Page 23 of Blaze
Refusing to think about the prince of Hell who fathered me, I head towards the door that’ll take us out of the clubhouse and to where I parked my truck. I don’t wait for Kennedy, knowing she’ll be following me, and the soft falls of her footsteps confirm my assumption.
I wish I could take my bike. My skin crawls with the need to feel the wind around me, the sun’s heat burning into my skin, the engine’s roar drowning out everything, even my own thoughts.
I’d never find that peace if Kennedy’s small body was pressed to my back, her strong legs hugging my own, her hands clinging to my waist. Instead, I’m stuck in the cab of my truck, her taunting scent blending with coffee.
As soon as we’re on the road, I jab the button to roll down the windows. She makes a startled sound, her hand going to her hair where some strands escape and whip around her in the wind.
Good. At least I’m not the only one being attacked by something.
She doesn’t say anything, sucking it up while I grind my jaw and glare at the road ahead of us as the town comes into view. A part of me is grateful. Another, more insistent part, wishes her husband was still alive so I could kill him myself for trying to put out her spark. A low growl rumbles from me, lost in the sound of the wind as we drive.
Devil’s Haven isn’t that big, and it’s not long before I’m pulling the truck into the asphalt parking lot in front of a weathered metal building. It’s a warehouse, repurposed for the headquarters of Cerberus Security, the company Reaper created as the Knights’ first legitimate company. The logo matches the patch on our leathers, a massive geometric stylized head of Cerberus in the middle of a chain circle. Made out of stainless steel, it already seems to glow with fire from the late morning’s sun. Reaper cut it out and welded it himself decades ago, and it’s stood strong ever since.
There aren’t any windows, and I can see curiosity in Kennedy’s eyes as she follows me towards the double glass doors, tinted dark against the light. My truck is the only one in the front parking lot, but we park our bikes in the garage in the back. I open the door for her, gesturing for her to go inside first, and when I hear the small gasp escape her, I’m glad I did.
Cerberus Security is a point of pride for all of us Knights. Something that lets us choose how we use the skills beaten into us in the depths of Hell. If it weren’t for Reaper, most of us would still be bending under the yoke of a prince of Hell, filled with loathing and despair while powerless to do anything other than obeying orders.
When Reaper first bought the place, it was half-full of turn-of-the-century, outdated, broken machinery and other detritus. It’d taken a lot of hard work, salvaging, and months of remodeling. The result was worth it, though. Outside, the corrugated metal siding bears the brunt of the harsh desert, but inside, the walls are heavily insulated and armored before being paneled with pale wood. The building has been divided in half by a wall with a solid metal door in the center. Beyond it is the garage and Reaper’s private office; it’s also where any gear is kept plus a steep set of stairs to the loft above where Reaper lives.
While the president has a room at the clubhouse, he’s always kept a short distance from the rest of us—a holdover to when he was our commanding officer in the armies of Hell and had to order us to risk our lives. Now, as the boss of Cerberus Security, he won’t send any of us in if he doesn’t have at least three exit plans. Since escaping Hell, Reaper has never sent us into a situation we couldn’t get out of with our lives. That doesn’t mean we haven’t been sent into some shit-ass situations. It just means he trusts us to have the skills necessary to get the job done and get out. In return, we trust him to not send us into suicide missions or leave out intel.
I put a hand close to Kennedy’s lower back, not quite touching her, to prompt her to move deeper into the open building. Directly ahead of us is the huge table we prep at, with large screens along the wall, and the metal door right in the middle of the section. In the back left corner is Stubs’ domain, where the demon is currently crouched over his desk, his long fingers flying across the keyboard as his six monitors constantly change. In Hell, he was the one to go behind enemy lines and gather intelligence to bring back to our commanders. Now he does the same, except from the behind a computer screen. With his genius, there’s no computer system that can keep him out.
On the right side is the small kitchen set up where even more coffee is brewing and there are two fridges packed full of food. The front of the building, where we are now, is set up to be comfortable for clients with its plush, expensive couches, a huge TV that’s currently off, and even a pool table and a few very full bookshelves.
“This is...” she trails off, the silver travel mug loose in her hand as she looks around.
“Not what you expected?” I say with a knowing grin. No one ever expects a rough motorcycle gang to have a high-tech, clean, organized and very professional building. “Come on, let’s see what has Reaper scowling deeper than usual.”
Reaper, Bones, and Chainz are already at the table, the latter two sitting down in chairs almost too small for our human forms. Reaper stands to the side of the table closest to Stubs’ back, his huge arms crossed over his chest as he glowers down at the papers and photos spread across the table. When we get close, I greet Bones and Chainz with a clasped forearm and hit on the back. Reaper only gives me a grunt before turning his dark eyes on Kennedy.I can’t read him, no one can read him like Cinder, our VP.
My hackles threaten to rise, and it takes every bit of control I have to hold back a growl. As it is, I grab Kennedy’s arm hard enough to startle her and march her a few seats down from the rest, making sure I’m in between her and the president. A bullshit move I’d punch someone else over, choosing someone else over the president. Still, my flames threaten to erupt over my skin if I leave her too close to him.
He’s called Reaper for a reason.
I take a seat next to Kennedy, bracing my arms on the table and ignoring Bones’ grin, made more macabre from the damn skull tattooed on his face.
The metal door opens. Brute and Heathen walk in before taking their usual spots around the table.
Reaper nods once, uncrossing his arms to place his hands on his hips, squaring up.
Shit, whatever they’ve found out about the people after Kennedy isn’t good.
The briny smell of her anxiety drifts off her, and I spare her a look. She might be nervous, but she’s looking at Reaper head-on and not dropping her eyes. A well of pride at her steely determination fills me. She may be human, she may be running from her dead husband’s mafia, but she isn’t weak.
“You said you killed Enzo.” Reaper gets right to it. We all look to Kennedy, who gives him a shallow nod to confirm. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re not a widow.” He pauses. “Stubs, report.”
At the intonement of the demon’s road name, one of the large monitors on the wall lights up with very recently captured video stills of a handsome, suave man of about six feet tall. Even under his expensive looking black suit, I can tell he hits the gym. As they switch through, showing him surrounded by obvious guards and meeting with a face-turned blond man in a white cassock in front of a restaurant, I see the evidence of the blow Kennedy delivered. Pity. One inch closer to the temple and he’d have been dead for sure.
“That’s impossible.” Kennedy’s voice shakes, the nerves turning to fear as she presses a hand to her throat.
I can’t help it. I reach out, grabbing her shoulder and squeezing, unused to offering comfort.
“I saw him. He wasn’t breathing.”
“I believe you,” Reaper says. “Bring up the photo, Stubs.”
A single photo, clearly taken from a security video feed in a city, shows Enzo shaking hands with the blond man in the white cassock. This time I see his face. A snarl rips through me, hatred and fury bringing my flames close enough to the surface that I smell smoke. My reaction is mirrored by the rest of the Knights at the table.
