Retribution, Devotion (18 page)

“Shit if it ain't this Lance Gross–looking mother trucker. Zion, sup, fam.” Calvin stood laughing and pulled him into a quick shoulder hug and sat down as Zion followed suit.

“I'm taller, Calvin dude,” Zion jeered, chuckled right along. Zion gave a handshake that he and Calvin had made up in Chicago as he turned to give Marco dap and the same greeting.

“Sup, my family. Good to see you two old heads finally make it back here. We've been excited about the visit for some time now. How's Sa . . . I mean, the Vessel? I spoke with my pops, but he was vague, with good reason.” Zion quickly changed his language, remembering to keep all intel on lock down. “But before we get into that, I wanted you two to know that we got a lead on some rogue Houses that have gone dark. Remember that crew that killed that Nephilim family and took their daughter years ago?”

Both Calvin and Marco quickly nodded knowing all info was limited in public. “We have one of the team members who had reported them on the squad. She has some new intel to share. Intel she has been effortlessly investigating for a while now, bros. We'll talk about that some more later but let's get into this, so what up?”

Calvin gave a curt nod before relaying in code what took place and why they were there. Each word was carefully constructed to sound like they were speaking about sports, missing STL, and the drive down. Zion processed everything with a flash of a frown, his head turned slightly over Calvin's shoulder, which caused him to give a sidelong glance. A dull pain in his side began to come to life, causing him to lick his lips in the process. A shadowed dancing figure drew his attention; more like demanded his full-blown awareness.

The beat to J. Cole's “Can't Get Enough” switched on and the Bad Boys spit out another poem. This time it was performed with a third crew member from the new STL crew and Butta worked it on the stage. Several flourishing tattoos on Calvin's forearms began to flicker then sparked in Mystic currents while the hairs on his body stood at attention.

There was no ignoring what his senses were telling him: something was about to pop off. “Yo, excuse a brotha for a moment, something don't feel right. You know what that means.”

Calvin calmly stood then moved through the club toward the bar. Beams pulsed to the music. The Bad Boys finished their set. More poets with dancers grew the crowd's attention and that shadow made Calvin's eye twitch. Grabbing a drink, Calvin kept his jade eyes on the individual. He instantly knew who it was, at the sound of clicking and the sight of succinct deep-set swaying curves. Pain shot over his side where his Ghanaian markings lay and a sudden throbbing at his temples marked his annoyance. That broad was doing this to fuck with him and, tonight, he planned to take both arms this time.

Calvin blended into the darkness of the club. He saw his brother-in-arms Marco snuff out his Trinity then mentally check in with him:
“Time to strap up, acere. I'm securing my Guide, Cal. I know you're handling your shit. See you on the other side.”

“A'ight, homie, hit ya dome later. Don't get lost in that pretty pretty. Remember that's your Guide,”
Calvin joked, cutting his link before Marco could curse at him.

He took another swig of his drink then headed toward his beckoning target. She stood swaying to the music, lethal dark eyes locked on him. Her hips swayed in a slow siren's wind. Her thick thighs brushed each other, her braids flipped over her russet shoulder while Kendrick Lamar spit to some chicks about “Poetic Justice.”

Cranial pain had Calvin gritting his teeth inwardly cursing.
Is this chick stalking me now? Fuck is she doing here?
Anger kept him on his pace. Sigils in the floor, walls, and structure of the land tugged at his Mystic surges reminding him to follow the law of the club. He didn't give a shit. The rules stated to never feed, never hunt, and never kill, but the rules said nothing about fucking people up with your fist.

Zion interjected his mental, cutting his inner emo party.
“Hey yo, I needed to tell you and Marco that I just found out that the girl's cousin Tweet isn't working the bar. She's back in Cali for some family emergency, so we're clear on that front.”

Marco studied the stage, his gray eyes melting into amber the longer he watched.
“Good, it's always a plan and that just worked in our favor,
familia. Sí,
Zion, keep everything low
-
key and ready your team, acere. A'ight,
retire a la persona rapido.
Move out fast. You good, Cal?”

“Yeah, I got you locked on my right. I see you speaking to your Guide. I have something I'm working on as we speak, keep alert ya heard me?” Calvin didn't wait to get a reply.

He saw Zion rubbing his hands together, his teeth flashing with a smile that made every woman in the room cross her legs with need. Little homie slid a hand over his low wavy fade giving a signal to his other team member muttering a, “Oh yeah, here we go.”

He calmly walked past the stage and clapped a hand to his heart, coughing. Another signal for the Bad Boys to kick their poetry into overdrive. Calvin had to inwardly laugh. The kid may have been a human Nephilim, a simple Slayer, but he knew that in the kid's blood flowed a power that made the baddest of demon's piss and run scared from what he had in store for them. Taking down demons was Zion's birthright. Like every Nephilim born in Society, either angel, or immortal humans like he and Zion were, they innately claimed it with the utmost respect to the Most High.

Calvin kept his pace nonthreatening while he watched his target; then Zion thumbed his nose and wiped a hand over his mouth. A battle was coming, so everything needed to be in its place. Calvin noted that Zion reinforced the platinum-steel door. He leaned against it with his arms behind him, watching the stage as a pure silver barbed bat slid down Zion's forearm to rest in his massive hand. At the bar, Dolla shifted to the side to lock down the cash register. Calvin could read the determination in his old teammate's face. Something had changed in the atmosphere. The fact that Dolla had a sword in his hand, clocking it behind his broad back, had Calvin assessing their surroundings.

With each casual long stride Calvin took, he gave an alluring smile toward gawking women whose physical forms briefly contorted revealing Cursed demons within them. Lights flickered. He glanced around the club to make sure everyone was still lost in the Bad Boys' performance, putting in a little insurance that he wouldn't be noticed once he handled his business.

His target still stood holding out both hands swaying to the music. She made note to run her stiletto nails over each arm to show him that she was back at 100 percent while she danced in front of a trucker. The guy could be Hugh Jackman's twin, except for the gray skin, twin siphon holes at his neck, and now pitch-black soulless eyes.
Stupid cunt,
Calvin thought. That guy was a goner, was stone cold dead, and there was nothing to do about it. His emissary drew first blood on neutral territory when she wasn't supposed to. Something was off.

Sweat beading around his brow, Calvin shaped a Mystic blade in his hand then reached out to snatch at his target. “You drew blood on neutral territory. You're really fucking crazy aren't you, shawty?”

Irritating clicking ebbed against his ear while his hand twisted the Medusa's arm. “I think that is the other way around, big daddy. You're fucking crazy for putting your hands on me, yet again.”

The sharp jab of her elbow hitting his ribs caused Calvin to hiss sharply. He knew she hit nothing but his solid muscle but the pain was still there. “What are you doing here? We put a beating on that ass already and here you are wanting more.”

Music continued to thump in beat. The loud crash, and then thud of a body behind them caused Calvin to whip the Medusa around to get a better view. Unfortunately, as he turned, the Medusa gave a soft chortle then her lips touched his own with the light brush of her tongue. Thrown off by the act, Calvin tried to grip her hard but she used the pad of her fingers to brush his jaw line. She pushed him hard at that moment, using her elbow to send a blow against his head while she hissed out, “This.”

The instant impact caused him to hunker down then reach forward to pull her braids back. However, all he received was air and a couple of cuts from the blades in each strand of her hair. Glancing in front of him, he watched the Medusa jet forward in a brisk run. Ahead of them was Marco with his Guide. Marco's hand rested on the back of a woman they knew as Yaya while they spoke to one another. Yaya was blessed with having metaphoric rose-colored glasses on because she was clueless to everything going on.

The Medusa's purposeful glare of malice with the sudden scent of poison in the air had Calvin rushing forward in a tackling position. Every prayer in his mind connected with his power to propel outward and cover Marco's Guide in invisible armor. Anger had him pissed off to the highest level, which allowed him to reach out and snap the Medusa to him. His jade eyes locked on Marco and his Guide.

They quickly disappeared from the hallways. Calvin used that moment to hoist the Medusa up before him. She floated due to his Mystic gifts and he bound her hand in several bands of green Mystic power. With a sharp tug, he settled her on her feet, and then moved her into a dancing crowd. Menacing darkness ebbed through the club, and slightly darkened their surroundings.

Black currents suddenly radiated off the Medusa's skin, which connected to every demon in the room. Music that was once pure became tainted and everyone or thing associated with the Cursed came alive.
Son of a . . .
ran through his mind. Calvin held on as long as he could, as the Medusa appeared to become stronger.

“Someone changed the rules to this joint. The neutral lines are down. Time to shake 'em up and take names later,”
Calvin heard in his mind. It was one of the Darby twins: Reggie to be exact.

Glass flew in the air shattering. Calvin saw two twin fists smashed into a bulking demon in front of him. The shorter of the duo, Demetrius, ducked then lifted a foot in the air, slamming it right into the face of the furious, dirty, blood-covered trucker. The elder twin Reggie snatched the collar of the trucker, whose once-human hands were now sporting two twisted nailed appendages. Throwing the demon onto the floor, serrated blades appeared from his sleeves and rammed into the skull of the entity and his heart.

Calvin pivoted out the way. The Medusa let out a sharp vibrating pitch that called more demons to mist from the darkness. Lights flickered and music still thrummed. To his left a tall, thick and curvy Nutella woman with a wild mane of natural curly shoulder-length hair used mixed martial arts methods to send a stripper with brunette extensions and Kim Kardashian proportions sliding across the floor gripping her midsection. Calvin had to nod in approval as the luscious beauty dropped to one knee then sent an arsenal of ninja stars, which connected to the face of the woman who had contorted into a demon.

The Medusa screamed in his arms the moment the demon exploded into millions of pieces of miasma. They both watched the woman high-five another decadent chocolate woman with matching curves, but with a low curly natural fade, a scorpion tattoo over her right breast, and a tongue ring. That woman with cutout black gloves laughed. Her deep brown eyes glowed, and then she lifted in the air to send a sonic wave ripping from her shapely body toward a running Cursed minion. Calvin's mouth dropped open. Her long nails glittered like stone, along with her ankh tattoo on her bare waist and he smiled in knowledge; baby girl was a Gargoyle. He wondered what breed.

“Samurai and Poet. Samurai is the surviving member from the Houston crew, but she's from Georgia. She was able to escape and blend into the human population because she's a Disciple, although I'm starting to think that maybe she's of the Slayer class. Her team was seriously messed up,”
Zion relayed on a mind link while Calvin stepped over fallen chairs and pushed tables out of the way.

“What she saw messed with her mental so much so that she hasn't spoken in a long time until recently man and only a little. Poet, she is from Alton, a bad
-
ass Gargoyle that's also able to use her words as weapons against the Cursed. She found us by tracking our energy to a poetry event. She killed it that night and has been riding hard with us since her arrival. She and Samurai have become like sisters,”
Zion continued.

Calvin could understand. He had seen a lot in his past and present, so much so that he himself was amazed at not having gone crazy. Calvin heard Marco connect back but was instantly distracted by being rushed by a demon.

The feel of a heel pressing into his throat let Calvin know that the Medusa had gotten free. The scream that came from her alerted him that she now lay on her back courtesy of his Mystic blast. Wood crushed under his weight and the stench of demon flesh had him staring into the eyes of a human cross between a zombie and a rabid troll. Clenching his teeth, he sent his fist flying to its jaw, sending the demon backward.

His boy Dolla stepped up to the plate while Calvin stood up. Twin jagged blades were in his hands. He stooped down, reached for the end of the table, lifted it, and sent it flying with his blades toward the demon. With a simple clap of his hands, the blades and the table joined together to make a bladed wheel that sliced the burly demon in two. Dolla turned in that same moment to land a
Street Fighter
-worthy uppercut into another demon that wished to rush him at that same time.

Calvin let out an amused roar. “Damn, homie!”

Impressed, Calvin turned on his feet and moved toward the Medusa. With one look his way, she gave him a grin that stated she was ready to play and she motioned to head back toward Marco's Guide. Luckily, the Guide was gone but Marco was back in the club bringing hell into Pink's with an icy trail of dead demon corpses behind him. Calvin was proud of his brother-in-arms and he had no intention to let his own target get out of his hands. With a hard-hitting shoulder slam, Calvin pushed her off course causing her to turn in fury. Gleaming nails slashed out toward his face. Instant reaction caused him to bend his knees then lean backward to avoid the connection with her poisonous talons.

Green Mystic sparks trailed over his arms to form his blade again. With a sharp grunt, Calvin leaned forward to return the favor with his own slash toward her sinewy body. Chaos kept him close to the Medusa. He watched her spin on her heel causing her knee to connect to his face, which whipped him into action. Each spin from her had him stepping backward, blocking the hits. Oftentimes, her long, thick legs would extend with her hits causing him to duck and dive under each one, to propel a couple of punches to her ribs.

Sharp grunts from his target made him smile. Her auburn eyes appeared to darken in constrained anger.

“Agh! Why can't you stay in your place? I have work to do. Don't you realize that you're nothing to me, cockroach!” the Medusa spat.

Bladed braids whipped his way. Poison puddles lay at his feet burning a hole into the floor of the club.

Annoyed, Calvin scrunched his face up then stepped over it. “No, shawty, not really. Looks like I'm something to you, momma.”

His blade changed within his large hands into his scythe swords. With the back of it, he swung out to slam the blunt of it against the Medusa's neck. Her loud curses pierced the music, giving him satisfaction.

Glass crunched under his feet. The Medusa took every hit he gave, but countered returning with her own blows. They were well matched which messed with his mental, triggering a faint mental recall in the back of his mind. It was the cartwheel side jump, which had the Medusa dropping to one knee with her poison nails clutched ready to strike, that had his attention. His emerald gaze intently remained locked on her.

“Impressed that my arm is back? I'm not about to allow your weak, imbecilic hands on them, understood?” she sneered.

“Do you ever shut the hell up, ma!” Calvin roared. He charged forward, his swords flipping before him. Her eyes widened with the insult as she tried to block his hits. Tables flung at him. Demons reached out to hold him back, but a low growl from the Medusa had them letting him go, but not before he swung his arm behind him to lop their heads off.

Pink's was a warzone. Humans who were future fodder for the Cursed ran and watched from hidden spots around the club. Bodies from demons, humans, and Nephilim alike lay in disarray over the floor, the stage, speakers, and even on ceiling beams. However, Calvin went flying backward into a wall by a Dark Witch charge that caused more damage.