Page 33 of Like Grim Death: Part One
Then I think about last night, how this week started. Lucifer with the knife in his hand. He didn’t even hesitate with the ritual, did he? I have no idea who was in the body bag at his feet; all I remember is Lucifer’s clear refusal to take the initiate home, and we didn’t discuss it again, even when Elijah came out for Samson. The 6 are always doing wicked shit. Still, I’m a little surprised they let him get away with saying no.
Probably for the best. He could’ve been lugging a corpse into his house.
But as I cast my eyes about the darkness, pins and needles beneath my skin, I can’t help wondering about who, exactly, was in that fucking bag.
I take another step, but the sense of unease hasn’t let up. I hold my breath, debating doubling back and finding Atlas. Dragging him out into the street and making him tell me what the fuck he’s hiding. But before I can decide what to do, screeching tires explode in the quiet night, drowning out the beat of my own pulse in my ears.
I watch careening headlights flood onto our protected street, my body locked up. My heart thuds too fast in my chest as I see Cain’s Camaro nearly sliding on two fucking wheels until he comes to an abrupt stop in front ofmy house.
I hear the bass thudding in his car, and it pours out when he throws open his door, car still running.
I open my mouth to call out to him, but for some reason, I rethink it, and stay quiet.
Why?
He strides up my driveway like he owns the place, and all I can think about is Ella in there. Atlas’s cryptic words. His text to her.
My pulse quickens.
“Angry” doesn’t really begin to cut it.
I start to run toward my driveway.
Rage and something like fear floods through my body, pushing me onward. But just as I propel myself forward another step, my back foot pushing off the road, a shadow looms in the corner of my eye. I pivot at the last moment, turning toward it, but it’s too late. It doesn’t matter.
Whoever’s there is strong and smart, because their legs sweep mine out from under me as my face crashes against asphalt. My head spins with the impact, and I taste blood in my mouth.
Stars explode in front of my eyes, my gaze fixed on home.
My ears ring.
I can’t move.
I don’t see Cain come back out through my foggy vision.
I should have called out to him. I should have trusted my brother.
But I didn’t, and I don’t hear him, or Lucifer, or Atlas, or Ezra.
I press my palms to the ground, gravel digging into my skin as I try to pushup,but it’s like there’s a weight on my back. A knee.
Someone is fucking kneeling on me. Rage and panic for Ella war inside of me as I try to get to my fucking knees but I feel sick and whoever it is puts all of their weight against my spine.
As I struggle, I hear a voice in my ear, the moment before something soft and wet is wrapped around my mouth and over my nose, and everything goes fucking black.
“Hate to do this to you, Maverick.”
But as my vision swims and my body seems to float into oblivion, I get this feeling hereally, really doesn’t.
Gray eyeslike cloudy ice watch me from the darkness. Inside a black room that seems endless, those irises are the only things I can see.
“Give him back to me.” My voice seems to echo and crawl at once, resounding but weak, on its knees. Like my own words are taunting me.
I push to my feet but stumble alone, as if I can’t do this withouthim.But the eyes,theystole him from me.
“Give himback.” I try to gather courage as my bones grind against a hard floor, and my palms slap the ground, slipping in something.
Something warm and liquid, but with a certain thickness to it.
