and sliding them into my belt. I stopped by a dumpster and threw open the lid, about to toss my jacket down.

I hesitated.

It was stupid, but I still thought of it as my lucky jacket. Granted I wasn’t superstitious, but I was still alive. Wearing a reminder of the first man I’d killed had brought me some kind of strength. What did it mean to throw it away?

Nothing, you idiot. It means you give the demons a false trail. It’s just a jacket. Get rid of it.

Before I could think about it any further, I threw my lucky jacket into the dumpster and slammed down the lid. Then I turned and headed for the main street.

I was glad that it was empty, and started jogging to the left to turn into the market. I looked over my shoulder again, hearing the Shredder roar and hoping it would take my false trail and lose me completely. I couldn’t see it behind me, so I figured I’d be safe for a few minutes. I got off the road and onto the sidewalk, wedging myself between two fly-infested taco carts to catch my breath.

My heart pounded against my ribcage, and it was a huge effort to raise my head. The scratches and bruises I’d gotten were tender, but I could still run with them. I looked over my shoulder one more time, and still wasn’t seeing the Shredder.

Once I caught my breath, I focused on where I was.

Okay, so I can’t go back the way I came, and with the false trail across the street, I can’t double-back in case other demons show up. I have to cut through the market and make my way through the square to get to the house.

Which means I just turned a six block run into twelve.

I should have kept my damn jacket.

I took a moment to rearrange the weapons on my body, sliding two of the knives into my shoulder holsters and putting another one on my belt. I gripped the last knife in one hand and my hatchet in the other, and stated walking.

I tried to focus on the shadows behind the windows of each shop I passed, but my eyes always went back to the wooden and metal carts. They’d once been bursting with fresh fruit, food, jewelry, hand-made clothes and ornaments, anything tourists and bargain-hunters would want to find.

It didn’t look like any of the carts had been used in months, each one stripped of its contents and dented near the front. Some of them were missing their wheels, umbrellas, and even grills. I stared at them, unable to remember the last time I’d eaten. I pulled my eyes away from the carts and looked straight ahead. That didn’t keep my stomach from rumbling angrily. I’d just used up a lot of energy running and fighting for my life. We’d been on the hunt for food when we left, and now I was determined to–

“Fancy seeing you again.”

I froze the second I heard his voice, then spun and planted my feet in a fighting stance. Drake was standing in the alley on my right, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“I was wondering when I’d run into you next,
chica
. Been thinking a lot about you.”

“Me too,” I replied. “I’ve been thinking about how much you’ll scream when I cut you to pieces.”

“Ooo,” he said, edging off the wall and slowly walking toward me. “Someone’s feeling nasty. Is that ’cause you’re missing your little gang? Where oh where could they be, I wonder?”

I tensed, watching him get closer and thinking about how I could attack him. Throwing my knife would be the best way. I had extremely good aim, and could hit him from here.

But Drake was a chatty bastard. If I kept him talking, I might be able to figure out what he wanted me for.

And maybe he would let down his guard so I could kill him.

“They can’t be far,” he said through his smile. “You never let your sister out of your sight any more than that scrawny brat or that uptight angel do, and Johnny-boy would probably tear the city apart if he knew you and me were having a chat. So where did they go?”

“What do you care? They aren’t your targets right now. I am.”

Drake grinned. “Bet you feel pretty special, don’t you?”

I glared in reply, trudging past his words. “You said Lucifer has plans for me. Things that even Mateo can’t get between. What does that mean?”

Drake shrugged. “I never was good with the details. Your old boy toy knows. He can tell you more, but I think he needs to vent a little first.”

It took me a second too long to understand what he meant. That second was when I felt hands snare the back of my shirt and yank me onto the ground.

I hit it with a jolt, rolling to the left and getting up on one knee. I was almost kicked in the face, but leaned away and brought up my hatchet. The booted foot knocked against my wrist, sending the hatchet flying out of my grasp.

Cursing under my breath, I slid back to get distance and got onto my feet. He was on me just as I stood up.

I blocked his furious punches and kicks, trying to get in some shots, but his defense was as good as mine. Maybe even better.

But I still had a knife.

He threw a punch toward my chest that I batted down. I held his arm and stabbed for his neck. He caught my wrist and twisted it until I was forced to drop the blade.

So much for the knife.

I kicked for his knee, but he stepped back and jerked me against his chest.

“You’re so fucking predictable,” Mateo snarled.

He slammed his forehead into mine. Stars exploded behind my eyes and the world spun. I tried to get my bearings, but Mateo was at the top of his game. He shoved me away so hard I stumbled, unable to stop the powerful kick that slammed into my chest. I landed on the road hard, my head cracking against the concrete and nearly blacking me out.

“That was disappointing,
chica
,” Drake’s voice said from…somewhere. “Thought you had more fight in you than that.”

Even while the asshole had been talking, I was reaching for another knife. I was just about to grab one when Mateo appeared over top of me and raised his foot above my chest. I crossed my arms at the last second, keeping the full weight of his foot away from my body. My arms were still crushed into my chest, but nothing had been broken. He stepped off my arm and aimed another kick for my head. I rolled away and reached for a knife. I got to my feet and aimed another stab at him. Mateo grabbed my wrist and turned it around my back, launching my arm up and exposing my side. He punched my vulnerable ribs and kidney. Every hit was filled with anger, and if I couldn’t stop him soon, he would break every bone in my body, promise to Lucifer or not.

I threw back my far elbow, managing to catch Mateo in the side of the head. He let me go and I spun my recently freed arm in a loose backward punch. It was a sloppy strike, but the back of my fist still crashed into Mateo’s cheek. His head snapped to the side, giving me the chance to kick him in the stomach. I still had my knife, so I dove in for the kill–

Just as huge arms looped around my chest and pulled me off the ground. I screamed furiously, lashing and kicking back. The arms tightened and squeezed air out of my lungs. I reversed the grip on my knife and stabbed back, aiming for whatever I could hit.

The knife sank into my captor’s bicep. Not a lethal stab like I wanted, but I still got a bark of pain and one of the arms on my chest loosened. I was dropped onto the ground, my fingers slipping from the knife as the big man thrashed. I grabbed the far fingers of his other hand and pulled them away from my chest. I spun under the man’s arm while holding it away from me. Drake snarled at me, but I started kicking him in the ribs as hard as I could. He was a huge man, so his body absorbed the kicks pretty well, but it was better than nothing.

At least until I was kicked in the back.

I stumbled from the unexpected hit, and barely had time to lift my head when Drake’s fist sailed toward me. The punch connected with my collarbone, sending a fierce wave of pain through it. I lurched back, someone coming up behind me and looping their arms through mine. I tried to slip away, but his grip was too tight. He lifted his arms, bending my shoulders back until they strained in they sockets. I winced and arched my back to relieve the pressure, but it didn’t matter.

I was trapped regardless.

Drake’s face was contorted in a horrible scowl. I’d never seen him so angry before.

“You fucking bitch,” he spat, drawing his fist back.

He practically knocked my head off when the punch hit. I felt my nose break, sharp pain swelling in my face and forcing tears into my eyes. My head lolled forward, but Drake still didn’t stop. He pounded hits into my stomach, ribs, chest and face. He was relentless and merciless, each blow hurting more than the last. At first I tried to kick him, tried to break free from Mateo, but soon I was in too much pain to move.

By the time it was over, there wasn’t an inch of my front that wasn’t battered. Drake finally stepped back, my blood dripping off his knuckles. I slumped forward, watching the ground spin under me. Mateo released my arms and let me collapse onto the ground.

I barely caught myself. My skull felt like it had been covered in cement. My chest might as well have been run over by a tank. My stomach ached every time I breathed, and I felt sick.

Get up, Constance,
I told myself.
If you can’t fight, you have to run. You barely touched them.

I bent my knee and tried to get up, but my body just wouldn’t respond at the speed I needed it to.

“Sorry you didn’t get more shots in,” Drake said from behind me. “Kinda got carried away.”

“That’s fine. I’ll do the last bit.”

I pushed upward, but a hand clamped onto my shoulder and shoved me back onto the ground. Mateo stepped over me and sat down on my hips. I hissed as the move pulled on the muscles my throbbing stomach, swatting at him weakly. Mateo brushed my hands away and backhanded me across the face. It wasn’t as bad as Drake’s punches, but pain still flashed through my face as my head twisted to the side.

“Hold her arms,” Mateo commanded.

Drake dropped to his knees behind my head, grabbing my arms and pulling them away from my body. I growled and tried to kick and throw Mateo off me, but he positioned himself perfectly to keep that from happening. He just sat there and reached for something on his belt.

I stopped moving completely when he held the knife in front of my face.

This was the first time I fully registered his face. He was as painfully handsome as I remembered.

The last time I saw him, he’d had short hair and stubble, looking more like a soldier than a gangster. He still wore a black t-shirt and dark cargo pants, but his jet-black hair was stylishly smoothed. The stubble was gone, making him look like a bronzed male model until you saw his eyes. They were dark, distant, and hateful. Just as his father’s had been. A solid gold chain hung around his neck. A black leather belt looped through his pants, showing off a gold buckle in the shape of a rose. Both had once belonged to Emilio.

I tried to glare at Mateo, but my eyes kept flicking back to the knife. It was so close I could see my breath misting on the silver blade.

“How does it feel, Constance?” he asked coldly. “How do you like being trapped? Knowing something terrible is going to happen to you, and there isn’t a fucking thing you can do to stop it?”

He must have been thinking about his father, remembering the fight we’d had before I blew Emilio’s brains out. Mateo had watched the whole thing, unable to save someone he loved. His hatred had been growing ever since.

“You didn’t ask last time you tortured me,” I said bitterly, but quickly. It was the best I could come up with.