In his previous life, before he’d been electrocuted on a job site and recruited for this dumb-ass, thankless job, he’d have loved to have tackled a place like this. It was the carpenter in him. Room by room, he would have gone through and replaced floors and replastered walls and sealed and repainted ceilings. Stripped moldings back down to the original wood and revarnished. Swapped out 1940s appliances and fixtures for things that had been made in the current century, but looked old and weren’t fire hazards. Made the cabinets and cupboards himself.
For a moment, his blood pressure dropped as he entertained the fantasy, the smell of pine being cut on a circular saw filling his nose, the sound of nails being hammered home ringing in his ears, the rhythmic scratching of sandpaper tightening his arm muscles.
So much more satisfying than anything else he could do with his life: What was great about home renovation was that the improvement was immediate and lasting—and absolutely measurable, no backsliding, no double standards. You had a toilet that ran all night? Take it out, get a new one, do an install. Heating didn’t work? Run some fresh ductwork and get yourself the right unit. Upstairs drafty? R-19 insulation, baby.
Yup, that had been a fun conversation. Productive, too—they’d both been even more worked up and angry at the end of it.
“So you gave up on the eggs?” Adrian said from behind him.
Jim shut his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about Nigel.”
“I thought I was asking about breakfast protein?”
“And I’m not interested in your opinion.”
“Well, you already heard it—because I agree with Nigel.”
Jim took a long drag. “Do us both a favor and back out of this room—”
The bomb went off in the front of the house, the thunderous noise rattling the shelves in the cupboards and rocking that light fixture.
Jim was out of his chair before the noise faded, shooting through the dining room, pounding into the foyer…
The fact that the door was still intact was a shocker, but there were cracks in the leaded glass windows on either side of it. As he yanked open the heavy oak panels, he had a crystal knife in hand—that shit had not been made by a human, and that meant he’d do better with something that had a little more kick to it—
Jim stopped dead.
Lying on the weathered floorboards of the front porch, a female form was tucked in on itself, a dirty shift covering pale skin, thin legs pulled in to the belly as if to protect against a beating.
Long blond hair fanned out, the strands catching the light that flowed from the open doorway.
Jim fell to his knees, his body weight slamming down on itself. He felt no pain from the impact, a stunning numbness taking him over.
His hands were shaking as he reached out and touched the ends of the blond strands. Between one blink and the next, he saw a drain, a pool of blood, a red stain on the golden waves.
“Sissy?” he croaked in a voice he’d never heard come out of his mouth before.
“Where’s my fucking flag.”
Jim jacked his head up.
The demon Devina was standing over them, hands on her hips, Sofia Vergara body filling out something black and leatherish. Her eyes were gleaming, but not with satisfaction.
Jim ignored her. “Sissy…?”
That bitchy voice came from above, sharp and demanding: “Excuuuuuuse me. Leave that stupid-ass little girl alone and give me what I’m—”
Wrong tone. Wrong attitude. Wrong motherfucking words.
Jim attacked before he was aware of moving, his body exploding up, his left hand locking on the demon’s throat, his massive strength throwing Devina back against the side of the house so hard he didn’t just break the shutter behind her back; he shattered it into splinters.
Devina just purred. “How nice to have your full attention.”
Jamming his face into hers, he put the tip of that crystal knife right to her temple. And then for a moment, all he could do was pant, his brain jammed up with what she had done to Sissy, what she had forced that innocent to see down in Hell … what he wanted to do to the demon in payback.
Instead of her fighting to get free, her thigh inched in between his braced legs. “Maybe we can seal this deal properly—”
Jim shoved his palm against her mouth, pushing it in so hard, he distorted her fake beauty into an echo of how ugly she really was.
As she began to struggle, he bared his teeth and thought about biting her somewhere, anywhere.
“Adrian,” he growled in an inhuman way. “Get the flag.”
When uneven footfalls began to retreat, it was clear that the other angel was on the case.
Devina began to fight in earnest, wrenching her head, clawing at his arms. Except as she got her mouth free, she just whispered, “Someone’s watching you.”
Jim frowned.
Oh, fuck, Sissy.
He dropped his hold and leaped out of the demon’s range.
Sissy had pushed herself up and was cowering in the far corner of the porch, her knees drawn in against her chest, her arms locked around them. From behind a veil of tangled blond hair, she stared out with horrified eyes.
And she was looking at him that way. Not Devina.
Jim dragged a hand through his hair. “Shit.”
In his peripheral vision, Devina yanked her clothes back into position and stamped her heels like her panties had gotten into a wad and she was hoping gravity would do the work.
Tossing her hair, she addressed Sissy. “Are you scared of him? You should be—”
Jim put his body in the way. “Don’t talk to her.”
“What. Like you fucking own—”
Ad picked that perfect moment to reappear with the flag. “Take it and get the hell out of here,” the angel said in an exhausted voice.
For a split second, Devina’s real face showed through the skin she wore, the decaying flesh and glowing bone surging through the lie.
That hideous spectacle cranked over in Jim’s direction. “We’re not through. Not by a long shot.”
As Jim’s chest pumped up and down, he didn’t trust himself to reply—he just prayed that for once in her horrible life, the bitch took someone else’s advice and disappeared without another syllable leaving her mouth.
After all, the last thing he wanted was for Sissy to be exposed to more trauma. And yet even with that hanging over him … he wasn’t sure it was enough to keep him from ripping that demon limb from limb.
The cold, clear air felt good on Cait’s face, her sinuses tingling, her mind clearing. It had been hot in the cafe—and not just because of the body heat from the crowd.
She shook her head. “Stop it.”
Unfortunately, the command was oh, so easy to follow: In the work of a moment, thanks to all kinds of heavily forged neuropathways, her mother’s religious narrative took over, mowing down the nice fact that a very
