Carmen opened her eyes and squinted against the dim light. Her eyelids, like the rest of her body, felt bruised and swollen. Her throat was raw, and the awful taste of bile lingered on her tongue. She opened her eyes and grunted at the pain that simple task caused.

“You’re alive.”

She dropped her head sideways in the direction of that voice. She stared at her surroundings for a full minute before she registered what she was seeing. John Smith stood in front of a massive canvas finger-painting red mountains. He had nixed the suit and now wore the loose pants people wore in karate classes. His shirt was skintight and showed off his muscles. Her weary brain didn’t want to move past his bare feet, but eventually her eyes tracked around in the room. The walls and floor were made of smooth white stone. There were intricate designs carved into the stone, but she couldn’t make out what it was. Maybe she was in a Greek castle. Arched doorways led into other rooms also made of the same stone.

“Where am I?” she croaked.

“You don’t know?”

He didn’t turn from his painting. He tilted his head, and his braid swished to the side.

“Who are you?”

“You haven’t figured that out either?”

She glanced around the room for a weapon. He had saved her life, but he also hadn’t called for help. Instead, he put her in a dark cell where she almost froze to death. Somehow, she found the strength to lift her head. There was a wooden cup with colored pencils and a compass on a stand. She wriggled up the cot she was on and reached out. Her hand trembled as it hovered in midair. She glanced at John Smith who slapped more red paint onto the canvas. She gripped the compass and carefully lifted it without jostling the pencils and slipped it beneath the thin sheet covering her body. It took her a few seconds to realize she was buck naked.

“What did you do to me?” Her voice was pathetically weak. She tried to muster up a healthy dose of anger or fear that would give her strength, but her emotions and motor skills were sluggish and not yet back to normal.

“A Black Viper injected you with a drug cocktail. That’s all I managed to get out of them before they died.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You don’t remember?”

“You put me in a cell.”

“Yes.” He turned back to the canvas. “I didn’t think you would survive. It was touch and go on for a while. After I realized you were going to live, Augustus cleaned you up.”

“Augustus,” she repeated flatly.

“A submissive eunuch,” John said distractedly and flicked his hand, sending dots of red over the paint splattered floor. “If anyone else tended to you, you wouldn’t be breathing right now.”

“Who are you?”

John turned and spread his arms. “Come on. I know you know.”

Her temples throbbed. “I don’t know.”

“You’re underground.” He slapped the wall, leaving a red handprint behind. “You’re in my lair…” He rolled his hand as if beckoning the right answer. “You know, Carmen.”

She glanced around the majestic room that, despite its beauty, was really a fancy cave. Underground … She stared at John Smith and then shook her head. “No.”

He grinned. “Yes.”

“You can’t be Lucifer!”

He gave a mock bow. “In the flesh. Welcome to Hell.”

“But … but …” Lucifer was said to be more vicious than his father, the most feared man on the continent … and he was finger-painting in a yoga outfit. Maybe she was still high. “That’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t leave Hell.”

“I rarely leave Hell,” he corrected as he smudged the base of his mountain to give it more shading. “But it’s come to my attention that maybe things above ground aren’t as boring as I thought they would be.”

“You mean since Gavin and Lyla were here?”

Lucifer jabbed a rust colored one in her direction. “You got it. I have terrible ennui.”

“Poor you,” she muttered.

“Life has become so predictable. Kill, kill, kill.” He waved his hand, sprinkling more paint over the floor. “I don’t know why I keep expecting to find something different in someone’s entrails. Humans are all the same.”

She tried to banish the image of a person digging through another’s human’s organs.

“But Steven brought Gavin back to me, and I realized …” He braced his elbow on the wall and leaned into his dirty hand, getting paint in his hair. “I’ve been looking in the wrong place for entertainment.”

Her muscles protested when she tensed.

“Most humans are predictable. They all want the same things. Sex, money, power, and purpose.”

She blinked. “Purpose?” She was definitely still drugged. Lucifer, the king of Hell, couldn’t be a finger-painting philosopher. No fucking way.

“The weak need someone to give them purpose.” He spread one hand on his tunic, marring the white fabric with garish scarlet. “Which is where I come in. I enslave them, hence, giving them purpose.”

His smile was wide and guileless. If she didn’t know his reputation, she might be fooled into letting down her guard. He seemed as open and friendly as a Bible salesman, which couldn’t be further from the truth. She imagined Lucifer with crazed eyes, foaming at the mouth, more demon than man, but his appearance was throwing her off. She desperately tried to reconcile the tales of the king of Hell with the man before her.

“Then there are those who want power. They come here to gain notoriety by battling it out in the pit … and that’s where they go wrong. Most die, as they should. Power is not for everyone, but for men like Gavin and me, it’s what we were destined for.”

“What do you want from me?”

He turned back to his canvas. “The same thing I want from Gavin.”

She had no fucking idea what Gavin gave Lucifer in exchange for Lyla’s life. She wished she died in the cell. Anything Lucifer planned for her would end in blood and torture. She gripped the compass pressed against her thigh. Nope. Not her.

“Good entertainment is so hard to find,” Lucifer said.

A chill ran down her spine. Entertainment in the pit?

Lucifer stepped back from the painting. “What do you think?”

She couldn’t focus on the painting, not when her life was at stake. “Beautiful.”

“There’s nothing better than painting with fresh blood.”

That got her attention. Her stomach dipped as she stared at his dripping hand. “Fresh blood?”

He nodded to a wooden bowl full of what she assumed was red paint. “It has the best consistency when it’s still warm.”

She retched, and he laughed.

“I wouldn’t think a woman who fights like you has a weak stomach.”

Kill to survive? Yes. Play with blood and organs or dead bodies? Hell fucking no.

Lucifer approached. Her eyes were riveted to his hands. Why didn’t he wash it off? How could he stand to have someone’s lifeblood staining his hands? How could he stand to paint with it? This was a new level of morbid.

“What’s your story, Carmen?”

“Story?” On his forearm, the blood had already dried and was starting to flake. Her stomach rocked.

“You fight like someone with nothing to lose.”

Because she had nothing to lose. He stood over her. She tried to zero in on the best place to hit, but all the best parts were higher up, where she couldn’t reach. If he was telling the truth, piercing his dick with the compass wouldn’t incapacitate him for long, and besides, he was built like a tree. Everything about him was supersized. Hell.

“I didn’t realize so many of you above ground have such a penchant for violence. Or is it just the women around Gavin? You’re quite skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and I appreciate your creativity during an attack. If I hadn’t seen you in action, my first night above ground would have been a waste of time.”

What was she supposed to say? You’re welcome?

“Where’s the rage coming from?”

She jerked. “What?”

He knelt beside the bed, braced his elbows on the mattress, and stared at her as if she would start reading a bedtime story.

“That chip on your shoulder is what intrigues me the most. It’s what’s driving you, what gives you strength. It’s common in men, not so much in women.” He paused. “So what is it? Abuse? Rape? Infidelity?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You shouldn’t tease me. I’m not a patient man.”

He didn’t move, but the hairs on the nape of her neck rose. He still had that smile on his face, but his eyes were frighteningly clinical. He wasn’t looking at her as a woman or even a human being, but a toy. And if that toy didn’t perform … “I lost my husband. He was murdered by Steven Vega.”

“Years ago.”

His dismissive tone made her feel homicidal. She tightened her hold on the compass. “It doesn’t matter how long ago it was.”

Lucifer shook his head. “Humans.”

She couldn’t tell if he was disgusted or amused. “You act like you’re not one. Oh, wait. You’re right. The explains a lot.”

He shrugged. “I don’t possess the emotions others have.”

“No shit.”

“I’m interested in a person’s attachment to another like Gavin’s for Lyla and yours to this husband who has been dead for years. I don’t get it.”

Of course, he didn’t get it. He was a sociopath.

“We live in a world full of selfish monsters, yet you all naïvely choose to trust others and be continually let down again and again. It’s baffling. Down here, we continue the old ways.”

“Old ways?”

“I want, I take. If someone covets, we fight. Whoever wins, gets to keep it. That’s the way it should be, right?”

In her addled state, he was making far too much sense. It was beginning to scare her. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Gavin’s changed,” he grumbled.

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

He was genuinely confused. She considered the big brute and recalled Lyla’s tone on the phone the night she was in Hell. She sounded more exasperated and annoyed by Lucifer than afraid. She could relate. Lucifer was a murderer with a child’s curiosity. It was appealing and terrifying at the same time. She clutched the compass and waited for the right moment.

“Because he fell in love,” she said.

“I don’t believe in love.”

“No surprise,” she muttered.

“Everyone thinks they love someone else, but in the end, they always choose themselves. Humans are intrinsically selfish. You believe in love?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“Why?” she echoed incredulously.

“Yes, why do you believe in it?”

“Because I’ve felt it. I don’t have a choice. Love just is. My parents loved me. Vinny loved me.”

“And these people would do anything for you? Die for you?”

“Yes.”

“Then who’s Marcus?”

His name was a trigger that ripped through her lethargy. The volatile mix of heartache and misery detonated in her chest. She swung and aimed for his neck. She imagined the compass piercing his throat as effectively as the crucifix sliced her attacker. Her wrist was caught in a firm grip. He ground her fragile bones together, and she dropped the compass into his waiting hand.

“You need to control your energy before you strike,” he said calmly as he dropped the compass back in the cup. “You need to harness your emotions. Emotions give you strength, but they’re also a liability. I sense your energy, and therefore, I can anticipate your moves. Your energy is all over the place right now.” He snapped his fingers like a gay man talking about Lady Gaga. “Very easy to predict. Everyone thinks body language is the giveaway. It isn’t. What you sense is more important than what your eyes tell you.”

He released her. She stared at the red smears on her wrist. She could smell that familiar metallic stink. Knowing this was fresh and that Lucifer had probably gathered it … She wiped as much of it on the bedsheet as she could and tried to control her gag reflex.

“You called out his name many times,” Lucifer continued. “You didn’t call for your husband or Angel.”

She froze.

He cocked his head to the side. “I thought you were Angel’s whore.”

“Shut up,” she said through clenched teeth.

“There you go with the emotions again.” He clucked his tongue. “I liked you better when you were stone cold. It was beautiful.”

Fantasies of strangling him played through her mind. “Did you bring me here to talk me to death?”

“I brought you here, so Gavin would come to play, but he’s not even in town. So disappointing.”

“He’s in Bora Bora,” she said numbly. So, no rescue for her.

“I just got off the phone with him. I assume he’ll tell Angel that you’re here, so I have time to kill. Who’s Marcus?”

“Kiss my ass.”

“So vulnerable and weak as a kitten, yet you still spit at me. Love him, do you?” He caught her first in his hand. “I’m going to teach Gavin’s daughter how to fight. You should attend, so I can teach you to control your energy.”

“Fuck you, John.”

He grinned and released her. “I quite liked that name. I can pass for a John, right?”

She stared at the ceiling. This so wasn’t happening. She was literally in Hell being emotionally flayed by the devil.

“You’ve replaced Vinny,” Lucifer said.

She ground her teeth. “You can’t replace one person with another.”

“Humans do it all the time, especially the weak ones. Why are you so mad? Marcus doesn’t love you back?”

For someone who didn’t have emotions, his insight was uncanny.

“That must be hard,” he mused. “Loving two men who never loved you back.”

She whipped her head around. “What?”

He held up two fingers. “Your ex-husband and now this lover. You’re mad because neither of them loved you.”

“Vinny loved me!”

Lucifer cocked his head. “Then why isn’t he here?”

“Because he took Gavin’s place. You know that.”

“Yes, but why did he take Gavin’s place?”

“Because—” She stopped abruptly. Everything in her turned to ice. Lucifer and the cave disappeared as the truth struck her with such force that everything in her shattered. She thought bearing the weight of sorrow and guilt all these years was unbearable, but this … This ripped her soul in two.

She stared into Lucifer’s dark eyes and he nodded.

“You see it now, don’t you?” he murmured almost gently. “If he loved you, he would still be here. He took the position to make a point because he cared more about himself than you.”

She went numb with shock. She clung to her relationship with Vinny, idolizing it and comparing every other man to him, but … Vinny hadn’t loved her more than he loved Gavin. If he loved her, he wouldn’t have tried to be crime lord. He would have been content with her, with their marriage, with her love. She hadn’t been enough, and that was why he wasn’t here. Because she wasn’t enough to make him feel complete. He needed more than she could offer.

“Come, you must be hungry,” Lucifer said.

He walked through an arched doorway. She didn’t attempt to escape. She lay there, wondering if one could die from having their soul destroyed. There was the sound of running water and then Lucifer reappeared with clean hands, damp hair, and an identical pair of shirts and pants. He grabbed her under her arms and sat her on the side of the bed. The bedsheet fell away. She was so far gone that she didn’t even notice.

“This is all I have,” Lucifer said as he dropped the shirt over her head.

She didn’t have the strength to dress herself, so he did it, pulling her arms through the sleeves as if she was a child. He even rolled up the sleeves with tiny, precise folds. She didn’t realize she was crying until he traced a tear down her cheek.

“I don’t understand this either,” he said quietly. “Fascinating.”

He thought heartbreak was fascinating. Of course, he did. He knelt and slid his monstrous pants over each leg.

“Mickey?” she whispered as he made her stand. She had to grip his waist to keep from falling over. She felt dizzy, weak, and nauseated.

“Mickey?” he echoed as he pulled the pants up and cinched the drawstring on the waist as tight as possible.

“Mickey, my guard. Is he …?”

“Dead as a doornail. Shot in the back of the head.”

His callous response made her dig her nails into his skin. He didn’t seem to notice. He fussed with her attire. She felt as if she was wearing a parachute and stood there like a mannequin, allowing a man she didn’t know to dress her. This was all just a bad dream. She stared at his painting, which was actually quite beautiful. Rocky mountains cast in red that was darkening to rust as the blood dried. She looked away.

“You battle wounds have created a beautiful palette,” he said.

“What?”

His finger brushed over her cheekbone, which had its own heartbeat. The physical pain paled in comparison to what was happening inside her.

“Purple, rose, indigo,” he said before he raised her shirt and prodded the huge bruise on her side she hadn’t noticed until now. She slapped his hand away. “The patterns of violence have always intrigued me. In your case, it’s a cream base broken by black, violet, and more indigo. No broken bones according to Augustus. I love the way skin changes color when it’s damaged.”

Fucking freak.

He grabbed her hands and held them in front of her nose. Her knuckles were bruised and cut up to hell. Her hands were so swollen that she couldn’t extend her fingers.

“Congratulations,” Lucifer said and inclined his head. “You put up a decent fight. Using your crucifix was a beautiful move.”

“You killed the Black Vipers?” she asked.

“It didn’t take long.”

“Why?” As far as she knew, Lucifer wasn’t on any side, so why save her life?

“You have spirit and guts and a connection to Gavin. If you survived, he would fetch you, and I’d get another face to face. If you died, he’d come to fetch your body and possibly feel compelled to fight me. Win, win.”

She couldn’t comprehend his logic and didn’t even try.

“Besides, I don’t like when an opponent is outnumbered. You put up a good fight and would have won against a handful, but not in a fight ten to one, and they played dirty.” He moved through an archway into another room. “Come.”

It took a concentrated effort to move. Every step felt as if there were needles jabbing into her feet. She was chilled, sick, sore, and thirsty.

Lucifer stepped out of his chambers into a wide, dark hallway. The sound of their steps was absorbed by the cold, rough stone beneath her bare feet. Even with the high cathedral-like ceilings, she felt the beginning pangs of claustrophobia.

Lucifer pressed the button for an elevator with a red door. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

She didn’t feel lucky. With a few well-placed questions, Lucifer destroyed the memory of her marriage and all hope for the future. She clasped Vinny’s memory to her like a lucky talisman and now realized it was a poisoned apple.

“I knew you were a fighter.” He clapped her on the back with enough force to make her stagger into the wall. “I’m sure Angel will be here soon.”

The elevator dinged a moment before the door opened. She peered into the car and saw that it was surprisingly sterile and shiny. What the hell?

“You’re related to Gavin through marriage?” Lucifer asked genially.

“Lyla and I are first cousins,” she said warily as she stepped in.

“Lyla was a surprise,” he said as the elevator rose with nauseating speed. “I lost faith in women long ago, but she’s renewed my interest in the opposite sex. She brought some much-needed excitement into Hell.”

The elevator opened onto another poorly lit hallway. Lucifer stepped out and strolled away with his hands in pockets. He didn’t look back at her. For a moment, she debated whether she should make a run for it, but … she didn’t have the energy. Technically, he hadn’t tried to kill her yet, so she followed.

As she neared the end of the hallway, she shielded her eyes against the harsh light. Had she stepped outside? She gave her eyes time to adjust before she dropped her hand. She touched her ear, wondering if she had fallen deaf. Despite the crowd walking in every direction, no one made a sound. To the left was a sports bar with a bartender, tables, and TVs mounted on the wall. Straight ahead, the landing dropped off into nothing.

She took tiny steps forward with one hand out for balance and stopped six feet from the drop-off. Wide, obsidian stairs led down to the infamous pit of Hell. The auditorium held enough seats for a Las Vegas headliner. An arena of spectators watched as two men battled on the sand. It was so quiet, the sound of their fists making contact with flesh sounded sharp and clear in her ears.

“From Japan,” Lucifer said quietly as he stopped beside her. “Amazing technique. Shall we?”

He gestured to the bar. She followed slowly in his wake. She could feel what little strength she had ebbing away. She sat heavily at the table he indicated. There was a handful of men in the bar area, and every one of them was staring at her. She kept her eyes on the table. She had no weapons and no fight left. If this was the part when Lucifer tossed her to the dogs, there was nothing she could do to defend herself.

“Here.” Lucifer slapped a can of Coke in front of her.

“Water, please.”

He rolled his eyes and went to the bartender and returned shortly with water. She fumbled with the cap and tipped it to her mouth. Her mouth was so dry, she felt as if she had a dozen cuts in her mouth, but that didn’t stop her from drinking. She set the empty bottle on the table and fought the urge to vomit.

Lucifer tapped his fingers on the table. “Roman’s taking his time.” He glanced at her. “You want chicken wings?”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, we make the best chicken wings on The Strip.”

Just the thought of eating something made her feel sick. “No, thank you.”

“Ah, this is unexpected.”

She was about to ask what he was talking about when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head and saw Marcus walking toward her. He was dressed in a black on black suit, no tie. The sight of him sent a shockwave of agony through her entire being. He shouldn’t be here.

A man stood from a table. She saw a flash of steel and opened her mouth to yell, but there was no need. Marcus did some fancy move and slammed the knife into the man’s shoulder. He screeched and fell to his knees. His table companion leaped to his feet and rushed Marcus who managed to keep his feet during the tackle. His attacker reached for his leg, but Marcus grabbed the man’s head and twisted savagely. There was a sharp snap and the man went limp and dropped.

“Friend of yours?” Lucifer asked.

She couldn’t speak. It was Marcus as she had never seen him before. He might look like Pyre Casino’s COO with his hair perfectly styled, but the man approaching her held no resemblance to the man she thought she knew. His face was expressionless, green eyes glittering and cold. His fighting technique was quick, practical, brutal. She didn’t even know he knew how to fight. It was just another side of him she didn’t know existed. He rounded the table to reach her but stopped when Lucifer held up a hand.

“Brave of a fancy pants like yourself to come into my territory,” Lucifer said.

“I’ve been here before,” Marcus said.

He sounded completely in control, which shouldn’t surprise her. No matter the situation, one could always count on him to keep a cool head. She averted her eyes because the sight of him hurt more than anything she had been through since she saw him last.

Lucifer laughed. “I doubt that. You wouldn’t last ten minutes in Hell dressed like that.”

“The last time I was here, I left with Emmanuel Pyre.”

Lucifer’s tapping fingers stopped. She glanced at his face and saw the smile fade. She didn’t know what was going on, but Marcus’s words had a profound effect on Lucifer’s demeanor. His expression became inscrutable, and he examined Marcus with calculated interest rather than amusement.

“So you made it.”

She didn’t understand Lucifer’s quiet tone or the reason behind it.

“What brings you back to Hell?” Lucifer asked.

“You have something of mine.”

Marcus’s words made her jerk, but she didn’t acknowledge him.

“You must be Marcus,” Lucifer said and draped his arm on the back of her chair. “How intriguing. Carmen’s been annoyingly mum about you.” He gestured between them. “How do you two know each other?”

“I work with Gavin.”

Lucifer clapped twice. “Bravo, Marcus. Made something of yourself, have you? And with Gavin, no less. Impressive.” He glanced at Carmen before he clucked his tongue. “I sense trouble in paradise. I was expecting Roman, actually.”

“She’s mine.”

“Is that so?” Lucifer asked as a scream split the silence.

Angel rounded the corner in jeans and a white shirt flecked with blood. He had a stained six-inch knife at his side. He spotted them and started forward. Relief calmed her nausea. Angel would get her out of this mess and give her the time she needed to shore up her defenses before she had to deal with life again.

“You have two suitors?” Lucifer asked cattily and nudged her with his elbow. “Which one are you going to choose?”

“I’m going to kill you,” she hissed, and he grinned.

“You can try. I love challenges.”

“Carmen, are you all right?” Angel asked.

She nodded and focused on him instead of Marcus. “Yes.”

“Lucifer,” Angel growled. “What the fuck?”

“This isn’t my fault. You should be thanking me. I saved her,” Lucifer said.

“Thanks,” Marcus said in a voice that sounded like crushed glass. “Now give her to me.”

“Not without payment. I was hoping for Gavin, but I got you two instead.”

“What do you want?” Marcus asked.

Lucifer waved a vague hand. “Did either of you bring a present? No? How rude. I saved your princess’s life. The least you could do is bring me a fruit basket or a head or something.”

“Lucifer.” Marcus sounded like he was speaking through clenched teeth.

“If Gavin came to fetch her, I would have renegotiated more than an annual visit, so what do you two have to offer?”

“What do you want?” Angel asked.

“Presents, a good fight …?”

“Whatever you want, consider it done,” Marcus said.

“You didn’t come the night Lyla was here. Why not?”

“I wasn’t invited.”

“But you can fight.” Lucifer stroked his beard. “You’re trained, probably by Gavin himself. I’d like to see you in a match.”

She went rigid. “No.” Marcus had never killed anyone in his life and only one winner emerged from the pit.

“Done,” Marcus said.

“No, Marcus!” He could die and for what?

“And what about you?” Lucifer asked Angel.

“Going in the pit suits me just fine,” Angel said with a shrug.

Lucifer winked at him. “Bitten by the bug, eh? I hear you’re practicing. Gavin used to be a regular patron. You’re welcome anytime.”

“Lucifer,” she began, but he put a massive paw over her mouth and squeezed.

“How about you two battle each other and then Carmen won’t have to choose?”

She gripped his thumb and twisted his wrist so that his arm bent at an odd angle, but she didn’t have the strength to hold him. Lucifer laughed while Marcus and Angel watched from several feet away.

“I’d rather stay in here with you than let them battle in the pit,” she snapped.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Lucifer uncoiled with ease and then tossed an arm over her shoulders. He leaned in close. Marcus took a step forward, but Angel grabbed his arm. She stared straight ahead as the devil nuzzled her bruised cheek. She suppressed a flinch as he whispered, “I’ve killed men for looking at me the wrong way. Don’t think I can’t kill you five different ways with one finger. I’m tempted to kill you just to see the looks on their faces when I pull your little heart from your chest and eat it in front of them.”

Her heart skipped. Duly noted. He wasn’t the king of Hell for nothing.

“Hmm.” Lucifer rested his chin on her shoulder as he regarded Angel and Marcus. “You both care for her, which is interesting. I have to admit, she’s entertaining.” He pressed his cheek to hers as if they were BFFs. “What say you, Carmen? What’s your life worth?”

“Nothing,” she whispered.

He clucked his tongue. “Don’t be so dreary. Two men came to your rescue.”

The silence stretched. None of them moved.

“I like favors,” Lucifer said quietly. “Marcus obviously doesn’t know the art of a bloody fight so maybe a favor is more appropriate in this case. You too,” he said to Angel. “I’ll call on you when I’m ready.”

“Fine,” Angel said and looked at her. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Lucifer murmured and to Angel and Marcus, “She’s all yours. May the best man win.”

She shrugged his arm off and got shakily to her feet. Marcus was in front of her before she could take a step. When he tried to take her arm, she jerked back, but he wouldn’t be denied. He grabbed a handful of her outfit and yanked her against him.

She shoved against his chest. “Let me go.”

He ignored her and picked her up in his arms. He moved swiftly, weaving through the tables. He was getting her out of here. She dropped her face on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and tried to ignore his familiar scent. His grip didn’t slacken as he climbed stairs. She heard a familiar beat and opened one eye. She caught a glimpse of a familiar bar. Before she could place it, he shouldered through a door into the night. She had lost a day. That didn’t seem possible. She shuddered as cold air penetrated through Lucifer’s thin clothes.

Marcus set her down beside his Audi. She glanced around and saw the unlit sign for The Pussycat, the bar where she killed the leader of the Black Vipers.

Marcus cupped her cheek. “Carmen, did he do anything to you?”

She jerked away. “Don’t touch me.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I want my mom.”

“She’s not here, remember? You told me she’s in Utah. We didn’t want to call her until we knew …” His voice trailed off, and then he said with more force, “Gavin and Lyla are on their way back from Bora Bora. Are you hurt?”

The physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional destruction Lucifer wrought. She was hanging on by a thread. She needed somewhere quiet and safe to recoup, and it wasn’t with Marcus. His presence wreaked havoc on her control, which was paper thin and getting more tenuous by the second. There was a maelstrom of emotions inside her, trying to break free. She needed to get away from him. Over his shoulder, she spotted Angel leaning against the Bugatti, watching them. The knife was nowhere in sight.

“One of the employees at the Red Diamond found Mickey’s body in the parking lot,” Angel said, and Marcus tensed. “Kiki reviewed the footage, saw you were attacked and drugged and called me. Lucifer made sure to stay out of frame, so we couldn’t identify him. We didn’t know if you had been taken by another gang.” Angel’s eyes were piercing as he asked, “Did Lucifer touch you, baby?”

His gentle voice made her eyes burn with tears. She shook her head and held herself more tightly. The one time she was in a really bad bind, Mom and Lyla were out of town. Her life fucking sucked.

Angel pushed off the Bugatti and held out a hand. “You want to come with me?”

Marcus caged her against the car. “She’s coming with me,” he said without turning around.

She shook her head and pushed against his chest. She tried to talk, but her throat was closing up as a surge of panic swelled in her chest.

“She doesn’t want you, Fletcher,” Angel said.

“We had a misunderstanding,” Marcus countered.

Angel sneered. “A misunderstanding that caused her to go to the strip club where she was attacked?” His eyes gleamed. “A misunderstanding that led to her being in my bed?”