Soul Surrender (11 page)

Jules gestured to the slightly ajar cabinet. “You do the honor, succubus.”

T
he door moaned as I carefully swung it open. Various weapons sat organized on the shelving, and below that were a few drawers. I opened the top one, and nestled inside was a manila envelope.

It was thick in my hands, and I reached inside, pulling out a stack of papers. Julian loomed over my shoulder as he examined the papers as well.

“What do we have here?” he asked quietly.

One by one, I flipped through the pages. “They're all hit files, I think.” I swallowed. “Dammit, Lucien . . . what did you get yourself into?”

“How do you know?” Jules's breath was hot, and I could feel him shift his gaze from the papers to my face.

“I saw my own file once. It looked just like this—pictures of me and everyone I knew and was connected to.”

“Let me see.” Jules gently took the stack of papers, rustling through them. I slid open the drawer below it, and there was another envelope with a smaller stack of papers inside. I tugged them out—also hit files.

“These are past files,” Jules interrupted, leaning over with one particular sheet held up for me to see. He pointed to a date. “See? Under status, it says the job is complete. By a . . . Contenitore.”

I scanned the page of the sheets I held. “And these are demons yet to be caught,” I said, and shook the papers.

After a pause, Jules continued. “These are from Hell's official office. I recognize the seal.”

At the top of each page was an embossed circle. Within the seal was the outline of a donkey. “I don't think they're hit files, Jules.” I ran my fingers along the circle's bumpy ridge. “The Contenitore,” I repeated. “Kayce was just talking about that guy. He's a bounty hunter for Hell. A new one who apparently keeps his identity very secret.”

“This could possibly be the next hunter commissioned to kill you,” Jules said, lowering his voice even more. “Lucien could have been getting too close—”

“—and the Contenitore took him out for it!”

Jules shrugged. “It's all circumstantial, but it's at least a lead.”

The top sheet on my pile stared back at me. A demon named Grayson who is assumed to live right outside of the Vegas city limits. He was wanted for conspiring to dethrone Saetan.

“Jules—I have an idea.”

He sighed beside me, stuffing his pile back in the envelope. “I didn't like it when you said that as an angel—and I still don't like it with you as a succubus.”

I handed him my envelope of papers as well, which he tucked into my purse with the other.

I rifled through the rest of the drawers below, where there were a few stones—one carved into the shape of a blade. I ran my finger across the sharp edge and slipped it into my pocket. If it was locked with enchantments, it must be a powerful weapon. And Lucien wanted me to have all the weapons I could carry. “Should we take anything else?”

Jules looked over my shoulder, eyes raking across the various items. Blond hair ruffled as he shook his head. “No. We can always come back again to see if we missed anything. And you better hurry,” he added. “We've got company.”

I closed the doors and slid the enchantments back in place just as Lucien's door slammed open, crashing into the wall behind it.

I jumped, spinning to find Lenny's apple-shape outline by the doorframe.

Jules maintained his usual stoic stance with barely a blink at Lenny's interruption.

“What are you two doing in here?” Lenny grunted, sweat blistering along his receding hairline.

“Shouldn't we be asking
you
that same question?” I spat back.

Julian rested a hand on my shoulder, quieting me with a simple look. Damn him and that calming angel touch.

“Leonard,” Jules began, “we have something to tell you. After an unfortunate string of events, it appears as though Lucien is missing.” Julian's eyes glistened, eyebrows soft and empathetic.
Why, that wily little angel.

“L-Lucien?” Lenny stuttered and his eyes darted around the room from corner to corner. After clearing his throat, he continued. “He's gone? Where?” His acting was so bad, the man couldn't have even been an extra on a soap opera.

With a quick glance at Jules, I took over. The angel couldn't physically lie. Enter: the sex demon. “I'm surprised you didn't already know.” I batted my eyes, tilting my head in the most unassuming way to the side.

“What, me? Wh-why would I know? I don't know anything. . . .”

“I just meant that I thought Lucien checked in with you every day. And since he took last night off from the club, I assumed you'd be the first to realize he wasn't around.”

Lenny's jaw fell, jowls pooling below his chin like an oversized shar-pei. “Well—yes . . .”

“Yes?” Julian raised a brow in his direction.

“I mean, no! Yes, I noticed he didn't check in last night. No, I didn't realize he was missing.” The words whooshed out of his mouth all in one breath. Once pink lips drained of color as they pressed together into a thin line.

For a guy who hangs around the immortal crowd this much, Lenny sure didn't know much about our kind. For a guy who knew that Julian was an angel, he had some balls to lie to his face and think he could get away with it.

“Great. That's all we needed to know.” Julian's gaze shifted to me and he nodded to the door. “Lenny, if you could keep mum on Lucien's disappearance, that would be great.”

He nodded, skin flapping every which way with the movement.

I stared down my nose as I passed him, and he shrunk under my angry gaze. I wasn't done with that rodent of a man yet. You know what they say about rats—if you've got one, then you've got an infestation.

“B
abe, you do not have to do this.” Damien slid a glance around at the group, eyes landing on Julian's with a grunt.

“I wish that was true, but I do. I need to find Lucien.”

Damien dropped his head, swiveling to look at Jules. “Tell me again why I can't be the one to go undercover?
I'm
the professional here.”

“That's exactly why you can't,” Kayce snapped, walking over and slapping Grayson's file down in front of me. “Quite a few people have learned your face and know that you and the angel were undercover—”

“Correction.” He stalked over to my best friend, towering over her. “Adrienne was undercover. I was not.”

“It doesn't matter,” I offered gently. “You were partners. Those who know your supernatural nature know you're capable of this. And if they don't know, you'd be blowing your cover to all of Hell.”

“And I can't do it because I already work as a bounty hunter for Hell,” Kayce added.

“I
want
to do this, D. It makes the most sense . . . as a succubus who used to be an angel, it makes sense that I would team up with a rogue creature trying to take Saetan down.”

“And you're sure this Grayson guy is up next on the bounty list?”

Kayce nodded. “I'm certain of it. He is gunning to take down Saetan—he is absolutely priority. I heard through a contact that the bust was happening today.”

“Really? You expect us to trust your ‘contact'?”

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Jules interrupted calmly, “I agree with Damien on this. Who's your source?”

Kayce rolled her eyes. “The woman who handles the paperwork for our assignments. We alert the paper-pushers when we plan to make the bust so that they will be expecting the prisoner.”

“When did Contenitore make contact?” Damien's hands tightened around his hips.

“Just a few hours ago.”

Kayce directed her attention back to me. “Get a peek of the Contenitore. And if possible, a picture. Try to lie low, keep your reasons for being in the vicinity vague. Stay invisible and mask your powers.”

I yawned, glancing over this Grayson dude's paperwork again. “Got it. If I get taken in, the evidence against me will be circumstantial. I could just be a case of wrong time, wrong place.”

Damien's jaw flexed and clenched. “Right. Because Hell is so known for its just legal system,” he growled.

“We'll be just a second's teleport away,” Kayce said with a lowered glance at Damien.

“And what do I do if I'm too late? What if the capture's already gone down?” I glanced at my clock—Kayce had called the meeting almost immediately upon getting the news of Grayson's impending capture. It was almost midnight, and each of us had spent our respective day coming up empty-handed—except for this Grayson thing.

“I doubt it,” she said. “Typically, you don't make a capture that quickly after reporting in. You want Hell to have a few hours to prepare.”

I nodded. “So . . . I go to Grayson's house. Snoop around and just follow him until something happens. Right?”

“Right.”

“All right.” I tossed my head back, swallowing the rest of my coffee in a gulp. “Wish me luck.”

“Someone should go with her, right?” Damien cut in, urgently.

Jules's crystal eyes regarded me with concern. “We can't. Both the Contenitore and Grayson will sense anyone else.” Jules leaned against my doorframe with one knee bent, foot kicked up resting behind him, and arms crossed. His biceps bulged, and despite his calm exterior, he was clenching—everything. Every muscle rippled with tension.

“You're telling me that you can't mask your powers, too, angel?”

Jules's gaze shifted from me to Damien. “I can mask my powers, but I can't interfere so much with demon investigations as to join Monica on this. Not without permission from the counsel.”

“Bullshit,” Damien spat, stalking over into Jules's personal space.

“It's okay, D. I'll be fine.”

Kayce snaked her arm into mine, pulling me in for a rare hug. “Damn right, you will. And we should see you within twenty-four hours.”

I took one last look at the address. “Well, here goes nothing.” With that, I closed my eyes and teleported to Flower Avenue in North Vegas.

New Jersey, 1776

 

T
he dark tavern was adorned with candles, torches, tables, and benches on ebony wood floors. Outside, November's freezing rain and wind whipped against the windows. Normally, I would be able to count the stars in the sky, ignoring Lucien's blatherings, but storm clouds and a curtain of rain prevented my mind from drifting off. Besides, I finally had a purpose for being out with my ArchDemon. Jack, according to his compatriots, came every Tuesday evening to Bear's Tavern—the notorious Tory haunt. Once he arrived I was to cuddle up to him and his group, introduce Lucien, and discover all that I could about the Loyalists' plan.

“You will point this Jack person out to me when he arrives, right?”

I nodded and sipped my pot of beer, glancing around the tavern. The men were loud and the clanking of mugs even louder. One voice shouted above the rest. “As if a hundredweight of sopping wet tea would stop the most vigorous army on earth!”

A chorus of “hear, hear!” rang out. Lucien's arm straightened with the rest, saluting. Beer sloshed over the edge, splattering my shoe. “Aye, my friends! Man was created to obey! Obey their Kings and their God without question!”

“Ah, yes,” I sneered, raising my glass begrudgingly. “It makes such perfect sense for a King three thousand miles away to be dictating our laws and getting rich off our taxes.”

Lucien darted a glare in my direction. “Keep your tongue civil, my love,” he managed through gritted teeth.

“You're full of swill, Lucien.” I held his fiery gaze. His mouth twitched in anger and he grasped my elbow, pulling me in close so that his breath, hot and moist, fell upon my face.

“Listen. We are here because of your vision. Undercover. Act like a damn Tory or we'll both be hung for treason.” He released my arm, tossing me to the opposite side of the table, the bench beneath me wobbling with the sudden movement.

“As if you're afraid of a few Lobsterbacks,” I grunted. I said it quietly enough so that no human ears could hear us. Lucien's face reddened all the same.

“No. But I am afraid of our cover being blown and me getting demoted. What do you plan to do then, dear sister?”

I didn't answer, but looked on Lucien's hard face with cold eyes. The olive skin of his face was set in a scowl, large eyebrows shadowing his already dark eyes. His long black hair sat in a coifed ponytail with curls around the crest of his head and ears.

I opened my mouth to throw back a retort when the tavern door swung open with a blast of frigid air and even colder rain. Plates rattled on the tables, and there, standing framed by the outline of blackened sky, was Jack.

“Close the damn door!” someone yelled from the back.

“Aw, shut yer hole!” Jack shouted, but with a good-natured smile on his charmingly lined face. He spun and, with the weight of his body—a body I'd come to know quite well—slammed the door closed. With a few jovial greetings, he headed to the bar, slapping a palm down. “Get me a cider, will ya?”

I smiled at Lucien. “That's our man,” I whispered.

With a surreptitious glance over his shoulder, Lucien rolled his eyes at me. “Of course it is. I remember that one now.”

“Do you think he is married?” I glanced around the tavern again. Only one other woman sat at the bar—also a prostitute. But not a succubus one, just your average, run-of-the-mill tavern whore.

“At his age, it's rather likely.”

“I didn't see any wife in my vision.”

Lucien drained the rest of his beer, slamming the empty glass down onto the table. “Now's as good a time as any to find out.”

After a deep breath, I stood, wrapping my shawl tighter around my shoulders but tugging my dress lower off my voluptuous breasts. The lace edging of my bodice accented the swell of flesh there. I wanted to appear desirable but not downright like a lady of the evening. It was a fine line to be respectable enough to be seen among friends and yet lascivious enough to stir desire in the loins.

With a few bits in my palm, I moved one person down from him at the tap. “How much for another cider, please?” I opened my hand, making a show of counting my money.

His breath quickened to my left, and I knew he'd taken my bait. I stared at my palm, waiting.

“Well, well, well.” I heard the rustle of his coat being removed beside me, and I smiled inwardly. “Good evening to you.” When I raised my gaze to his, I mocked surprise, forming my mouth into a perfect circle. He tipped a triangular hat in my direction, his smile a seductive invitation.

I flushed as his gaze brushed the length of my body. “Jack!” I tightened my palm around the coins. “Oh, how embarrassing this is.” I fluffed my curls with fingers and immediately moved to take the shawl off, positioning myself in an intentionally awkward but alluring position. “I wasn't on duty tonight—b-but, of course, I could be.”

His smile deepened. “No need for any of that, my pet.” He gingerly wrapped the shawl around my shoulders, his knuckles brushing the bare flesh above my breasts. “It's far too cold to be shedding oneself of layers. In fact”—he lifted his coat from the back of the seat and nestled me inside—“take mine, too. You're dreadfully cold.” His amber eyes twinkled with his smile, and another pang of regret tugged my core. He was nice. It was hard to believe such a man could be so evil. Maybe my visions were wrong? I was still new at auras and visions and the like—could I have been mistaken?

He curled his hand around mine, fisting my hand around my money. “Keep your coins, dear girl.” With a gesture at the barkeep, he motioned for another cider. “What brings a sweet thing like you out to the tavern on such a cold night?” He lifted a leg to the bar, leaning closer to me.

I lowered my chin demurely. This man loved his women sweet and innocent. “I just had to get away from the other girls.” I gestured to Lucien. “My brother took me away for the night.”

Jack threw a glance at Lucien over his shoulder before looking back to me. “The women there—do they treat you well?” Concern sloped at the corners of his eyes.

I shrugged in response. “Well enough, I suppose. When your brother is the owner of the place, they have to keep up appearances.”

He cleared his throat. It had been a handful of days since I had seen Jack. Not too long—but for a prostitute, long enough to lose one's virtue and then some. “And I assume business is prosperous?” He pulled back, taking a slug of cider.

The barkeep placed another mug in front of me, and I, too, lifted it to my mouth, making a show of taking a dainty sip. “Oh, indeed,” I answered. “For most girls, very.”

His brow lifted. “I wasn't asking about most girls, was I?”

I shook my head. “No, but I cannot speak to you of such things.”

His breathing was deepening; each inhale–exhale heaved his well-defined chest. “Why is that?”

“It would be dreadfully inappropriate.” I lowered my voice, allowing a natural huskiness to take over. I flicked a glance to his trousers; they were tighter around the center, and he snuck a hand down to adjust himself. I turned away, shyly. “I apologize.”

He grabbed my hand, squeezing with urgency. “You don't ever have to apologize for that. Not to me.” He swallowed, neck muscles tense. “Now tell me—it's only been a couple of days since I saw you last. Have you . . . have you been busy?”

I shook my head. “I've had many offers, but since you . . . since we . . . I can't stop thinking of you.” Through my nostrils, I released my pheromone, and his pupils dilated as he unknowingly breathed in my scent.

“I can't describe to you how happy that makes me,” he whispered, more to himself.

I offered him a sad smile, pulling my hand back and placing it on the splintered wood bar top. “A man such as you must be spoken for already.”

Clearing his throat, Jack took another drink of his cider. “No.” His voice was rough, raspy, and clenched with the threat of sorrow.

“No? You mean to tell me you're not wed?”

He stared into his mug, refusing to meet my gaze for what felt like ages. After a long pause, he lifted his gaze to stare straight ahead—still not glancing at me. “Widowed,” he answered quietly.

I didn't press anymore. There was no need to. “Well, I'm certain my brother would be none too happy with the thought of losing my business. Or should I say, your business.”

Jack's face split into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. With peek over his shoulder, he nodded in Lucien's direction. “What's yer brother's poison?”

“Whiskey.” I grinned. “And women.”

“A man after my own tastes. Shall he and I get acquainted, then?”

I shook my head, looking to the floor. Though Lucien's eyes stayed straight ahead with his back to us, I knew he was hanging on to each word. “I'm afraid my brother's only language is that of money and the King.”

Jack's hand splayed on my hip, the heat from his fingers burning through the layers of my skirts. “Then he is in good company, my pet. I've got plenty of money and even more Loyalist influence.”

Ordering a whiskey, he linked his fingers in mine and tugged me toward my boss.

 

Thirty minutes and three drinks later, Lucien and Jack's bond was a kinship. A brethren of sorts. I watched, in awe of Lucien, both admiring and despising him for his impressive deceit. Glasses clinked, voices sang, and arms embraced him as one of their own. All the while, Jack sat with me, his hand circling my knee higher and higher until his fingers caressed between my legs.

“Lucien,” Jack said, sending me a wink and squeezing my thigh. “I must confess, I've grown rather sweet on your sister here.”

“Aye,” Lucien said, slurring his words and swaying in his seat. “She's a regular slice of apple pie, that one is.” His body circled, and Jack caught his shoulder just before he fell off the bench. “Thank you, my friend.”

I turned my torso in Jack's direction, brushing my bosom against his elbow. His breath hitched and he slid me a scorching gaze. A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips.

Jack patted Lucien's shoulder. “Now, about this beautiful flower you've got here . . . what can we do to arrange it so she is available exclusively to me?”

Lucien hiccupped, convulsing his shoulders with the high-pitched noise. “Not much, I'm afraid” He fell forward on his elbows, leaning in to Jack. “She's my most requested lady. Only wish she was more bloody experienced.” He lifted the empty glass to his mouth and dropped it back to the table with disappointment when he realized it was already drained.

“What if she gained experience? With me? I will pay generously.”

“Believe me.” Lucien's eyelids dipped, cutting his eyes in half. “You can't afford her.”

“You might be surprised. I will double her normal rate weekly to be with her as much as I like.”

“You need to add another double to that and you'll get her twice a week. And in exchange she sees no one else,” Lucien stated, suddenly not slurring nearly as much.

“Now, now, don't try to take me that way. Double. For twice a week, but never in your facilities. She must be available as my escort and in a way that no others in town know she is a strumpet.”

I sharply inhaled—bloody Hell, I hated that word.

Lucien paused, and the two held each other's stare in a showdown. “Double does not come close for all of that.”

Jack swallowed, glancing around the tavern. A group of his comrades sat at the table next to us, one by one descending into drunken mishaps. It was about that time of night that the tavern crowd begins to dwindle. “Very well.” Jack dropped his voice to a husky whisper, eyes still darting around the room. “I have it on good authority that Trenton will be getting quite a few visitors from . . . overseas.” He cleared his throat, inspecting that no one was listening in.

Lucien leaned closer. “Go on.”

“They will without a doubt be . . . looking for some jolly times. For it will not only be a holiday, but I certainly believe they will have reason to celebrate. Do you follow?”

“When will this be? And for how long can you guarantee me business from these . . . soldiers?”

“They will be here just before Christmas. And will likely be in town for quite a while. I can personally ensure that they go nowhere else for their needs.”

Lucien's eyes twinkled, and he grasped Jack's hand in a firm shake. “You arrange the soldiers on top o' your double wages and you've got yourself a deal, sir. My girls would be honored to serve the King's men.”