The Darkest Torment. Gena Showalter
but he even added, “Today.”
“Your IQ just jacked to the next level.” William beamed at him. “Any idea where you’ll go?”
“No.” He had very little experience with the modern world.
A sigh. “I’ll probably regret this later,” the warrior said, stroking two fingers over his jaw, “but what the hell. We only live twice, right?”
Baden waved a hand, a silent command to carry on.
“For the bargain price of a favor to be named later, I’ll give you one of my homes and even set up a carnal buffet for you. And don’t worry. By the time I’m done, even a man with your lack of game will be able to score a ten.”
* * *
As the rapid beat of rock music blasted from surround-sound speakers, a pair of double Ds hit Baden in the face. He hissed in pain, not that—whatever her name—noticed as she gyrated on his lap.
She reached out to cup his nape, clearly intending to draw him closer.
Every man needs to motorboat at least once in his life, William had told her earlier. Make sure Red gets his chance.
Baden batted her hand away as gently as possible.
She grinned at him, though there wasn’t a single hint of amusement in her eyes. “Performance anxiety, sugar? I know the perfect cure.” She hopped off and spun, shoving her ass in his face.
“Twerking is the best, isn’t it?” William said now.
Baden turned to glare at him. They were the only males in the room, and the prick was certainly living up to his original playboy reputation as he stuffed a hundred-dollar bill in the G-string of his own stripper. A blonde bumping and grinding on him with absolute abandon.
“Even though you should be paying me, I’m feeling generous.” William gave her another hundred. “Don’t think I failed to notice your orgasm. The first or the second.”
She was too busy having a third to respond.
“This isn’t helping me,” Baden snapped.
William leaned forward to lick the blonde’s collarbone. A practiced move he seemed to perform by rote. “Don’t doubt my pimposity just yet. This is only the appetizer.”
Pimposity?
“Listen to him.” Miss Twerk faced Baden, brushing her fingertip along the curve of his jaw. “You’re supposed to eat me up.”
The pain! He endured it a few seconds more, but only to clasp her by the hips and set her away from him once and for all. “No touching. Ever.”
His unintentionally harsh tone made her tremble.
“Go.” Disgusted with himself as much as the circumstances, he motioned to the door. “Now.”
As she raced from the room, he settled more comfortably on the couch and closed his eyes. He needed sex—supposedly—but he couldn’t bring himself to have it. What kind of future awaited him? One dark rage constantly bleeding into another? Like before...
Another memory he’d never lived played through his mind.
He stood outside the dungeon he’d occupied for a torturous eternity, a sea of bodies and body parts all around him. Blood soaked his hands...hands tipped by sharp claws, bits of flesh and other things.
Footsteps thumped in a nearby hallway. A survivor?
Not for long.
Grinning with anticipation, he climbed through the debris and—
The music cut off abruptly, drawing Baden back to the present. He opened his eyes in time to see the last stripper exit the room.
William tsk-tsked at him before flashing away...and returning with two glasses and a bottle of ambrosia-laced whiskey.
Ambrosia, the drug of choice for immortals.
The warrior filled the cups to the brim. “Here. Lubricate your brain.”
The sweet scent wafted to Baden, causing his stomach to churn. For a moment he was a child again, trapped in the burning field, running...running...his heart galloping like a horse at a race.
Not me. The beast.
Trembling, he drained the cup. A tide of warmth spread through him quickly, calming him despite the adverse association, grounding him deeper in the here and now.
“There. Isn’t that better?” William reclined at his end of the white couch, the only piece of furniture in a room of white.
White walls, white floor tiles. White dais with a trio of mirrors in back. Baden’s reflection—the only real source of color—glared at him in challenge. He’d become a soldier he no longer recognized, with shaggy red waves in desperate need of a trim. Dark eyes once filled with welcome only offered silent threats. A mouth that used to quirk up in amusement only ever curved down in anger. Laugh lines had been replaced by scowl lines.
No, not better. “I’m ready to leave.”
“Too bad. I won’t remember how to flash you somewhere else until you’ve gotten laid. And as soon as you appear less murdery, you will get laid. The girls will love you.” William drained the contents of his glass in a single gulp. “Just do me a solid and inform your face this is supposed to be a good time.”
“Skin-to-skin contact is painful.”
The beast snarled at him for daring to voice such a damning vulnerability, even to one of Hades’s children.
William frowned at him. “If you think the wreaths are responsible—”
“I don’t.”
“—think again. They’re not. So grin and bear it or you won’t live through your transition.”
Transition? “Appearing less murdery, as you say, is the true challenge. I’ve forgotten how to smile.”
“Are you whining?” William set his cup aside and traced a fingertip down his cheeks, mimicking tears. “Your new life sucks. So what? Do you think you’re the only one with problems?”
“Certainly not.” His friends were currently hunting for Pandora’s box, determined to find it before someone—anyone—else. It could kill them in an instant. Just boom...gone...dead, their demons removed. Normally a good thing. But evil so entrenched had to be cleansed first and replaced by its opposite. Like with Haidee, Hate for Love. Otherwise rot set in. Which was why the Lords were also hunting for the Morning Star—a supernatural being still trapped inside the box, capable of granting any wish. Capable of freeing the demons without killing the warriors.
Lucifer had mounted a search for the Morning Star, as well, though he had no plans to spare the Lords. He was at war with Hades and determined to win whatever the cost. He’d made no secret of his desire to eliminate his father’s allies: William, Baden and all the others. And as the master of Harbingers—messengers of death—he might just be powerful enough to succeed.
“That’s right,” William said. “You’re not. In fact, my life makes yours look like a picnic hosted by naked forest nymphs.”
“Now you’re exaggerating.”
“Under-exaggerating, perhaps. In a matter of days, Gillian will celebrate her eighteenth birthday.”
“So?” Baden wanted the guy to say the words aloud—to admit to a vulnerability of his own. Tit for tat. “She’ll be an adult. Old enough to handle you.” He couldn’t help but add, “Or any other man she wants.”
“Me,” William snapped. He’d never been able to mask the intensity of his emotions for the girl. “Old enough to handle me. Only me. But I can’t have her.”
When the guy said no more, Baden prodded him. “Because you’re cursed?”
A