Oh, frick, I hope he can’t smell me. What do I even smell like? Do angels have smells?
Gah! Focus, Trinity!
As soon as the elevator doors close behind us, I take a step away from him, keeping my movements silent as I clutch my small bag to my chest. I need a little distance. For some reason, it’s hard to think when I’m standing that close to him.
On the ride up, he looks at his phone the entire time, scrolling through his feed, keeping tabs on business rivals, and answering emails. It’s late on a Friday night, and most people are relaxing at home or partying, but greed never rests and neither does Beckett.
The elevator dings, and I gape as I realize it opens right into his apartment. He steps through the doors, and I hurry to follow so I don’t get trapped inside the elevator. Only then do I allow myself a moment to gawk at the luxury and opulence that surrounds me.
Whoa. So this is what Greed lives like.
I can feel a tiny spike of avarice inside my own veins, a yearning for something so beautiful and pristine, calming in its perfect beauty.
Then I shake my head to clear it. Is Greed’s power rubbing off on me? Are a few minutes trapped in an elevator with him enough to sway me toward his particular sin?
If so, he’s even more powerful than I thought.
Pulling my gaze away from the luxurious surroundings, I focus my attention back on my target. I’m here to learn as much as I can about this man, to observe him in his natural element and try to spot a chink in his armor before I make my approach.
But I can’t let myself get too close.
For the next week, I tail Beckett like an invisible shadow, a burr he doesn’t feel clinging to him.
And for the entire week that I watch him, it feels like I don’t see a single emotion out of him. He’s like a machine, a robot programmed to do only one thing.
The man is constantly angling and maneuvering to earn more money. Whoever says CEOs don’t do any work might be right, but not where Beckett’s concerned. He’s barking into his phone at all hours of the day, calling people in China and Japan, sending emails to London and Russia, organizing meetings with investors all over the world. Cutting deals and taking over other companies. He’s got several politicians in his pocket too.
But the craziest part is, he almost doesn’t seem to care about it. He’s ruthless, but he’s also… removed. When business deals fall through, he just moves on to the next, a dozen pieces in motion on the chess board at any given time.
It’s almost as if he’s just going through the motions of this because he feels like he’s supposed to. Like he has no other purpose, because after all, he’s Greed.
Could that be his weakness? Is he bored of this life? Could I find a way to inspire his emotion, his passion, for something again? Something that’s virtuous and good?
Skulking around his house for a week like a ghost or a live-in burglar feels weird. I feel completely cut off from the world. I mean, I already feel cut off from the human world, but this is a whole other level. I don’t talk to anyone because I never leave the apartment except when Beckett does. I stashed my bag under a bed in one of the guest rooms, and at night, I sleep on the couch in the huge living room. There are dozens of rooms in the massive penthouse, but most of them go unused because he never entertains anyone.
Well… okay, that’s not true. He does entertain someone, but I think that’s really stretching the meaning of the word a bit.
Every few nights, Beckett will call someone. It’s never a call girl or prostitute or whatever people are referring to them as these days. I don’t think he would get any joy out of hiring someone for sex, because then he’d be giving up his precious money, paying for something he can obviously get for free.
On the eighth night of my stay in his penthouse, he makes another one of his calls… only this time, I recognize the girl. She’s a big actress on Broadway and has even had roles in a few movies I’ve seen.
As soon as the elevator lets her out into Beckett’s foyer, she’s all over him.
“I thought you’d never call,” she purrs into his ear, her voice a completely different pitch than it’s ever sounded in any of her movies. She bites his earlobe and pouts, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I gave you my number months ago.”
Beckett doesn’t bother replying. He just fists her hair by the roots and pulls her head back a little so he can kiss her, his other hand roaming her body like he owns it. She lets out a breathy moan, pulling against his grip on her hair to kiss him harder.
They start to move down the hallway toward his bedroom, and I slip into the kitchen, my heart hammering in my chest. I don’t, uh, watch when Beckett has late night visitors. Instead, I hide in the kitchen like a coward and raid the massive pantry to make myself feel less… I don’t even know what.
Empty?
It’s a hard feeling to describe, a feeling of longing and fear and frustration all mixed up into one. It makes me want to binge on chocolate, so that’s exactly what I do, crouching in the pantry and unwrapping luxury chocolates from Belgium.
But that doesn’t block out the sounds filtering down the hall from the large master bedroom. And it’s impossible not to hear the way she moans his name and begs for him. It makes me feel hot all over, like my entire body is blushing. My stomach feels tight, and for the first time since I arrived on Earth, I’m tempted to slide my hand between my legs and—well, I’m not quite sure. Movies don’t really show the details of that.
I just know there’s pressure inside of me, and I want to relieve it somehow, to get rid of this tight, hot ball in my belly. Because there’s something in my head whispering that if I do, it’ll be the best thing I’ve ever felt.
I ignore that voice and keep my hands occupied by unwrapping another chocolate. Beck has so much food in the house that he hasn’t noticed the bits that’ve gone missing—as if a little mouse has been stress-eating all his cheese and chocolate.
Crap. I’m not sure I’m cut out for this. Why couldn’t Anderson and the board have chosen someone more suited to this kind of task?
Probably because there isn’t anyone, my brain whispers.
The battle between Heaven and Hell has been going on for so long that I can’t even remember how long ago it started. Earth is the last unconquered territory, a neutral ground. Heaven wants to obliterate Hell so that only Heaven is left. Hell wants to do the same to Heaven. Neither side has any interest in controlling Earth, but both sides are interested in claiming as many souls as they can.
We try to guide humans into being good, because if they are, their soul goes to our side after they die and we are strengthened. Every time a human does a good deed, we get stronger.
But then it goes the other way too, and every time someone does something based in malice, selfishness, and so on, Hell grows stronger. And if a person is tempted into being truly awful, more awful than they are good, then Hell gets them after they die.
The supernatural creatures who live on Earth are a byproduct of the war between our two sides. The magic that spilled out from our battle with Hell touched normal creatures and humans and made them into something more. Now vampires, werewolves, witches, and so on live in this world in shadow, unwelcome in either Heaven or Hell.
A final scream of yes! comes from the bedroom, and a shiver works its way down my spine. She sounds like she just had the most euphoric experience of her life.