Fallen Angels 04 - Rapture (36 page)

Those already icy eyes narrowed into slits. “Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said.”

Adrian jabbed a finger. “You do not play that card. Ever—”

“What would he think about you down here, fucking some chick on the job.” Jim turned his coffin nail around and looked at the bright, glowing tip. “And you didn’t even seem to enjoy it—so it’s not like you’re off post for a good reason.”

Waves of rage distorted the air between them, the other angel’s anger so palpable it was practically a light source.

“I’m going to tell you this once,” the guy said. “And only once—”

“Eddie wouldn’t have been impressed by this—”

The attack was so fast, so vicious, Jim didn’t have time to ditch his cigarette. As Ad locked on Jim’s throat with both hands, that lit tip went up … and came down right in the collar of his shirt.

But the burn was the least of his problems.

Jacking his hands between them, he split that hold wide-open and snapped a head butt out, catching the other angel right in the soft cartilage of the schnoz. Except, apparently, Adrian didn’t have any feeling there either—he just threw out a curving right-hander that slammed into the side of Jim’s ear like an SUV.

Listing off to the side, he caught himself on a stand of chairs and one-eightied his momentum, pitching himself back at the guy—who
happened to have found his fighting stance and was clearly ready to turn this into a UFC free-for-all.

There was a huge part of Jim that also wanted a good, bloody hand-to-hand fight with the guy. But it was hard to pull the soapbox, superior thing about Eddie when he was prepared to go a hundred and fifty rounds with the dumb man-whore down in this corridor.

One gut shot put a stop to the whole thing.

Jim faked out like he was coming in high, and Ad was so pissed off and juiced, the guy fell for it. As he left his navel undefended, Jim went in low and fast—so fast there was no chance to block, and so low that the cock and balls were involved.

Motherfucker was going to sing the high notes like Justincocksucking-Timberlake for a while.

Adrian caved in around his groin, his hands formed a protective cup that was about three seconds too late to protect his nads.

Jim shook the now-crushed cig out of his shirt. His skin had been burned on his shoulder, but compared to the ringing in his ears, it was nothing.

Wonder if he had a concussion.

More dementia was
not
what they needed in this round.

Standing over the bastard, Jim said in a guttural voice, “I know what you did.”

Adrian let one knee go down to the concrete floor. Then the other. “Duh. You frickin’ watched.”

“The prostitute. The runes on her stomach. You burned ’em off her, didn’t you.”

Ad started flapping his lips, but the curses didn’t carry far.

“Let me make myself perfectly clear.” Jim leaned over and put his face right in the guy’s grille. “You ever keep information from me again, and you’re off the team—if Nigel won’t arrange for it, I’ll fucking take care of the job. Do you understand me.”

Not a question.

As Adrian’s eyes lifted, they were like two blowtorches mounted through the back of his skull, but Jim didn’t give a shit. The angel could go volcano if he wanted; they were
not
going to operate on any other terms.

When Ad finally spoke, the words were hoarse, the other angel’s lungs still more focused on reoxygenation from the shot to the nuts than allowing him to bitch. “Do you think Devina … did that because it was going to
help
you?”

“Not the point.” Jim shook his head. “You do
not
get to edit this game—”

“Oh, so I’m an asshat because I was trying to help you—”

“I need to know what she’s doing.”

Ad fell back on his ass and scrubbed his face. “Come on, Jim, she’s trying to fuck your head because you won’t let her fuck your body. That and a physics equation and you can solve the mysteries of the goddamn universe. You know this. So why are the particulars of the message important.”

“If I can’t trust you, I don’t know where I really stand.”

“And if she gets under your skin, we’ve lost both you and Eddie.”

Their competing logic drained the final vestiges of emotion out of the air, leaving a pervasive exhaustion that was clearly communal.

“Goddamn it,” Jim breathed, as he sat next to the guy.

“That about covers things.”

Jim took out his Marlboros. The pack was mangled, a couple of the cigs cracked in half and therefore unusable. But he found at least one that was still intact enough to light.

As he lit up, he glanced over at where the fucking had gone down. The weakness he’d felt in those moments was just one more reason to hate the enemy.

Adrian glanced across. “Eddie would have done the same thing about those runes.”

“No, he wouldn’t have.”

Those eyes turned hard again. “You didn’t know him longer than a matter of weeks. Trust me—he did what was necessary in all circumstances, and anything that has to do with Sissy Barten is your Achilles’ heel.”

“Obstructing information—”

“Can we just drop this—”

“—is as close to a crime as men like you and I have.”

“—and get back to work.”

As tempers simmered again, like their respective pots had been returned to the godforsaken stove, Jim cursed. See, this was the problem with Eddie being gone. No ref to call the shot or the foul and get the pair of them back on track.

No voice of reason.

And Ad kind of had a point. Jim was a little obsessed about Sissy, and Devina was smart enough to know that. But after years of being in the field, the one thing Jim knew to value as much as his own competence was intel—information was always the best weapon and the strongest shield you had against your enemy. If you knew their thinking and their actions, their locations and their movements, you could formulate your strategy.

“There isn’t a lot of solid ground in this game,” Jim said after a while. “I’m fighting on sand, against an opponent who’s got her stilettos on concrete. Shit’s already stacked against us, and if you’re filtering, that’s one more thing I gotta frickin’ worry about.”

Adrian looked over, all dead fucking serious. “I wasn’t trying to fuck you. Honest.”

Jim cursed out an exhale. “I believe you.”

“I won’t do it again.”

“Good.”

In the aftermath, although they didn’t hug it up or some shit, he figured they could give themselves gold stars: This argument had
gone so much better than that first one at the side of the road. Back then, Eddie had had to pry them apart. Guess they were making progress.

“One last question.”

Adrian glanced over. “G’head.”

“What did it say?”

As silence stretched out, Jim figured it wasn’t a good sign. Yup … if someone like Ad was actually choosing his words, it was a really bad goddamn sign.

“Do you want to win this?” the other angel demanded. “And I’m not talking about just this round. I’m talking about the whole goddamn war.”

Jim narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. I do.”

Jesus, he realized, that actually was the truth.

“Then don’t ask me to translate. Nothing good’s going to come out of it.”

There was a tense silence while Jim measured his partner: man, Adrian was meeting him right in the eye, without any kind of prevarication, everything in that big body still as if he were praying for the right answer to come back at him.

Shit, the burn to know to the particulars was like the worst kind of indigestion … but it was hard to argue with the other angel’s dead-and-serious.

“Okay,” Jim said roughly. “Fair enough.”

Up in Matthias’s room on the sixth floor, Mels lay lax on the bed, her arms loose, her legs twitching involuntarily, her mind blown and then some.

She felt like she’d had the best workout she’d ever gotten at the gym, followed it by the most incredible yoga session, and topped
things off with a visit to a spa that specialized in deep-tissue massage and reflex-frigging-ology.

Oh, and also sat down at a DIY sundae bar that had hot fudge made out of Lindt truffles.

Bliss. Pure bliss. The best sex she’d ever had, even though they hadn’t actually had sex …

Next to her, Matthias was curled on his side, his head on the only pillow left on the bed, one arm tucked in, a little self-satisfied smile on his harsh face. Looking over at him, unexpected tears pricked the corners of her eyes. He’d been so generous, not asking for anything in return, seemingly satiated just by the act of making her feel good.

“What’s wrong,” he said quietly as he brushed away a tear with his forefinger. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, God no … I just …” It was hard to explain without running the risk of his feeling inadequate—and that was the last thing she wanted, after all he had done for her. “Just emotional, I guess.”

“Bullshit. You know what it is.” His voice was level, his hand steady as he stroked back her hair. “And you can tell me.”

“I don’t want to ruin this.” She sniffed a little. “It was so perfect.”

“So what are these for?” Matthias turned that forefinger around so she could see the glistening on the tip. “Talk to me, Mels.”

“I really wish I could give you the same … you know, I want to do those things to you.”

His expression didn’t change, but she knew she’d hit him where it hurt: She could tell by the way his breath stopped, and then abruptly resumed—like he’d reminded himself to draw air.

“I’d like that, too,” he said roughly. “But even if my plumbing worked, what I’ve got to offer you isn’t worth seeing, much less touching.”

“I told you, you’re—”

“And besides, what we did is more than enough for me.” Now he smiled, though his eyes remained grave. “I’ll always remember it—and you.”

A cold wave of dread rippled through her, replacing the warmth.

“Do you have to go?” she asked after a moment.

“Yeah, I do.”

Mels reached over and pulled the blankets around her body. “When?”

“Soon.”

“Do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Tell me before you do. Don’t let me find out because I can’t get ahold of you. Promise me that.”

“If I can, I will—”

“Not good enough. Swear to me that you’ll tell me—because I can’t … I don’t want to live with the uncertainty. That’ll be hell for me.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “Okay. I’ll let you know. But I need something in return.”

“What?”

“Stay with me tonight. I want to wake up with you.”

Her body eased, her heart unclenching. “Me, too.”

When he held his arms out, she nestled in against him, putting her head against his chest, hearing the beat of his heart as his hands circled her back, and rubbed slow and even. Talking about sex and departures made her anxious; the contact, however, calmed her down to the point where she began to drift off.

Unfortunately, she had a feeling he wasn’t doing the same, and wished there was some way to have him relax. But it appeared this was yet another thing about them that was a one-way street.

“Matthias?”

“Yeah?”

I love you, she finished in her head. I love you even though it doesn’t make sense.

“After you go, can you ever come back?”

“I don’t want to lie to you,” he said hoarsely.

“Then I guess you’d better not answer that.”

Matthias turned his face into her hair and kissed her. “I won’t leave you hanging.”

Oh, but he would. After this was all over, she had a feeling she was going to be looking for him in any crowd, on every sidewalk, around each corner.

For the rest of her life.

Loss just plain sucked, she thought. And one would assume that as you got older, along with the other skills that you developed whether you wanted to or not, you’d get better at it.

Instead, it just seemed to kick up all the full list of things that you’d been forced by fate to leave behind: The fact that he was going to peel out of her life like a car pulling away from a curb made her feel as though her father had died yesterday.