The Judas Line

“Holy crap,” I breathed.

Cain shot the approaching woman a grin. “Did I not mention that she is more woman than any one sane man can handle?”

“She’s a one woman big brass band. A blonde mountain with tits.”

“Don’t be vulgar.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Well … no.”

When the larger-than-life Maggie saw Cain, she lumbered forward like an out of control locomotive and slammed him in a hug that would’ve flattened a lesser man. He tried to give back as good as he got, but I could tell it was a losing battle.

“Woman,” he gasped into neck. “You are damaging me irreparably.”

Maggie let him go and planted a wet one on his lips. “Thanks, boss.”

I kept my hand in front of my mouth to hide a smile while fielding covert dirty looks from the disgruntled Asgardians.

“Well, well, who’s this?” Maggie’s voice came dangerously close to my ear. A large, shapely hand landed on my back with enough force to stun the average water buffalo. I gulped.

“This young man is responsible for your deliverance from Valhallan hospitality, my dear.” Cain’s voice was smug. “His convincing and erudite arguments swayed the so-called gods to remand you into our custody. He is the one who should fully enjoy your appreciation.”

Next thing I knew a warm mouth and chainmail-covered pillowy breasts were pressed firm against my chest while soft lips devoured mine. Part of me, the unthinking beast, had no problem with the estrogen assault and I instinctively wrapped my arms around her strong shoulders.

Finally the kiss ended, but my mind still traveled on paths more lusty than lucid. I did notice that when she smiled, her face dimpled prettily and there was small cleft on her chin that gave her a somewhat raffish look.

“Oooo,” she breathed into my mouth. “I like him, Cain. Can I keep him?”

“Wha-?” Not my most intelligent question.

Cain winked at me over her shoulder. “My dear, I am afraid that if you were to retain possession of this gentleman you might break him.”

Long fingers ruffled through my hair and I fought the urge to purr. “We’ll talk later, tall dark and sexy,” she laughed throatily. To Cain, “What’s the job, boss?’

“Let us repair to a more amenable locale and discuss the task at hand. Safe to say the current endeavor will help you garner your fifth and final Word.”

Abruptly, Cain and I found ourselves in the hallway, pulled along by Maggie whose long strides and strong grip gave us no choice but to exit the warehouse forcefully. Even the monolithic Ralphie gave way without a word to the storm of feminine purpose bearing down on him.

Once outside, Cain extricated himself from Maggie’s iron hard grip and rounded on me, his face stormy. “What was that about?” he roared, all pretensions gone the way of the Dodo. “You humiliated them, emasculated them! And for what?”

Despite the desire to scream right back at him, I kept my cool. Instead, I stared into his mirrored glaciers and said, “They weren’t going to let her go.”

“You don’t-”

“Yes I do. You do, too.” I rubbed my eyes. “The only person I’ve ever called a friend is being held by my sadistic bastard of a father and those role-playing dickheads were standing in the way.” Breathing hard, I puked forth all the rage and frustration I’d been feeling at the one man I was sure could kill me without breaking a sweat. Didn’t give a damn, though. “A bunch of angels scrabbling for tidbits of power by throwing a rager Norse-style party and lording over a lot of disillusioned misanthropes like Roman emperors desperate to ignore the fact that the barbarians are at the bloody gates.

“Those idiots would have wasted our time just like they’ve squandered whatever miniscule portion of their divinity they retained after the fall. No, I won’t suffer morons who don’t even try to act like the angels they once were.”

Cain did some serious looming while Maggie bit her lip, afraid we were about to throw down the gauntlet.

The oldest man in the world poked an iron-hard finger in my chest. Poke, poke, poke … “You, my friend, have lost all reason … and I love that about you!” His face split nearly in half with the force of his grin. “Twice in two days you have managed to surprise me. Me! And I thought the world had naught else to offer to shake my equilibrium.” Cain leaned close, both hands on my shoulder. “You are dangerous, unpredictable and that is why I reason that we may yet live through this madness!” With that he strode away, hands in pockets, whistling a happy tune.

Maggie and I shared a look. “Is he always like this?” I asked.

She shook her head and hooked her armored arm in mine. “I’ve never seen him this happy, handsome.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Mike

It wasn’t Boris who opened the door to my closet. Instead a statuesque brunette with a chip the size of the Chrysler building on her shoulder stood in the doorway skewering me with her eyes. The line of her sleek black body suit was spoiled by all the weapons Velcro-ed in strategic locations and suspicious bulges that indicated she had still more pocketed away.

Great … Annabeth.

“Get up, priest,” she huffed.

“Where’s the Russian?”

Apparently she didn’t care for my attitude because the next thing I knew there was a strange, bulky looking knife pointed between my eyes. It had to be one of Burke’s repeating ballistic knives.

Intrigued, I rose unsteadily to my feet, wincing and hesitant as my muscles protested every movement, while my ribs, bruised, sent lancets of pain to the back of my skull. Stretching didn’t help, but I did it anyway, playing for time as I studied the woman. Annabeth, beautiful yet opaque, like the space between the stars. Black hair cut to a page-boy bob, broad shouldered, well-stacked, but standing with an air of languid grace that told me her body, while lush, had been honed to perfection like a straight razor. Steel covered in cream.

“Lay on, McDuff,” I said, teeth clenched in torment. At that moment I would have begged Julian for a Healing.

A contemptuous snort, a wave of one slender but strong hand and we were off down the corridors of … wherever the heck we were, the thick pile carpeting and tastefully rich yet understated wallpaper testifying to the magnitude of the Sicarii fortune.

My guide-slash-captor stopped at a door indistinguishable from the one to Julian’s suite and produced a key card, swiping on the lock plate. The telltale glowed green and we entered.

We entered a suite identical to Julian’s, including the wall to ceiling windows that looked out onto nighttime New York, except that all the furniture had been removed from this suite. Gym mats had replaced the sofas, chairs and tables, turning the large space into a sparring room. Only one piece of furniture remained: the ugly steel chair, the same chair I had spent so many thrilling hours on. They hadn’t even bothered to clean off the blood.

Half a dozen men and women, all in black skintights like Annabeth’s, stopped their combat training to stare at me as I sat. All were in their thirties, with the physical and psychic hardness of people who had been breaking bones and ripping flesh most of their adult lives. All had Annabeth’s lethal grace. They scared the spit out of me.

My captor nodded to a youth who bore a striking resemblance to Morgan. He moved toward me with the grace of a panther, raising one long-fingered hand to brush my shoulder. He whispered a Word that I felt from the soles of my feet to the top of my skull, one that removed most of the aches and pains of Boris’ beating.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “I needed that.” My body was once again more or less in good shape and my