Relentless Flame (Hell to Pay) (8 page)

“Bullshit,” Brandon said.

“Dude, it’s sweet. When I’m sick or hurt, she fixes it.”

The minion grabbed him by the shirt as Scott staggered backward.

“What do you mean, fixes?”

“She’s got mad skills, my man. Yeah, when there’s something wrong with people, she can make it better.”

“Explain.” No longer playing the solicitous friend, the minion shook Scott. “Explain!”

“Chill, dude. She puts her hands on me, and whatever’s wrong goes away. Like when I broke my arm, she healed it. Course, it broke her arm in the process but not quite as bad.” He slurred his words more. “She’ll take away my hangover tomorrow. I’ll be as good as new.”

Dante’s regard for her brother’s character dropped another notch. She’d be sick as a dog, absorbing the pain from Scott’s bad decision. So, the elderly lady in the shop, Hannah’s limp, how ill she acted this morning? All from taking away sickness?

Kristus
. And the minion knew.

The downspout he gripped crumpled with a raw squeak.

Brandon jerked his narrow head toward the side of the house where Dante crouched. The minion stood motionless, staring into the shadows.

Dante held dead still as the hungry knife heated up.
Jåvlar
. Shit. The damn knife would give him away. He unwrapped his fingers from the crushed metal and folded them into a lethal fist. If Brandon approached, Dante’d be ready. At least he had the element of surprise.

Thankfully, Scott took this moment to vomit all over the pavement, much to the disgust of the minion. But it distracted Brandon.

Dante crept back behind the house, leapt over the fence, and sprinted inhumanly fast for a few blocks to get some distance between his knife and Brandon. If the minion knew who Dante was, or
what
he was, this could spell horrible news for Dante. But the minion definitely knew about Hannah, and she was in the most danger now.

The knife pulsed.

He needed a kill.

Not now, damn it
.

He needed to get Hannah away from Brandon.

And do what? Hide her away forever? She wouldn’t want to be in the same country as Dante when she learned what kind of creature he was.

What a disaster. All he had to do was deliver a message and leave well enough alone, and now he’d gotten tangled up with a minion, an asshole, and a woman who held his attention like no other woman ever had. And Dante’s mere presence had put her life in danger.

He had to figure this mess out before an innocent got hurt.

As if on hellish cue, his phone vibrated. When he thumbed it on, the command displayed on the text message took his evening from bad to disastrous.

Dante stifled an impatient groan as the man across from him steadied the shell with elegant silver tongs and, using a two-tined fork, slid the slick, gray-brown meat from its coiled depths. After an elaborate dip into the garlic-herb butter, the man popped the
escargot
into his mouth, fluttered his eyelids, and chewed. At the ostentatious dab of linen against his too-red lips, Dante wondered if the guy shouldn’t get a room. Alone.

Although as an Indebted Dante didn’t require food, he still enjoyed the occasional indulgence in a fine meal. Jerahmeel appeared to be indulging, all right, but why did his boss command Dante to meet him here? It was so ... public.

He’d have to tread carefully with Jerahmeel, the being who had deployed the minion. Dante prayed he could avoid making a move that jeopardized Hannah.
Stay sharp, damn it
.

“Ah, my dear Mr. Blackstone. Tonight my mind and palate travel back to my native France, the France of
Empereur
Napoleon. He was such an admirable and odious little man. Not the France of my youth in Carcassonne, where my family ...”

Dante remained motionless as his boss’s scowl pulled his groomed black brows together over ember-cruel eyes.

When Jerahmeel set down the snail fork, it had melted and glowed a faint red. He blew on spidery fingers until tendrils of smoke and sulfur dissipated in the dim light of this corner booth in the luxurious wood-paneled restaurant.

The tuxedoed waiter wheeled over a mahogany cart, bowed, and deftly prepared the Chateaubriand; Jerahmeel’s mood cooled as the food simmered. Cooked mushrooms and garlic coated the tenderloin. The waiter poured wine into the pan, and the entire dish briefly flashed in blue-yellow flame. Dante swallowed. Even sitting across from the creature who disgusted him most in the entire world, Dante could still appreciate a well-cooked meal.

The saliva in Dante’s watering mouth turned to dust when Jerahmeel cut away a piece of pink meat that still wept bloody juices. Unable to watch the grotesque food consumption further, Dante cleared his throat.

“My lord, I don’t want to keep you from your meal. If you would share why you’ve called me here ...”

A wave of volcanic heat buffeted Dante. The piece of meat still speared on the fork charred in seconds until Jerahmeel dropped the utensil and burnt food to the plate.

“
Merde!
You imbecile.”

Uh oh. Not the right tactic. Dante balled a fist on his thigh and pressed his leg to hold it still.

“What information do you have?”

Dante gripped the seat with his other hand until his fingers ripped the fine leather. “About what, my lord?”

“You’d better not be insubordinate. I’ve killed people for less.”

Draw no attention to Hannah.

“Well, I have plans to procure another kill for you soon. Unless you have a criminal selection in mind for me to stalk?”

“I question your ability to focus.”

“That’s never been an issue in the past, my lord.”

“Have you met anyone new recently?”

Protect Hannah.
“I meet people all of the time. So many, I cannot recall.”

“Any new ladies?”

Dante gave his best hearty chuckle and leaned back in the booth. “You know me, boss. I meet ladies constantly.”

The eyes burning across the table had narrowed to two red glints in an abyss of blackness. Smoke, like from a volcano, drifted from Jerahmeel’s fingertips. “Don’t play games with me, my pawn. You’re distracted because of a special lady.” Before Dante denied the words, Jerahmeel continued. “She’s special all right, more than you realize.”

“How do you mean?”

“This Hannah you’re after, leave her be. Look for your entertainment elsewhere. Pay attention to your work.”

Dante’s blood congealed in his veins. “Why should you trouble yourself with a mere mortal, lord Jerahmeel?”

“My minion reports some interesting abilities with this one. Healing, I believe.”

How could he have known that so quickly? “Who cares if she can heal? You’re more powerful than any mortal. Why bother with this woman?”

“She reminds me of someone I know. Someone I want.”

Damn that minion, Brandon.
Hannah had attracted Jerahmeel’s attention. No human withstood Jerahmeel’s ... attention for long. It took every ounce of Indebted strength Dante possessed to remained seated across from his boss, his jailor, his deceiver.

“Surely she is no threat to you. Simply ignore her.” Unfortunately, his powers of persuasion had little effect on his boss.

Jerahmeel waggled manicured fingertips in the air, then inspected his unmarred cuticles. “You are to stay away from her so I may do with her powers as I wish.”

The hell you will.

“Why?”

“It’s not for you to question but to obey. Perform your Indebted duties in a timely and efficient manner. Understand?”

“Sure, but what can she mean to you?”

“I’m not certain yet, but I want to claim her for my future purposes. I will consider the possibilities and make a decision soon.”

Kristus
. Sand had started to slip out of the hourglass for Hannah.

“Ignore her, and I will maintain the possibility of releasing you from the contract.”

“The Meaningful Kill?”

Jerahmeel took a sip of wine, his thin lips glistening with the darker red of the merlot. His red tongue darted out to trap a droplet.

Dante’s stomach wrenched. That mouth, those spidery fingers weren’t going anywhere near Hannah.

His boss nodded. “You have to stay in my good graces to have a chance of escaping the contract.”

“Then I will do exactly as you ask.” Except not. He’d do anything necessary to protect her from this nightmarish creature.

“Reject her and she lives.”

In the hell of your creating? No way
.

“Of course, my lord.”

He waggled his fingers. “Now leave me. I fancy a crème brûlée tonight.”

Any hunger Dante might have experienced was obliterated by the image of this disgusting creature eating dessert. Dante slid out of the booth, dipped his head, and beat a hasty retreat from the fine dining establishment.

What the hell was he going to do?

Could he simply walk away from Hannah and leave her fate in the hands of Jerahmeel?

• • •

In the morning light, cracked paint on the walls of the living room emphasized Hannah’s broken life. Hah. Living room. Not a lot of “living” going on here.

“Sis, I feel awful. You’ve got to help me.” Scott’s whining voice drifted out of his bedroom.

Not again. She hadn’t recovered from yesterday’s transfer of his hangover and Mildred’s arthritis pain. And what about the revelation about Ray? The suffering that news brought on wasn’t physical, but it hurt just the same. Every piece of her body throbbed with a deep, bone-grinding ache. Except that one finger felt completely fine where she had touched Dante. How strange.

“Hannah!”

She ran into the bedroom. Scott had passed out on the floor this time, urine staining his clothes. Her eyes watered at the stench, and she tried not to inhale too deeply. At least he didn’t appear injured, only hung over, or still mildly inebriated, she couldn’t tell which.

“Please. I’ve got to get to work.” He moaned.

She stood a few feet away from him, out of his sloppy grasp. “I’m sorry, I can’t take more right now. Yesterday about ruined me.”

“Bitch.” The word stung, even though she knew her brother was still impaired. “You’re the only one who can make this go away. Why won’t you help me?”

“I can’t, Scott.”

“You’re so selfish.”

“I love you, but I can’t do it this time.”

Her tears welled up at the pitiful picture her brother made on the floor. It hurt, leaving him there. But she couldn’t take on more pain and hope to function today.

How much
could
her body take? What would happen if she went past the limits of her healing power? She’d gotten a glimpse of those limits when she put her hands all those years ago on Aunt Linda’s cancer-riddled body.

Hannah’s heart still beat wildly as she recalled her terror at Ray’s demand. But just like always, Hannah had agreed to try. She had placed her hands on the basketball-sized rock-hard tumor in Aunt Linda’s abdomen, expecting to encounter the pebbles of cancer, and released the dam holding back her power. The gift should have exchanged Aunt Linda’s illness for Hannah’s wellness, but instead the voracious cancer overwhelmed Hannah, consuming all her healthy cells. Her senses failed until she couldn’t sort out any specific sensation in the melee. Before Hannah had absorbed a measure of the disease, her aunt had pulled away with an expression of horror and sadness that Hannah had never forgotten.

Aunt Linda might have saved Hannah, but the failed healing sent Ray’s fury into orbit. Hannah only remembered bits and pieces of the rest of that devastating evening. It was probably for the best. Thankfully, Scott hadn’t been there that night.

“I should’ve left you in Philly.”

Coming back to the present, she blinked. “What?”

“You’re ungrateful.” He groaned. “Look, if you can’t help me, then at least do one useful thing.”

He hit her where it hurt, right in the guilt complex.

“Sure, Scott.” Tears burned her eyelids.

“Just stay away from the giant asshole you brought home last night.”

“What?”

“You heard me; he’s bad news. I’m laying down the law on this one, sis. You might be older than me, but I’m the man of the house. Don’t hang around with him anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” He moaned and held his arm over his forehead. “God, can’t you follow one simple direction? For me?”

“Um, sure. But you should know he gave me some news yesterday.”

“Like what?”

“Like that Ray was dead.”

“Bullshit.”

“He saw Ray die.”

“He’s lying.”

“What?”

“To get into your pants. He’s lying.”

“That makes zero sense. Why should he go to the trouble to come all the way across the country just to lie to me?”

“He didn’t travel that far. He’s making up the story so you’ll do him. Look, just steer clear of that ass clown.”

“Um, sure.” Totally a moot point. After the warm welcome Dante had received last night, she doubted he’d want to be in her company anytime soon. But it still didn’t make sense that he’d make up the story about Ray. No one here knew her old name and her past. Except Scott.

Oh no, had Scott talked? If he blabbed, they were in deep trouble, regardless of whether Ray had died or not. Once the police figured it out, Hannah and Scott were busted.

“Get outta here before you’re late. And bring back money. Ughhh.”

He rolled over on the floor. After a few moments of silence, he snored again, his breathing deep and even.

Her chest hurt. This entire situation was so completely wrong.

Scott’s behavior was deteriorating and unlikely to improve anytime soon, and she didn’t know how to fix it. Time to reexamine the option of leaving. Would Scott be safe on his own? Who knew?

And Dante? Such a pleasant evening had ended so badly.

Could I catch a break here? Just one?

With aches in her heart and in her joints, she walked to work, dreading the day. But she dreaded the time after work even more. Although she loved her brother, she needed to be free of this depressing existence.

• • •

Dante had driven all over Portland and the surrounding area for hours after he left the disturbing meeting with Jerahmeel last night.