Chapter 10
Smack!
Eve’s open palm connected with my cheek. The impact may as well have been from a fly swatter made of tissue paper. The force of the strike hadn’t even made me flinch. Though the intensity of the icy blue fire in her eyes suggested she had put an admirable amount of effort behind the assault.
Fucking adorable, my Little Spade.
“What the hell is this?!” She gestured wildly at the artistic brand I had left on the inside of her leg.
I reached out and tugged the hem of her dress down in place over her hips, restoring modesty before the rest of Superbia came crawling out of the sewer grates.
“That, Little Spade, is what keeps feeble-minded fools from laying hands on what doesn’t belong to them. In this case?” An uptick of a smirk pulled at the corners of my mouth. “You.”
Her hand flew toward my face again, and this time I chose to stop it from landing. Not because I was fearful or remotely intimidated, but because I didn’t have time for these games. I caught her by the wrist firmly, halting the momentum midair. Her open palm hovered inches away from my cheek.
Eve’s eyes widened, fury and frustration forcing her cherry blossom lips into a tight line as I lowered her hand between us.
Sighing wearily, my thumb stroked idle circles over the inside of her wrist. “Little Spade, you’d have better luck suffocating me into compliance.
” I threw her a purposeful pause and a shameless grin.
“Preferably by sitting that sweet little cunt on my face until the taste of you saturates my lungs.”
The flush on her face nearly forced steam to blow from her ears.
After sputtering over which vitriol to hurl at me, she finally spat, “I hate you!”
Chuckling, I raised her knuckles to my mouth to press a kiss there, drawing out the contact longer than necessary. Afterward, I released her wrist, which she quickly jerked back into her own space.
“That may be, but ask yourself this, Eve. Who do you hate more? The twisted sack of shit who wants to chain you to a stage while you perform petty predictions?” I stepped forward, placing a hand on the graffiti-laden wall behind her to invade her space.
My face hovered an inch away from hers. “Or the man who just made you beg to fall apart on his face?”
I pointedly dragged my tongue over my lips, the taste of her still lingering.
She crinkled up her nose as her brows knit together. We both knew who she preferred out of the two options.
“Come.” I pushed away from the wall, extending a hand to her. An offering to either cling to stubborn pride or consider that maybe I was the lesser of two evils.
Readjusting her dress with annoyed tugs, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and lifted her chin with indignation.
“Where are we going?” It was asked as though whatever answer I gave mattered. We were going wherever I wanted, wherever I could keep her safe from the scum that floated to the top of the shitpond in this city.
A wry smile graced my lips before I responded. “Home.”
As expected, Eve had chosen not to take my politely offered hand on the walk back to Sevenfold. A small rebellion on her part.
When we arrived back at my penthouse, we were greeted by one of my associates.
Perched on the arm of the sofa, a man dressed in all silvers and greys waited for us.
From the T-shirt beneath his sports coat down to the loafers on his feet, it all blended together.
Even his hair stuck with the color scheme, drawn back into a low ponytail with several metal clips down the length of it to keep it in one neat line down his back.
“Mr. Reynard. Miss Bechette,” he greeted with a nod to each of us. The flaky scales of his skin bore an iridescent shimmer, pastels that reflected light even at times when there was none to be found.
Eve eyed him with thinly veiled suspicion. “Who’s this?” she asked as she crossed her arms. Disconcertment rolled off her in waves. The unfamiliar presence of the Drakyn hybrid who knew exactly who she was left her shifting on her feet, scowling with her lips set in a tight line.
As for my associate, he met my eyes, silently seeking permission. A curt dip of my chin granted the unspoken request, prompting him to step forward until he positioned himself before her with enough distance to be polite but still engaged.
One arm curled across his waist, and the other rested on his lower back as he leaned forward, eyes never leaving hers.
“Valphyr Zonis of the Opalfire Clan. At your service, Miss Bechette.” He remained bowed before her, a display of respect not just for her but also born of his loyalty to me.
Unfolding himself, he offered a rare smile that reached his pale grey eyes—hues so light that they could almost be mistaken for predawn mist rising from a lake.
Watching closely, I noticed the subtle shift in Eve’s posture when Val offered himself to her beck and call.
I knew that my Little Spade couldn’t resist the appeal of someone whose sole purpose was catering to her needs, to laying the world at her feet. I also knew that Val would adhere to all the strict parameters I’d set forth for him.
Stepping up next to Eve, my hand hovered over the small of her back, just close enough to let her feel the heat radiating from my palm. “I have business to tend to. Val will be here to ensure you remain comfortable in my absence.”
She scoffed and turned her head to look at me with enough incredulity to redefine the very word. “Comfortable?”
Turning to face me fully, she jabbed my chest with her finger, each poke against my sternum filled with the wrath of an angry kitten.
“You pawn me off on a glorified babysitter, and you call it keeping me comfortable? If you think for one moment that—”
Val cleared his throat. “Apologies for interrupting, but I failed to mention that I came bearing this.” He pulled out a brass cylinder from inside his sports coat.
The contraption resembled a cryptex but had ten blank dials on it. At first, Eve seemed genuinely perplexed at what was presented to her.
Holding the device between his hands, a knowing grin settled over his lips that protruded a bit too far for a natural humanoid.
“It is a game my people enjoy playing that involves strategy and guesswork.” He paused deliberately before dropping the clincher. “It is often used to develop telekinesis amongst my clan’s young. In your case, it could be used as a means for demonstrating short-range precognition.”
That got her attention. Her tirade fell silent at a game where she would excel and would keep her preoccupied. Another one of my exceptionally bright ideas.
I leaned forward, murmuring into her ear. “Don’t miss me too much, Little Spade.” My lips brushed over her cheek as I withdrew.
With that, I left them to their friendly competition using their psychic talents.
After leaving the suite, I bypassed the central elevator, choosing the larger service lift around the corner at the far end of the hall.
Flipping my ace of spades out from the inside of my sleeve, I pressed it against an access pad.
The red light above it switched to green with a small electronic beep in the otherwise silent hallway.
With one firm punch of my knuckle to the “LL” button, the car descended into the bowels of Sevenfold, where one unwise vamp awaited judgment.
The lower level, located three stories beneath the casino, was designed for the worst offenders in Superbia’s gambling industry. Not just for those who accrued unimaginable—and unrepayable—debts, but also for the denizens of the city who dared to insult my business and, by extension, me.
In Percy’s case, not only had he become a threat to my Little Spade, but he insulted her honor publicly with his accusations of cheating. Truth or not, I wouldn’t condone it.
Not from him. Not from anyone.
Navigating the narrow corridors, the dim lights guided me to the holding cells marked with an upside-down black crown. These maximum-security prisons were reserved for only the most reprehensible, those who required…disposal.
Even while standing outside the door, I could hear the undead coward whining and pacing with frantic movements.
I shrugged my suit jacket off my shoulders, hanging it up on a coat hook on the wall.
A few tugs on my tie, it loosened, the knot unraveling.
I coiled the swath of silk around my hand and tucked it with care into one of the jacket’s pockets.
There was no rush to my movements, only calm with the knowledge of the reckoning that loomed ahead. Only once I stood there shirtless, my suspenders hanging down at my sides, did I mentally brace for what came next.
My hands clenched into tight fists, muscles flexing beneath my tanned skin, veins bulging with increased blood flow, and my runes warming in anticipation of the violence it craved.
The night guard met my eyes, awaiting my order.
“Open it,” I commanded in a voice too gravelly to be considered my own.
Hinges whined in protest with a shrill squeak that echoed in the air even after movement stopped. The door opened to show the undead fucker turning his head sharper than any natural-born predator. His pacing ceased, and he stood so still that even the permanently dead would be put to shame.
Each curve of the runes that covered my body came to life. It was like slipping shades over my eyes that gave everything in my vision a faint red glow.
Stepping into the cramped cell, it reeked of rodent piss and decay. Soon, it would also smell like the burnt offering of Percy’s remains.
With a dramatic clang, the door shut behind me, trapping us both in this box made of Superbia’s strongest metal and stones, reinforced by ancient sigils.
The moment I crossed the threshold into the killbox, I was no longer Ace Reynard, owner of Sevenfold Casino. I was the infernal brotherhood’s most gruesome Knight of Hell.
There were no words spoken, no threats exchanged. Just two deadly predators locking eyes, one of whom was dubbed by the realm to execute threats within this shithole in the name of a fucking, lazy-ass Prince of Hell.
Hellfire burned in my blood, my tribalistic markings glowing brighter on my skin in anticipation of the infliction of death in its purest form. But not without agonizing pain. Torture. Penance for all his wrongs.
Silence roared between us.
Until it broke.
Percy charged. All speed, stupidity, and snarls.
My hand clamped around his throat with crushing strength that would have snapped the fragile cervical column of a human’s neck. I hoisted him into the air above me, my whole body vibrating with rage. Nostrils flared as palpable fury filled the damp air between us.
With a guttural roar that would have sent hellhounds whimpering with their tails between their legs, I pitched Percy’s body across the small space where he collided with the far wall.
His body met immovable objects, one meaty thud against the wall echoed by another as he fell to the floor.
Goddamn, it was immensely satisfying to hear.
I flexed my hands, itching to feel his cool flesh rip apart between my fingers.
He scrambled to his feet, slower and dazed.
Nothing else existed except this asshole and the haunting sounds of suffering I was determined to draw out of him.
Closing the distance between us, soft taps of my dress shoes whispered against the grimy floor. The cracked concrete was not only discolored from previous inhabitants who had met their demise here, but also bore a sticky layer guaranteed to collect further filth.
Patience settled over me like a wraith’s hand on my shoulder.
As Percy straightened to his full height, it only put him at the same level as my chin. His lips were drawn back, exposing the jagged, discolored fangs that carried the stench of rancid blood.
Time slowed.
The air grew thick, but my movements sliced through it with terrifying ease.
The first blow was with my fist, straight to his temple, snapping his head to the side. He staggered off balance.
Perfect.
That was for looking at her.
The second blow came from my left hook. I didn’t flinch when his teeth cracked under the impact and cut through the tender flesh of his cheek.
That was for thinking about tasting her.
Fucking leech.
The third blow was brutal contact of his nose clashing with my head. Bones crunched in surrender to the force, blood gushed from his nose, and his gurgled protest brought a dark smile to my face.
That was for disrespecting her.
The next twenty strikes? Well, those were all for her, too.
Somewhere between the pitiful yelps, piercing screams, and gasped breaths, I learned some unexpectedly useful information. It seemed that Rip had been running his mouth in the slums of Superbia, searching for the most deranged of us all to join his horde.
You didn’t go to the maggot-infested bowels of Superbia in search of reliable monsters. You went there for volatile weapons that latched onto targets like a rabid lycan. You went there looking for nightmares masquerading as unassuming demons.
By the time Percy lay twitching on the ground, nerves misfiring across his body, the choked sounds that resembled pathetic pleas for mercy became a glorious song of surrender. In response, my pulse thrummed like a war drum’s victorious beat.
Blood mixed with sweat marked my body in splatters and sprays, painting me a vision of violence. The knuckles on both my hands were split open, seeping red in heavy lines. My face, set in stone and fire, promised the ultimate punishment.
I never spoke a word. I never had to.
All of this had been for her, my Little Spade. Not fucking Caz. Not for the betterment of Superbia. Not for some moral high ground I was incapable of achieving.
But the final assault? That was all mine. A jagged piece of wood harvested from a charred putrefactive tree of the seventh circle of Hell plunged into his chest. The impact splintered several bones of his ribcage, and decay bloomed outward to consume what remained of his misshapen form.
The process of true death came too quickly for dear ol’ Percy. When nothing but ashes and globs of bodily fluids remained at my feet, only then did I allow myself to acknowledge my righteous deed.
Pride in my ability to keep what was mine safe. Pride in upholding my duty as a Knight of Hell. Pride that kept me from feeling any remorse over unleashing unspeakable violence on this irrevocably dead fuckface.