“I could’ve handled that,” I say, my mouth forming the words automatically.
What I really want to do is ask him why he went out of his way to help me. That seems to go directly against his philosophy of doing as little work as possible. The slothful thing to do, the lazy thing, would’ve been to just hang out, eat some popcorn, and watch.
“Yeah, I’m sure you could’ve, but then there might’ve been some kind of crazy fucking scene, and the last thing we want is to draw attention.” Phoenix pauses, staring into my face. “You okay?”
I nod. I’m fine. It wasn’t fun, of course. I feel a little bit dirty where the old man touched me, slimy, and a part of me wants to go back and punch him in the face. But mostly, I’m busy being shocked that Phoenix has gone out of his way for me.
It’s to complete the mission, I mentally scold myself. It doesn’t mean anything. Stop trying to find meaning in everything these men do.
“…of course your business won’t be affected,” a man says tersely from somewhere to my left, his voice low and rough.
A smell reaches my nostrils—one that I recognize, even though it’s muted, like someone’s tried to cover it up.
Sulfur.
I grab Phoenix’s lapel and set my tray down on a nearby table. “He’s nearby. I can smell him.”
“Should I be worried about you being able to freakin’ smell the guy?” Phoenix whispers back.
“Are you sure?” another person responds angrily. I can’t tell what their gender is, and when I look over to find the source, I can see that it’s because the person speaking doesn’t seem to be any kind of human at all. They’ve got scales all over, and no nose, a bald head, and frills on the sides of their head instead of ears. “I don’t know what you all are up to, but the business of Below does not concern us. We want no part of your crusade.”
“That’s him,” I whisper to Phoenix, who has a look on his face that tells me he’s reached the same conclusion. “That’s him. That’s the guy!”
Still holding on to Sloth’s lapel, I shift slightly, peering subtly over my shoulder again. The sulfur smell is stronger now, and I finally get a glimpse of the man standing next to the lizard-snake-person-thing.
The guy with the sulfuric scent looks remarkably human, which is worrisome. It means he’s higher up the food chain, so to speak. A more powerful member of the corrupted. The only hint of his origin is the too-sharp smile that he gives as he speaks to his companion, and the smell of sulfur that clings to him no matter how much he’s tried to hide it with perfume or deodorant or whatever it is.
“Get the others,” I whisper to Nix.
“You should get the others.” He lifts a brow, grinning down at me. “Then I can just stand here and keep an eye on him.”
“You’re hilarious,” I grumble, but he is Sloth, so I guess I shouldn’t be all that surprised.
I peel off and go to fetch the others, who have congregated over near one of the blackjack tables, talking to one another in low voices, probably about what luck they are or aren’t having in finding our guy.
But to reach them I have to walk past our mark, and as I do, I see him stiffen.
Oh, no. Maybe Phoenix and I weren’t as subtle with our glances as I thought. Or maybe he noticed me walking with too much purpose. But whatever it was, it’s made this guy suspicious.
The demon turns and fixes his gaze on me, his body going rigid.
I freeze like a deer in headlights, my instincts screaming at me that this man is my mortal and natural enemy, that I need to flee or destroy him. My wings nearly sprout out of my back, but I manage to force them back inside before they truly blow our cover.
Crap. I need to either get back to Phoenix or make it to the other guys across the room. I need backup.
Before I can decide which way to move, the mark lunges at me.
I scream in alarm, throwing up my hands, but he doesn’t try to kill me. Instead, he just shoves me out of the way and rushes past me toward the huge doors that lead back outside to the casino exit.
“It’s him!” I call to the men, but they’re already on it, chasing after him, shoving patrons out of the way. I try to run, but I stumble in my too-tall heels.
Darn it all.
I yank them off and shove them at Phoenix just as he reaches me. “Here!”
“Excellent.” Phoenix nods. “I’ll just hold these for you, and you can go get him. Perfect plan.”
Gah. Sloth!
I have no time to roll my eyes at him. I take off, keeping my wings hidden because if people realize there’s an angel here, who knows what insanity might break loose. Ford, the fastest, manages to circle around, leap over a table, and plant himself in the doorway, forcing our mark to screech to a halt and knock into a waiter. Drinks spill everywhere as the tinkling sound of glasses breaking fills the air.
The mark ignores the booze spilled all over him and whips around to run the other way, shoving people aside, Beckett hot on his tail as Ford continues to guard the doors and Remington tries to flank our target.
I dodge and dart in between people, since I’m not going to shove them. That would be rude and pointless, since almost all of the casino patrons are bigger than me. “Excuse me, pardon me, excuse me, pardon me,” I chant as I weave my way through the crowd.
The mark is circling back toward the bar, toward me, and I try to dodge around another waiter—who clearly doesn’t care what’s going on and has a bored, detached look on his face like he’s thinking ah, yes, same chaos as always—only to slam full-force into the demon I’m trying to intercept.
I go down in a heap. It feels like I just ran into a brick wall. The demon looks mildly dazed, but when he sees that I’m no longer in his way, he moves to flee again.
I throw myself after him, grabbing his ankles and trying to yank him down to my level, sulfur stinging my nose.
But he’s too big and too strong. He pulls his leg from my grasp and begins to run again—when my stiletto heel impales him in the chest, thrown with remarkable force.
The mark staggers, his hand flying up to his chest to clutch at my sparkly shoe. Then he falls, landing hard on the floor.
With a feral snarl, he raises a now-clawed hand toward me, his eyes glowing a hellish red.
“Ah, ah, ah. No you don’t,” Phoenix drawls, and I’m neatly picked up and yanked out of the way before a bolt of what looks like pure hellfire lashes out at the spot where I was just lying.
Whoa. What the heck just happened?
“You ruined my shoe,” I note dazedly, my arms looping instinctively around Phoenix’s neck. He smells good, like bergamot and honey—and I can’t help but remember that scent from when I was drugged by the aphrodisiac, and how very sexy I found him.
“Well, none of you guys were getting the job done.” Phoenix chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. “I told you I’d be more useful just standing there holding your shoes.”
Beckett and Remington skid to a halt as they reach us, nearly slamming into each other.
“For fuck’s sake. I’m a chef, not an athlete,” Remington grumbles, although he could’ve fooled me.
Ford shoves past everyone and hauls our mark to his feet, yanking my shoe out of the guy’s chest and handing it to Remington.