My Way to Hell (28 page)

Ba-dump-bump. More silence that chilled her bones.

But Kellen simply tightened his grip on her. “So you knew you were going to die? Jesus Christ. I think I had a much better deal when I was just a plain old science teacher.”

Oh, the irony of that statement. “Uh-huh, and in order to keep the wheels of fate moving according to plan, I had to let that happen.”

Kellen whistled low, scaring Vern and Shirley off the back of the couch. “You are one tough broad.”

His admiration was evident, but she brushed that aside in the interest of clearing the air—totally—finally. “Anyway, when my grandmother told me about Armando’s plans for David, she explained that if I offered up my soul as a bargaining chip for my son’s safety, David would be protected and he could never be touched by Satan. His soul would never be in jeopardy, but Satan would be given mine in a sort of barter, meaning no loss on his part.”

“And then you killed Armando.”

She blew out a pent-up breath of air. “Then I killed him. I don’t know that I would have if my death weren’t on the table. Maybe I would have taken David and run away, but there was no way that son of a bitch was going to live
and
destroy my son, too.”

“Can I ask a sensitive question?”

“Ask away.”

“How did you die?”

“You’ll laugh . . .”

His face said otherwise. “How could I laugh at something so fucked up?”

Oh, he said that now . . . Her expression was sheepish. “Because looking back, it is a little funny.”

“I have my doubts I’ll laugh.”

“I slipped in Macy’s and hit my head on a rack of hats.”

Kellen’s lips curled inward in an effort to keep a straight face. He shoved his hands under his armpits and turned his head, but his shoulders began to shake. And then he snorted through his nose. Long and obnoxious. His laughter was like a sneeze you try thwarting by pinching your nose, but only end up making worse because your eyes tear up. His cackle began low, turning into a high-pitched wheeze.

Knocking his shoulder with hers, she said. “Hey, I said it was a
little
funny.” Though she had to admit, the irony of death by fashion for someone like her was worthy of a snicker.

He gasped for breath, wiping his eyes with his thumbs. “I’m sorry. It’s just—I mean—you dying . . . that’s bad . . . but cracking your head on a . . .” He cleared his throat and forced his face to relax. “I’m sorry. What a horrible end to someone who likes clothes and accessories as much as you do. So did you know when and where it would happen?”

Shaking her head, Marcella looked down at her hands. “No. I just knew it would be within a week of the visit from my grandmother. I was better off not knowing or I might have been tempted to try to escape a destiny I shouldn’t have even known about.”

Kellen’s palm smoothed her hair. “So knowing you were going to die, you killed Armando so he couldn’t get his hands on David. Where did David end up? With your parents?”

“My sister Isabella. Like I said, she was barren. I knew if she did nothing else, she’d take good care of David. When I went to her after Grandma Rosa’s visit and told her about my fate—about Armando—she didn’t believe me. I think I mentioned she wasn’t a believer. It took a whole lot of convincing not only to get her to agree to raise David, because she didn’t believe I was going to die, but to get her to promise to bury that goddamn box with Armando’s filthy soul in it.”

“So she knew you’d killed Armando?”

Marcella would never forget bringing David to Isabella, her hair tangled and matted, her eyes wild with fear, clammy sweat her constant companion. “I told her everything. Up to that point, everyone believed that Armando had run off with someone. I heard them whisper about it while I pretended to be a wronged wife. Isabella hated Armando to begin with, but she never would have condoned his murder if it had been anyone other than me. I was younger than her by quite a few years. My mother worked long hours at my father’s tailoring business. Isabella was more like a second mother than she was my sister. She would have done anything to protect me, and I manipulated her love for me to keep her from going to the police. I was sick over it, but David had to be protected.”

Kellen’s expression darkened. “So your sister was the last person you know for sure had the box? What did she do with it?”

That panic was back again, burrowing into her gut. “I swear to you, I thought she’d buried it. She was the only person I could trust to do it. My parents would have had me exorcised before they’d ever believe I’d put someone’s soul in a locked box.”

“Then how the hell did Carlos’s grandfather get his hands on it?”

She’d begged her sister with sobs of agony constricting her throat to bury it the moment Marcella left her. “Isabella made no bones about the fact that she thought I was out of my mind. The only thing I can think that would have kept her from doing what I asked was that she just didn’t believe what I told her about Armando.”

“Why didn’t you bury it yourself?”

Massaging her temples, she bit the inside of her cheek before answering. “I was under a lot of pressure to take care of things, is my only defense. The week before my death, I don’t think I slept more than three or four hours total. Killing Armando was . . .” How did you describe the hideousness of murder—no matter the reasons behind it? “I’m no cold-blooded killer. His murder took thought—summoning his soul involved a lot of brain cell usage and energy. It was the most horrific thing I’ve ever done. Though I swear, as I stand here, I’d do it again. Top that off with my fears for David, knowing I’d never see him again . . .” Her voice grew weak, clogging with more tears. “I just wasn’t thinking straight, or I would have buried it myself and none of this would be happening.” She clenched a fist of frustration in her lap.

Kellen took her fingers between his, massaging them, easing the tension. “You couldn’t have possibly known the box would show up, Marcella. Don’t go where you’re going.”

She might as well go—Christ knew, she’d gone to plenty of places in the last few days that she didn’t want to go to. “But this is my fault, Kellen. My mistakes have led Armando to Carlos. We have to find out what he plans to do and stop him.” At all costs.

“And we will. I still don’t know how, though Christ knows I’m tired of saying that, but we will. I’ll find a way—
we’ll
find a way. For now things are quiet. I’ve got another call in to Catalina with this new information. I’m hoping she’ll have some answers—something.”

It was getting harder and harder to hate Demonic Barbie
.
She settled back against the couch in the crook of his arm and sighed—cleansed—unburdened—washed exhaustingly clean.

“I just thought of something.”

She was sitting back up with a shot. “That could help Carlos?”

Pulling her back into his embrace, he shook his head. “No. But I was wondering about selling your soul.”

“You in the market?”

“Hah!” Kellen barked his answer. “Hell no. What I’m wondering is, because you essentially broke a commandment, wouldn’t you have gone to Hell anyway? How could you barter your soul for David’s if your soul was already marked? Or are the Ten Commandments something we’ve interpreted to suit our needs over hundreds of years?”

She gave him a grin that was smug. “That took a little fancy footwork on my part. I’m happy to say, some demons are dumber than others. I got one of the lamest asses evah. He had no clue I’d committed a sin.”

Kellen grinned deliciously and winked. “Nice work.”

“That stunt was hardly work.”

“But wouldn’t Satan want revenge because you pulled a fast one?”

“Satan just loves souls. He doesn’t much care how he gathers them. Some are definitely more important than others, and I guess if he’d ever found out how I toyed with a minion, he might have sought revenge. But the beauty in this is a minion isn’t likely to report his mistake for fear of punishment. It became our little secret. Satan probably would have cheered my deception, but for sure, his lackey would have paid with time in the pit.”

Drawing her into his lap, Kellen positioned her to face him. “You’re something else, Marcella Acosta.”

“Let this be a lesson to you—do not bring my wrath down on you. It promises a shower of shit,” she teased.

He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling, deep grooves forming around his mouth. “I’ve held an umbrella up under several of those.”

“We’ve come a long way, baby.”

“Wanna go longer?” His hand cupped her ass suggestively, and he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Oh, Mr. Markham. Only you would want to boff a chick that had just confessed to not only murder but deception of the highest-ranked officer of evil. You’re a real edgy guy.”

“Who says I’m not an assload of fun?”

Cuddling closer to him, she let her breasts rub against his shirt, shivering at the immediate response her nipples displayed, and gave him a look of astonishment. “I can’t imagine anyone ever labeling you like that. How unfair.”

Chuckling, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. “I know. Penance is due.”

“Ohhh, penance. Sounds serious.”

“I take my penance very seriously,” he said with a leer, throwing her onto the bed and dropping down on top of her.

“So what kind of penance are we talking here?”

His look was of mock seriousness. “
Naked
penance. I mean, it was a serious offense.”

Letting her head fall back, she gave a throaty laugh, carefree and unrestrained. “I suppose this will involve my nekidity.”

He toyed with the torn front of her dress, raining kisses along her jaw that made her melt with anticipation. “Well, you are the one who sinned.”

“Then you’ll have to do the honors,” she said with a smile, lifting up her arms for him to remove her dress, unashamed of her desire for him.

“That reminds me. Hold that thought.” He jumped off the bed and went into the small walk-in closet that had once been filled with Delaney’s things and came back out with a pink bag she recognized from one of her favorite boutiques. “I figured it was about time. I’m not sure if it’ll work, but let’s give it a shot.” Kellen opened the mouth of the bag for her to see inside.

Fuck-all if tears didn’t fill the corners of her eyes. Again. “When did you have the time to get this?”

He dumped the bag on the bed, holding up the contents. “I didn’t. D did. When I told her about your dress, she was ass-holes and elbows to your favorite boutique. Wanna see if you can try it on?”

Fighting more tears, she rose off the bed, hovering in midair in front of him. He’d bought her a dress. A new dress from Sinclair’s. “You shouldn’t have. Sinclair’s is pricey.”

His eyes were warm when he said, “It’s a good thing I sold some fine Texas bat shit this month then, huh?” He tugged her old, torn dress over her head and tossed it on the floor, scanning her length with eyes that approved before he slipped the new dress onto her.

Marcella held her breath until she felt the cool cloth float about her skin. Her hands shook when she touched the front of the smooth, red fabric, tugging at the empire waist to make sure it fell around her knees properly. The capped sleeves brushed against her hair; the round neckline accentuated her breasts. It was as though it had been made for her.

Delaney might have shopped for it, but Kellen had bought it. Such a simple gesture seemed so magnanimous.

And woo to the hoo—here came more tears.

Kellen let out a wolfish whistle. “I’d say Delaney knows her stuff. You look great.”

Putting her hands to her face, she covered her eyes to hide her latest sissy-fest. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I—no one’s ever . . .”

He peeled her fingers from her face. “Well, someone just did. And there’s more. Shoes. Delaney says they’re cute, but you won’t need those, or this,” he said, dipping his fingers into the neckline of her dress with a grin that was full of his wicked intent and made her heart hammer inside her chest.

Her arms went around his neck and she arched her body into his. “About that penance . . .” she murmured.

Kellen’s mouth found hers with a chuckle. “Yeah. You have some work to do.” With a whoosh, he pulled the new dress back off her and threw it at the end of the bed. Circling her waist, he hauled her against him hard, cupping her breast to thumb her nipple to a stiff peak.

Moaning into his mouth, she ran her hands over his chest, his arms, bulging with sinewy muscles. Kicking off his shoes, Kellen took his own clothes off, parting with her lips for only a moment before he was naked.

Their bodies pressed together, skin to skin. His was flush with heat, hers cool on the outside, but tending a raging fire on the inside. Mouths connected in a molten hot kiss, blending, melting into one another. Their tongues meshed, dueled, tangled in silken strokes.

Settling them on the bed, Kellen’s dark head bent to her breast, clamping his hot mouth around it, pulling her nipple with decadent swirls. Her thigh lifted automatically, wrapping around his waist, pinning him to her.

Arching upward, she pushed her breast against the ecstasy his tongue brought, panting her pleasure. Kellen’s lean hands, big, strong, swept along her ribs, brushing back up along the undersides of her breasts, moving across her lower abdomen.

Raging white-hot flames licked at her, leaving an aching tug and pull between her thighs. His hair brushed her skin as he trailed moist kisses against her flesh, leaving not an inch untouched. He nipped, licked, taunted until she realized his hair swept against the skin of her inner thighs.

Gripping his head between her fingers, Marcella held her breath when his teeth grazed against the inside of her leg. His moan of pleasure as he drew closer to her core made her writhe with an aching need. He used his tongue to part her moist flesh, rasping it apart, laving it with long, slow strokes. Her legs fell apart, her neck arched at his deliciously hot breath against her clit.