Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) (9 page)

A fleeting thought of
Who …?
crept in but he pushed it out as fast as it arrived and twisted back to the feline. “You’re on my shit list, cat.” He prodded the air in its direction. “Soon as I can walk, your ass is gonna meet my carving knife.”

Rolling in an attempt to get
his
paralyzed ass up from the floor, Logan caught sight of something under the bed. Black. Leather. Brimming with nightmares he’d sooner forget.

Still, he reached over his legs and pulled the box onto his lap.
Rest eternal
, written in the old Demonic language, had been etched into the grainy leather, and as his thumb brushed over the grooves, he fell into a memory.

Moans echoed from the bed directly beside him.

The boy scrunched his eyes closed and hummed a monotonous tune in hopes of drowning it out. His mother had somehow suckered another client. A fat fuck, it seemed, based on the squeals of the bed.

Gods, he hated nights when he woke up from her sounds.

In the small one-room apartment, there was nowhere to hide. His body jostled when one of them hit the small cot where he slept. Keeping his back to them, he shielded his ears with a pillow and willed sleep.

Or death.

Neither came.

His pulse raced as his mother’s fervor heightened. Always the same shit. She sounded as if she was being beaten, followed by long, tortured moans like death had claimed her, until a final collapse and all was quiet again.

He yearned for that silence.

His mother turned tricks and was, what she considered, a lucky bitch to land a high-ranking demon in the underworld. Not a prince, like the boy’s father, but one who would surely give them the much-needed cash to keep the heat on for one more month.

At just fourteen years old, the boy knew more than he should’ve for a kid.

Sweet quiet finally came, in the thick of heavy breaths and that scent he’d come to loathe—the distinct smell of sex. The boy only hoped the man would leave like most, after an hour’s sleep, or sometime in the morning.

Eyes clamped shut, he whispered prayers in his Demonic tongue, hoping for sleep.

After what seemed like only minutes later, a shake to his shoulder jolted him awake. He opened his eyes, the blur of the clock’s face slowly coming into view.

“Logan,” his mother whispered, “wake up.”

The boy groaned and turned to see his mother standing over him, a smile on her face. He puzzled the new expression. His mother never smiled. Never paid him much attention. Never called him anything but ‘bastard’ and, yet, he’d awakened to his name. He looked past her to the man, who sat, still naked, at the end of the bed.

“Logan, he asked to spend some time with you.” His mother bit her lip.

Comprehension still escaped the boy. “What?”

“He’s willing to throw in an extra hundred bucks if he can spend a few minutes with you.” She stroked his head. “It’s all right, darling. I promise he won’t hurt you.”

Darling?
Logan shook his head. “No. No, I won’t.”

The familiar harshness in her eyes returned. “You know we need this. We need the money. You need to eat, don’t you?”

“I’ll work extra hours at the station.”

She pursed her lips. “You don’t have time. Remember, it was you who decided to go back to school. The only child in the world who’d choose school over money.”

“I’m no child.”

“Then, prove yourself a man. Do what you have to do to care for your home. For your mother.”

Logan’s eyes burned red. “No.” His tone remained flat and unyielding.

Cold cinched his wrist followed by a click.

As he tugged on the cuff linking his arm to the radiator, his mother locked his other wrist before he had the chance to fight her off.

“No! Don’t do this! Don’t do this!”

A wicked smile danced across her face and she stood up from the bed. Her silhouette faded to darkness as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Logan’s teeth ground together so hard his skull ached. His hands trembled as he opened the case.

Dusted bones, mixed with diamonds, twinkled like white sand—the way all mothers who’d birthed sons of a prince were honored. Crushed diamonds represented her soul. Ordinarily the mothers of Wrath demons were buried in ornate sarcophaguses in Wrath’s private tomb.

Wrath had wanted nothing to do with Logan’s mother.

To toss the bones would be a disgrace, though. Besides that, the box fueled his anger and served as a reminder for why, even as he lay strung up like an old fucking ragdoll, nothing would make him go back to where he’d been.

The black cat curled onto his legs, nuzzling them—Logan hadn’t even seen it approach. He closed the box and shoved it back under the bed. After swatting the feline off, he hefted himself onto the bed until he sat on the edge, and lifted one leg up after another.

Like a fucking invalid.

Goddamn, it felt gross.

CHAPTER 7

Calla pulled her long hair back from her face, tying it away with a rubber band. Energy coursed through her body, the way it did before every fight.

She craved the sensation—welcomed the distraction that would keep her from drowning in the pain of missing Jake.

No time for that now.

Ayden entered her room carrying a black duffle bag, which she tossed on the bed. “If you’re coming along, best to suit you up for the fight.” She unzipped the bag and dumped the weapons.

Guns, daggers, a chakra, throwing stars, katanas, and something else that caught Calla’s eye.

“May I?” Calla brushed a hand over the black wrist crossbow.

“Sure. Though, I don’t know how practical that weapon’ll be for you. You’d have to be a good shot. And we hit the underground scene quite a bit.”

A waist quiver filled with small silver arrows lay beside it. Calla examined the bow for a moment, and slipped the fingerless leather glove attached to the metallic frame over her hand.

So lightweight.

She held her hand level. The trigger button could be palpated on the palm of the glove. Pulling back the taut crossbow string, she cocked it in place and rested a sharp silver arrow on the track.

“Be careful, Calla,” Ayden warned. “Gavin will shit himself if you ruin his walls. They’re kinda irreplaceable, ya know—painted by an early century artist.”

Calla stepped back and aimed the bow at the box-spring of the bed. She pushed the button and a powerful thrust knocked her back a step. The arrow shot like a missile and pierced the bed, leaving only the nock sticking out.

“I’ll take this one.” Adrenaline spread through her body, inciting a smile.

“Here.” Ayden held out a hand. “You’ll still need a dagger for close-range kills.”

Calla slipped the dagger into a hip holster and admired her new weapon.

“So, I take it you were kicked out?”

Calla paused for a moment and set down the bow. “Yeah.” She shook her head. “The guy straight-up hates me.”

“Logan’s a tough one to crack. Don’t let him get to you.” Ayden ran a hand through her hair. “By the way, I’m supposed to let you know, Gavin’s got a new security guard on the property. If you see him, stay away. Seriously. Don’t go near him.”

“What is he?”

“Fallen. Shady bastards. And they have a thing for human females so I wouldn’t go off wandering around here by yourself.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“Gavin felt he needed to up security. They’ve had a few breaches lately. Said it was something he hadn’t seen before.”

“Something breached security? Here?”

“Well, not before the ghouls got to it.” Ayden shrugged. “But Draven’s still out there. Gavin’s not taking any chances. The fallen are natural watchers and supposedly Xander’s the best at … well, taking care of business.”

The sound of Draven’s name shot a spasm through Calla’s muscles. “I’ll stay away.” Calla caught a glimpse of a white scar peeking out of Ayden’s sleeve. “What’s it like? All your memories. Back.”

Ayden glanced away, her brow furrowed. “Great. I’ll see you downstairs. We leave in ten.”

“Got it.” Ayden’s curt response made it clear Ayden had no interest in chatting about anything personal. “Any idea where we’re going?”

“Gavin received a tip earlier today. Some guy named Marrick. Claims to know where to find Draven.”

“Who is he?”

“Gavin doesn’t know. Supposed to meet up at Moonshines, which is owned by Ryke, who’s on Gavin’s shit list for the Demortis. So Gav assumes he must be in with Ryke, somehow. Kill two birds with one stone kinda thing—look for Ryke, and see what this guy’s about. No doubt, the place will be swarming with wolves.”

Perfect
. Exactly the kind of place she needed to blow off some steam.

CHAPTER 8

Burning trashcans lit the night sky as Draven sat crouched behind a building and watched the five Alexi warming themselves by it amid the bums. Easy targets—idiots hadn’t even removed the patches from their coats. Shit, he’d have all of them rounded up by the end of the night at that rate.

When the biggest in the group broke away, a hulking kid about the age of twenty, or so, Draven recognized him as one everyone called Deuce. Lycans had taken down his entire family, including three brothers who’d been just as big. He’d come to the Alexi compound about two years prior, and had proven to be a pretty good fighter, though he wasn’t much for a tactical survivalist.

He rounded the back of the building and stood with his legs spread apart.
Pissing.
His head tipped back until, at last, he finished and tugged up his leathers.

Draven sprung from his hiding spot and skulked toward the kid like a shadow, sneaking up from behind. He wrapped an arm around Deuce’s neck and covered his mouth, taking him down to the ground. Fighter or not, Deuce was no match for Draven’s agility and strength.

As Deuce wriggled and kicked, struggling with his arms pinned behind his back, Draven leaned into his ear. “Relax, man, it’s Draven.” He removed his hand from Deuce’s mouth.

Deuce froze and craned his head to the side. “Draven? What the fuck, man? Where you been?”

Draven let go of Deuce’s arms, allowing him to totter onto his back. “Hiding out. We need to form a group. There’s some nasty shit going down on these streets.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Deuce sat up, pulling his knees in. “Had a freak-out moment with Zach earlier.”

“What happened?”

“Didn’t look right. Just seemed crazed, like he’d seen something real bad go down. Said something was after him. After all of us. Then he took off. There a new drug underground?”

Draven shrugged. “Where’re the others?”

“Scattered. All over the damn city. Zach said he’d come from the dock. We seen them head that way when we left the compound.” He tipped his head. “What happened to your crew?”

Draven had rounded up a decent-sized group of Alexi willing to flee the compound with him—all of whom perished when the wolves attacked.

The same slaughter that’d taken Jacob.

“Killed,” he said. “All of them … just gone. Demon bastards ambushed us.”

“Demons?” Deuce’s eyes narrowed on him. “I heard it was ly—”

“You heard wrong. Wade wanted you to believe they were lycans. He’s been using us to pit the wolves against each other. A goddamn war, and he threw us in the middle of it. All this time, we’ve been fighting the wrong enemy. The demons are our true threat.”

Deuce sat quiet for a moment before shaking his head. “Just don’t make sense, man. Demons ain’t never been on our shit list.”

“That’s cos Wade had us all brainwashed. How many came with you?” Draven rubbed his hands together.

“Four others. Jenna, Tiff, and then Rowan and Paul.” Deuce brushed a hand over his short-cropped hair. “Fuck, man, everything burned. Ayden and those demons …”

“You see? They’re out to destroy us.”

He frowned. “But Ayden was the one who told us to leave the compound.”

“They’re sport killers. Out here? We might as well stick a skewer up our assholes and throw ourselves on the flame. At least the compound offered some protection.”

“Man, the shit they did to Wade and all those wolves … crazy.”

“Do you have the antibody?”

“Nah, Paulie said he heard someone took Wade’s journal, though.”

Paul was smart. Too smart. Draven had never cared much for him. Ryke’s words echoed in his ear:
Kill off the weak ones. And I want you to bring the strongest Alexi to me.