“The sinkhole.” I keep pouring greed into him, not giving him a chance to come to his senses. “Who opened it? Where can we find them?”
“Oh.” His brows pull together a little as he thinks. “I don’t know the name. But I heard a guy talking about opening a portal. He was bragging about it, trying to bag a succubus who was way out of his league. Said he’d single-handedly performed a spell to open a pathway from Earth to Hell.”
“Where was this?” Phoenix sounds like he couldn’t care less if he tried, but a hint of interest gleams in his eyes.
“At Heaven’s Gate.” Henrik leans forward a little. “You know. The casino?”
“Yeah, I know it. What does this guy look like?”
“I’m not sure. He had his back to me, but he was definitely a demon. High-level.” The bookie is practically panting now, and I dial back the greed a little.
“That’s it?” Ford growls as he paces on the other side of the room. “That’s all you got? You don’t know this guy’s name or what he looks like or where he might be now?” He spits on the floor. “Fuckin’ useless.”
A look of panic crosses Henrik’s face, and I’m sure he can see the stacks of cash disappearing in his mind’s eye. Well timed, Ford.
“No! Not useless! I don’t know his name, but I know he goes to Heaven’s Gate a lot. He’ll probably be there tonight!”
“Good.” I nod. “Then we will be too. We’ll find this guy, grab him, and make him close the portal permanently.”
A sly look enters Henrik’s eyes, and he grins, revealing bloodied teeth. “Then you’ll give me my reward? You’ll let me go?”
“No.” I chuckle softly as I pull back on the greed I’ve been feeding into him. Phoenix steps away too, yawning as he goes to lean against the wall. “You were right. You are useful. And we’re not in the habit of letting useful things go. Especially since we don’t even know if your information is good yet.”
Henrik’s expression transforms from avarice to anger, and he sputters, little droplets of pink spittle flying from his mouth. “What? You can’t do that! You have to let me go! You have to—”
“We don’t have to do shit,” Ford snarls, stalking over to get up in the demon’s face. “Not even keep you alive. So thank your lucky stars all we’re doing is keeping you tied up in this room a while longer.”
Another small squeak comes from behind me, but when I look over my shoulder, Trinity has her lip clamped between her teeth, obviously keeping herself from saying anything. I half-expected her to argue, to plead on the demon’s behalf. She seems like the kind of bleeding-heart optimist who would do something like that.
But she doesn’t say anything, and I can see in her eyes that her silence is a conscious decision. She must know that if we let the demon go now, he could turn around and rat us out to whoever set up that portal to Hell. Then our target would know we were coming—and whether they chose to run or fight, it wouldn’t bode well for our mission.
Her gaze flicks to mine, and I nod absently as I gaze into her dark eyes, finding a newfound level of respect for her.
She may be an innocent goody-two-shoes, but she’s no fool.
She’s smart.
And she’s just as determined as we are.
Chapter Twenty-One
Trinity
I can’t wear this dress. I absolutely can’t.
Since all the stuff Beckett stocked my closet is of the more practical and casual variety—jeans and tops, that kind of thing—he had one of his assistants deliver a dress for me to wear to the casino.
But I can’t wear it.
I mean, I can’t possibly pull this off.
Groaning, I peer into the full-length mirror in the guest bedroom, shaking my head at the woman in the reflection. Nope.
I’m not sophisticated or sexy or any of those things. I’m an awkward geek who spends all her free time watching movies and television. I can’t even hold down a job, it seems. And I’m supposed to actually wear this the way it was meant to be worn?
There’s nothing wrong with the dress itself. It’s a beautiful bright blue color, a color that contrasts perfectly with my own dark brown skin. It’s also a color that’s designed to be shown off, to get attention, to draw the eye, and uh—I am not good at that whole thing. At having people’s attention on me, I mean.
As if the color wasn’t bad enough, it’s eye-catching in another way too. The entire dress is made of finely detailed lace with a slit up the leg, the kind that’s only visible if I walk or stand a certain way. The fact that the lace is covering my skin but is also revealing a lot, making it both coy and sexy, demure and provocative, feels like a study in contradictions that a model would have a lot of fun pulling off.
But I am definitely not a model.
I strike a few poses in the mirror, but I just feel ridiculous and awkward.
Darn it. I don’t feel right in this at all. I don’t look sexy, I look dumb. What am I supposed to do here?
A snort comes from behind me, and I freeze, my stomach falling all the way to the floor. Oh no.
Turning around, I see that none other than Ford is standing in the room, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. We’re all supposed to dress up for this mission, but he hasn’t changed yet. He’s wearing dark jeans that hug the thick muscles of his legs and a plain white t-shirt that stretches indecently over his chest. He looks annoyed at me.
“Um, can we just pretend you didn’t see that?” I shift uncomfortably, smoothing down the dress.
“What, that I didn’t see you trying to act all provocative and looking like you’re fuckin’ constipated instead?” He grins, a feral stretch of his lips. “Not a chance.”
His words actually sting, and I hate that. He’s been a jerk to me more times than I can count since I met him, but there’s something different in his words this time. As if they’re not coming from his Wrath. They’re just coming from him.
“You’re a jerk. You know that?”
“Yeah, I’ve been told. Actually, that’s one of the nicer things I’ve been called.” He walks closer, stepping around me, examining me. “I gotta admit, I don’t see how you can be so good at seducing my brothers if you’re also this fuckin’ ridiculous.”
The anger burning in my chest flares brighter, and I glare at him. “I’m not seducing anyone! I was hit by that—that stuff, and they were trying to help me get it out of my system.”
He makes a noise low in his throat, almost a laugh, and I clench my hands into fists.
“You know what?” I blurt. “I’m glad you weren’t in that room with us. At least the others have been nice to me about it. The whole thing was awkward and strange and embarrassing”—and hot—“but at least they took care of me! They didn’t try to make me feel bad for something that was out of my control, and they haven’t kept bringing it up like you are. Even Beckett was nice about it, and he’s almost as big of a jerk as you are!”
My chest is heaving, my whole body trembling with anger. I’m at least a foot shorter than this man, and after being chased around the living room and pinned like a bug beneath him, I know I’m no match for him physically.