Page 10 of Like Grim Death: Part One
I turn my gaze to the left and catch vivid blue eyes staring back at me.
The man steps forward, a smile on his face, and I note the shock of dark hair over his brow. The silver snake on his hood. He’s 6, or else he wouldn’t have it. His eyes are a strange blue, familiar somehow. He could be in his late thirties, maybe forties.
Something itches in the back of my brain, a memory worming its way out. But I can’t quite grasp it. It’s tinged with pain, blurred with trauma.Who are you? I know you.
“Excuse me?” I face him fully, aware of the gun in the back of my pants. But it’s under my robe. It will take too long to grab if this man has a weapon in his hands, folded behind his back.
He flashes white teeth when he smiles, no doubt noting the track of my eyes. “I have heard so much about your stubbornness, Lucifer; it is really incredible to witness how it has grown, in person.”
I clench my teeth together, sensing someone take half a step closer to me at my side.
Maverick. I know without looking. But so does this man.
He holds up one hand—no gun and I note he doesn’t have an X on his palm—to stay Mav, without looking away from me. “I suppose it is your blatant disregard for tradition which gave you your wife and son.”
My body feels very cold with those words.
He drops his hand. “Congratulations.” It sounds genuine, which is exactly how I know it’s not.
But I don’t speak. If he wants something from me, he can fucking spell it out.
He nods toward the body I’ve mutilated for him and everyone in this fucking room. “He goes home with you, if he is still alive.” His blue eyes slice to mine, a smile still fixed on his face. He’s daring me to argue.
I say nothing.
“He stays there until I find a suitable position for him.”
That memory is stretching, growing.Who are you?I’ve seen him before. I should know.
Who. The fuck. Are you?
Woods, dirt, the taste of blood. It’s the only thing I can grasp, and even that is at the very edges of my mind, floating through a web of darkness like the rope around my neck. Vague glimpses of horrors I’m not even sure are mine.
I can feel the tension in the fucking room. Everyone is waiting for my reaction, including this man. He’s spoken instead of Dominus, which means his rank is higher. But I couldn’t give less of a fuck about his rank, or his command. Elijah is my uncle, blood or not, and I listen to him because of it. Because he’s not a completely useless asshole like my dad. I respect thisDominus,as much as I respect anyone, I guess.
But this man? I don’t fucking know him, and I don’t fucking trust him, and I’m not listening to shit he has to say.
I cock my head, smiling at him.
He doesn’t blink.
“Yeah? And who the fuck are you?”
The man arches a brow, but there’s no hint of anger on his face. It’s amusement, the way his lips pull up a little at the corner. He lifts his hands and pulls back his hood. I see his hair is wavy, most of it gelled back. Beneath his robe, there’s the hint of a tie. He’s wearing a suit.
“You do not remember me, Lucifer?” he asks softly, words curled with something like glee. He sighs, clasping his hands behind his back again and glancing at the floor. I see his leather shoes, inches from my black Chucks. “Well, I suppose you would have a few problems, after the…” He lifts his gaze back to mine.“Incident.”He enunciates the word carefully. With purpose. It makes my skin crawl.
I don’t outwardly react. It’s what he wants. To push me.
Lilith. Rain. Home.
“Either way, it is neither here nor there.” He glances toward the body again. “He stays with you. It is an order.” His tone hardens and gone are his sly, manipulative tactics. I recognize this shift well. It’s how my father would change too, when he had other places to be. More important things to do.
But I don’t give a fuck about what this man has to do.
No one is staying in my home, order or not.
I smile at him and see his eyes narrow because he’s done playing games, but I never even started. I shrug out of my robe, hearing Elijah hiss my name to my left, but I ignore him, letting the robe drop to the fucking floor. I smooth down my black hoodie, reach around and pull the gun from the waistband of my boxer briefs and my black sweats. My finger is on the trigger as I tap the gun against my thigh, and this man is looking between me and the Glock with his lips pressed together and a crease between his brows.
