Chapter 6

Panic reaches a crescendo before it crashes.

My neck…the noose isn’t burning through it. There’s only pressure, but no heat.

How…?

The leash wrenches me forward again, scattering my thoughts.

Only the need to breathe remains, until he drags me close enough to relieve the tautness. Once blood floods my brain, it starts working again.

That burn must only activate if I try to remove the noose. A diabolic way of ensuring I don’t try again. Or I should say angelic.

Not that there’s much difference between angels and their infamous brother, the Devil—if he exists. Not to us humans. Especially to this human.

I stagger in his wake, glaring my homicidal hatred at him as he struts ahead as if he owns this earth. Which he and his kind actually do. His massive wings are gathered high above him in an arch of arrogance and disdain. If I had heat vision they’d be a pile of ash right now. He would be.

Savoring the vicious fantasy is all I can do as he leaves me just enough air to remain conscious. Even if he left me able to scream, there’s no point. Not even the demons passing by can detect me.

Not that anyone would help me if they did. No one would dare intervene in his arrest. That Glamor must only be to keep the incident off the news. I’m sure his superiors wouldn’t appreciate his destructive tactics tainting their public image.

After I repeatedly pass out on my feet, we approach a huge black van. It’s parked in front of a junkyard a few blocks from his destruction scene.

Before I can wonder what an angel needs with a car, he flicks his wrist and I catapult forward like a kitten tossed by a cruel brat.

Landing inches from his boots, one knee gives a terrible crack on impact. But it’s the pain bursting in my neck that blinds me. I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood so I don’t cry out. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

As he slides open the back door with a remote key, I choke, “So—am I wanted dead or alive?” I barely see that head tilt of his, skating on the edge of oblivion. I point at myself. “Human here. Breakable, no regenerative powers to speak of.” His head remains at the same angle. I draw in a measured breath so I don’t sound too strangled. “You could have snapped my neck. Twice.”

He shakes his head as if in regret. “I know in detail how perishable your inferior species is. And exactly how hard I can push you before you shatter. If I had a choice, you wouldn’t be still breathing your foulness near me. Regretfully, again, you’re wanted alive.”

I put a hand over my mouth on my next choking breath.

Holy eau de puke!

Hoping he suffocates on my stench, I smirk up at him. “Do your wings come with a mileage limit dictated by your leasing company?” I can sense rather than see his frown. I shrug. “I can’t think of another reason why you’d need a van.”

“I’m not transporting you. I wouldn’t touch one of you. Especially you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you said that already. Don’t be redundant.”

He does this motionless thing again. And though I don’t see his eyes now they’re not glowing, I feel them boring into me.

Can angels drill visual holes into someone?

I have a feeling this one can.

Next second, he flicks his wrist again, and I hurtle inside the van.

My foot barely clears the door before he slams it, manually.

Landing in a heap, my windpipe suddenly opens on a massive inhalation. I gulp desperate breaths before realizing the leash is gone. He let it dissolve now he’s hauled me where he wants.

Only the adrenaline roaring in my system keeps me conscious. That, and being inside a next-level luxury car. Though I can’t see much of the interior, the seat felt like landing on a cloud. It’s just my luck, to fulfill what Sarah calls my vehicular fetish, on my way to some angelic concentration camp or soul-recycling facility.

At least I get to have one wish in my miserable life answered.

Needing to experience more of the car, I claw up to a sitting position—and notice a massive man silhouetted at the wheel.

He doesn’t turn or say anything. Figures. Must be a Select faithful dog, even if I can’t see his piercing in the dark.

I am wondering if his master will fly over the van when he opens the passenger door. In seconds, he’s inside and the car is peeling off the asphalt with a deafening screech, slamming me back hard in my seat.

My spinning head and ringing ears clear to him saying, “…clean-up team to the location.” A beat of silence before he adds, “The Accords’ rules are for you to follow, Caius. I use whatever level of force I see fit.”

It’s only then I realize he’s in the middle of a conversation. Must be talking on some angelic frequency. Or is he using the human technology they seem to love so much?

There’s another beat while the person on the other side says something. It earns him a calm rumble that makes me shiver. “Next time, I’ll demolish the whole neighborhood.” Another beat, then another hair-raising roll of menace. “And I’ll rearrange your anatomy.” I can only imagine the other guy’s distressed reaction, as without raising his voice still, my captor adds, “Whether you meant to question me or not, you’ve had your first, and last warning.”

As I shudder again, he taps his ear.

So it was a phone call. And he ended it the second he was done talking. Gotta admit, that was some threat. The other guy must be pissing himself now that he has a death sentence hanging over him, if he displeases dickwad again.

“What did you step into, mate?” The driver groans as he taps his own ear, and I see the earbud for the first time. So he’s been listening to something all along. His voice is almost as deep as my captor’s, and as posh. “You bloody stink!”

“Courtesy of the human vomitus in the back.”

As if he’s not the reason I puked! Sarah’s precious last supper, too, and… Wait!

How is a Select so familiar with an angel? And why refer to me as human, unless this driver isn’t?

But what other species can that—that angelhole be working with? One who dares to be so chummy with him, too?

And…wait…what the…? Whoa!

Where are his wings?

I can’t believe this wasn’t the first thing I noticed since he entered the car!

This makes no sense. Angels’ wings don’t disappear.

At least, the angels I know about. Which means that, among the powers I’ve never heard of angels having, this one has wings on demand.

Not one to hold back my curiosity, especially now I have nothing more to lose, I blurt out, “I was joking about your wings before, but are they really leased? Is that why you brought the van? Because your lessor deactivates them when you reach your flight miles limit, and you’re too cheap to pay the surcharge fees?”

The driver suddenly bursts out laughing.

My captor slings him what I assume is a withering glance.

The driver bangs the steering wheel, spluttering, “Lessor, flight miles, surcharge fees—that’s hilarious.”

My captor sighs, the velvet harshness thrumming that spot behind my breastbone, what his every sound scrapes. “You always had the sense of humor of a ten-year-old brat, Lorcan.”

“Actually, this was one piece of creative wit,” this Lorcan guy retorts. “Admit it.”

“I’ll admit she is even more aggravating than I anticipated. But I should have expected anything from the criminal who’s been leading us a merry chase for over a year.”

The driver whips his head to him. “You mean that’s the one we’re here to catch in the act?”

“Why do you think I dragged her stinking arse back here?”

“I assumed she’s an accessory or an errand girl, or some such.” Lorcan shakes his head as he adjusts the rearview mirror to peer at me. I don’t see him at all before he readjusts it. Then he suddenly whoops. “That’s bloody wicked.”

“Wicked?”

“Wicked?”

My exclamation clashes with my cranky captor’s. From the Harry Potter movies I know this means cool. But I only heard the kids using the term.

Which means Angelhole is right about this Lorcan’s juvenile sense of humor. Only a cruel brat can find my current situation wicked.

As if to validate my thoughts, Lorcan chuckles. “It certainly is. We didn’t doubt for a second that the elusive mastermind who has the human and Supernatural underground communities salivating for a taste of his product isn’t a seasoned, and male, criminal.”

I massage my semi-garroted neck as I rasp, “You do realize how chauvinistic that sounds, right?”

Lorcan flicks me another glance over his shoulder. “She can’t be older than sixteen!”

I smirk at him. “She’s right here, and is actually twenty…or twenty-one.”

Lorcan hoots with laughter again. “And she doesn’t even know basic maths.”

“Excuse me if I don’t know when I was born,” I croak. “The world was busy being destroyed by your Apocalypse to issue birth certificates to human survivors.”

This makes him flip the rearview mirror again, this time longer. I only see eyes, but can’t figure out their shape or color. I don’t know how he can see me in this darkness.

Then he whistles. “What a plot twist. You, my dear criminal mastermind, are one delightful development.”

“Stop talking to the felon and keep your eyes on the road,” Angelhole growls, and my insides quiver again. “If you total this vehicle, too, if you even scratch it, you’re not laying your hands on another set of wheels for ten years.”

Lorcan mock gasps. “Whoa, mate! That’s even harsher than Mum and the DMV put together.”

I can only see the back of my captor’s head as it scrapes the massive van’s roof. But I think he looks heavenwards. If Heaven isreally up there. I guess he’s in a unique position to know for sure.

Before I can ask, he grunts. “Just don’t crash the car. We need this human alive. For now.”

For now.

This brings me crashing to the concrete ground of reality, shattering my mind to a thousand pieces.

During this weirdly lighthearted exchange, I almost forgot what this—this creature who arrested me is. And since he can somehow retract his wings, I must assume this Lorcan guy is the same thing. They are taking me only they know where, and it’s clear my life is tied to something they need from me.

Once I provide it, my continued vital functions won’t be required.

Suddenly, I hurtle forward, slam into the front seat with a sickening crunch before crumpling into the foot well

“Dammit, Lorcan! I said we need her alive.” He whirls in his seat to glare down at me where I’m lying in a stunned heap. “Seatbelt. Now!”

“Keep your wings on,” I groan. “Or don’t, since they’re retractable.”

As Lorcan bangs the wheel and guffaws again, I pull myself up. My blistered hands sting so badly, I’m on the verge of another projectile vomiting bout, courtesy of this winged—now-wingless—bully. I flop back in my seat and fumble for the seatbelt.

When I fail to click the two ends together, my captor turns in his seat with a frustrated growl.

With a flick of his fingers, he flings my hands apart. So, telekinesis, too? Then as Lorcan’s reckless driving continues to rock the van, he picks the ends of the belt, his hands hovering over me as if I were a venomous growth. So, no telekinesis? Or is it the…

The headlights of a car behind us illuminate his face, and my thoughts then heart stop. Before they both burst out stumbling like a horse on ice.

He—he’s gorgeous.

No. No he’s not. The adjective seems like an insult when describing something of this caliber. Divine is too on the nose, as well as inadequate.

I never knew sentient beings came with that level of magnificence.

And it isn’t because he has perfect features and symmetry like other angels. Every detail of his face is forceful, noble—singular. A matrix of slashes and juts and chisels housing features that really had to be sculpted by gods.

Nah. Even they wouldn’t have created something like him. Not when he would give any god an inferiority complex.

Yeah. Because it’s appropriate to develop an arrhythmia over my captor’s incomparable beauty.

My captor, future torturer—and probable executioner.

But knowing this doesn’t stop me from greedily examining him.

I start with his eyes. Of course. Their exotic slant is feline—and their color? Indescribable. I can only think of one Sarah once told me about. Viridian. A green so mesmerizing, so saturated it almost hurts. And it’s not only the hue that’s unique. His irises glow with rays of arcane power, seemingly on demand, too. Rounding up his eyes’ brutal impact are lashes so thick, they make them look drawn in exquisite kohl.

I barely make them my mind’s screensaver as he clicks the seatbelt in place. Before I can absorb more of his details, he rumbles something under his breath that sets me vibrating again, and tears back into his seat.

The headlights behind us come closer, and I sit there, staring at the angry-looking raven waves adorning his head, everything slowly sinking into me.

Every injury making my body a map of burning aches. Every realization of the depth of the shit I’m in.

There’s only one light at the bottom of the spiral of despair. Knowing that Sarah has the money I made us.

The last thing I think before everything blinks out is a plea. I send it out there hoping it will reach her, and that she will listen.

Please, Sarah, give up on my return soon, and buy yourself that one ticket out of Hell. Don’t let it all be in vain.