Relentless Flame (Hell to Pay) (7 page)

Poor Dante stood there with such a hopeful expression on his handsome features.

She swallowed. “How did you know Ray? How did you come to be there when he died?”

He stared at the concrete for a long moment. “Happened to be in the right place. Um, when he gave me the information to deliver, I came to Portland.”

“You just picked up and came here to find me and deliver this message?” Something smelled fishy. He wasn’t telling her everything.

“I, uh, have a lot of flexibility with my job.”

“What exactly do you do?”

“Um, pest control.” His expression was more question, less statement.

“Looking like this?”

“I run my own business.”

“Hmm.”

He cleared his throat. “So isn’t that a good message?”

Darned if he didn’t look like an overgrown schoolboy, awaiting praise. She hated to burst his bubble.

“Kind of. Well. Thank you for going to all the trouble to tell me.”

“So Raymond wasn’t a nice guy?”

“I’d rather not discuss him, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” He hadn’t moved a muscle in the past five minutes.

“Can we just keep walking for a while?”

“Whatever you wish.” His stiff stance belied his polite words.

Perhaps she hadn’t shown the proper gratitude. He had come all the way from Philadelphia and somehow tracked her down, all to give her this message. That effort had to have taken time and money. Even if he was independently wealthy, he still had taken a lot of initiative on her behalf.

She tried to formulate a statement of appropriate thanks, one that she could say without breaking into pieces. Nope. Couldn’t do it.

Deep in thought, they strolled side by side in pensive silence. She’d be sure to thank him by the time they reached her house.

Fewer and fewer cars passed as they passed into the run-down residential area. The pleasant companionship eased the tension in her shoulders. For the time being.

Lulled into a relaxed state, she almost forgot about her disappointing life, almost forgot her aches and pains. Too easily, she imagined all of her days ending like this, walking home with a handsome man, enjoying polite conversation and companionship.

Until she blasted back into reality.

Up the street, Scott and his nasty friend, Brandon, stood at the front door of the house, beer bottles in hands. Their expressions were hidden in backlit shadow from the porch light, but the silhouettes of their heads rose as she approached.
Oh geez, not good.

“Okay, so I’ll go on from here alone, thanks.” She smiled in what she hoped was a convincing manner.

Slowing down her pace, she prayed Dante would get the hint.

“I don’t mind walking further.”

“No, really, it’s fine. Thank you and good night.”

She had to get him away from here. Shame for her brother and for her life rose up. So much for the gentleman walking her home to her pleasant life. Nice dream while it lasted. Dear lord, Dante wasn’t stopping.

Scott raised his bottle in shaky salute. “Hi, sis, who you got there?”

At an encouraging nod and smirk from Brandon, her brother sauntered to the sidewalk, planted his feet, and crossed his arms.

“I’m Scott. Who the fuck are you?”

Mortified, Hannah opened her mouth, but the man next to her spoke up first.

“Dante Blackstone.”

She hadn’t heard him project his voice before, and the bass tones vibrated through the concrete into the soles of her feet. Wow.

Scott rocked back a half step. “What the hell are you doing fooling around with my sister?”

She wanted to dissolve into the cracked pavement.

Although he remained civil on the surface, Dante’s censure was obvious. “There was no fooling around, as you say. It didn’t seem right to make your sister walk home in the dark. I’m surprised you don’t have more concern for her safety.”

Scott sputtered. “Well, I’ve got my own business to take care of, my man. It’s cool. She can take care of herself. She’s a big girl.”

Her brother didn’t look at her but instead glanced at Brandon. After a long draw on the beer, Brandon leered at her and nudged Scott.

What the heck? Her brother had become another person altogether around this guy. How much she’d give to keep Scott permanently away from his so-called friend.

Brandon’s narrow face squished into a scowl. “You don’t want a random dude sniffing around your sister, do you?” His nostrils flared as he smirked at Dante with open hostility.

Just being in the same zip code as Brandon made Hannah’s skin crawl.

Dante reared back and stared at Brandon as if the ginger jerk had given him the worst news of his life. Dante’s brows drew together, and his mouth clamped into a hard line. Did these two men know each other? Their reactions were unusual, to say the least. In the silent standoff, she squirmed.

“No way, bro.” Scott wiped his mouth on his hand and glared at Dante. “All right, buddy. You did your charity work for my poor sister.” She flinched at Scott’s sarcasm. “You should head on home now before you try to get your hands on her. Payment for your services and all, right?”

Dante actually growled, and the heat coming off him increased until she started to sweat. How was that possible? It had to be her nerves. Mortified, she half turned to Dante. Although his hands had curled into massive fists, he kept them pressed to his sides. Maybe she could salvage the evening and whatever the heck was going on between these guys before an actual fight broke out. Dante’s electric-blue eyes had turned black. Had to be a trick of the streetlight.

“Thank you for walking me home.”

When she placed one finger on his arm, his black eyes bore into hers, and she froze. Thankfully, she had secured the transfer instinct, but warmth flowed up her finger into her hand, and she yanked her hand back. Somehow, Dante appeared bigger. Muscles stood out on his neck as rage radiated out from him, like a crazy, blond grizzly about to charge.

Standing stiff against the waves of disapproval behind her and the waves of anger in front of her, she repeated herself with as much force as she could muster. “Thank you again. I appreciate it. Have a good night.”

Dante looked like he was about to rip everyone’s arms off with his bare hands. Then he blinked down at her. Black eyes lightened to blue.

“I enjoyed the company. Hopefully, your brother will realize it’s inappropriate to make a lady walk home.” He stared down Scott and Brandon. Through gritted teeth, he said, “And adjust his priorities accordingly.”

He nodded curtly to her, spun, and walked off, his heavy tread fading into the night, leaving her empty and alone. And pissed.

She whirled around. “What’s wrong with you, Scott? Are you a gangster now, threatening folks?”

“Go in the house. Brandon and I have business to discuss.”

“What business?”

“None of your business, that’s for sure.”

“More drugs?”

“Shut up. Just let me do my work and look out for you. I need to provide for us.”

“This?” She motioned at Brandon’s thin, sneering leer. “This is looking out for me? I seriously doubt it.”

“You gonna let her talk to you like that?” Brandon asked.

“No way, bro. Get in the house, sis. Brandon and I need to talk about things.”

“I bet you do.” She gave him her meanest glare. “I’m disappointed. That was a nice guy just doing a good deed, and you were rude to him.” She poked him in the chest. “Grow. Up.”

“You ever wonder what a nice guy would want with you, sis? How about nothing?” He belched. “That guy was slummin’. Once he gets in your pants, he’ll throw you away like last night’s dinner.”

“How about you work on yourself? Would it be so wrong if a stand-up kind of man wanted to pay some attention to me?” She’d never snapped at her brother before, but he had really hit a nerve.

“No. But what would happen if things got more touchy-feely, huh? Not so perfect, then. You going to explain what’s wrong with you? To him?”

“You’re a total jerk, Scott.”

Brushing away tears, she stomped into the house and slammed the door shut. What the hell had gotten into her brother? Her mother would’ve been horrified. Actually, their mother would never have tolerated Scott’s behavior. Some days, Hannah really missed her. Hannah missed the old Scott, too.

The worst part of his assessment? It was true.

She bore visible and invisible scars from Ray that would never fade. No man would be brave enough or dumb enough to take on that mess.

So what about Dante? Well, so much for him. The male attention was nice while it lasted. Scott chasing Dante away saved her from disappointment and embarrassment later, anyway.

With a sigh that bordered on a sob, she dragged herself to the indented mattress on the floor of the tiny second bedroom. She might not be back in Philly with Ray and his sick vices, but right about now, this life here sucked, too.

• • •

Dante doubled back.

Alarms blared in his mind.

He circled the block, sneaking through a neighboring yard to get next to Hannah’s house. Something wasn’t right, and it had nothing to do with her moron brother. It was his annoying friend. He seemed ... off. Really off. Like ... Dante.

Damn it. Anger had caught him off guard. He didn’t have a chance to study the orange-haired man, let alone question him, but Dante had caught a whiff of ... something familiar. Couldn’t put his finger on it, but chances were this guy was bad news.

Hannah around that guy?
Kristus
. Dante fought the need to break down the door and get her out of there.

His leg pulsed. The cursed knife knew his mood and his desire to fill the blade with a criminal soul. Was it seeking his attention because he hadn’t killed in a while? Or because of Scott’s friend? What did the knife know that Dante didn’t?

Scott’s friend. Pinched face, shifty. Total bastard with secrets.

Someone like Dante.

He could’ve sworn he knew most of the Indebted. Unless Jerahmeel had created a new employee in the past year or so. But Dante would’ve heard about it, right?

Cold dread hit him like a sucker punch to the gut.
Jåvlar
. Shit.

The asshole was just like Dante. But not. That explained the similarity.

A minion.

Maintaining his stealthy footsteps, he picked up the pace, desperate to get closer to the house. A minion.
Herre Gud
, this was bad, bad, bad. The last minion, Anton, almost killed Peter and Allie. Nearly as evil as Jerahmeel, minions were exceedingly hard to kill—harder, even than killing an Indebted like Dante, and that was difficult enough.

If the guess was correct, then this minion already knew that Dante was an Indebted. Like called to like.

Why did Jerahmeel need a minion now? Normally, he used them to extend his reach and prevent Indebteds from completing their contracts, but why a minion here? Why with these people? Something didn’t add up.

He needed to get advice from his old friend, Barnaby. This entire situation was very wrong. Dante’s kind didn’t casually run into a minion. Come to think of it, few mortals met a minion over the millennia and lived to tell about it.

Hannah and her brother didn’t stand a chance.

Dante’s heart began to jackhammer its way out of his chest.

Hopping the six-foot chainlink fence behind Hannah’s house, Dante alighted on the balls of his feet, turned, and slid into the shadows. He might be big, but his ability to stalk counted as an art form. He was a master. As he slunk through the darkness, he placed his feet deliberately and silenced his movements.

Using peripheral nighttime vision to better navigate, he sidled up to the house. He crouched in a shadow and stilled his breathing into noiselessness. Hidden, he could see the front of the house but would not be easily seen himself.

Scott and his friend stood in the porch light on the sidewalk. Straining to hear, Dante picked up their conversation.

“... don’t you think it’s weird, your ugly sister bringing home a hot guy all of a sudden?”

Dante almost rounded the house, with fists cocked and ready. Ugly? Hannah? What
oåkting
would say that about such a sweet woman?

“Yeah, that is weird, Brandon,” Scott said.

Her brother accepted a fresh beer from this ... Brandon. The asshole was getting the kid
druken
. What a good friend.

Scott’s speech slurred. “I don’t like this guy one bit. Hannah’s my sister, and it’s my job to watch out for her, not some mook with fancy clothes.”

“He’s probably a pimp,” Brandon whispered.

Persuasion oozed off the
røvhål
, the asshole. Dante would break his own hands if he didn’t relax his fists. Strategy. He couldn’t take this guy in a one-on-one fight. Not that he wouldn’t try if this Brandon guy put her in danger, but Dante had to consider all of his options right now.

Damn it, he didn’t have many.

Brandon sneered. “That moron wants to steal away your sister, even after everything you did for her.”

“Yeah, he’s bad news. She’s just going along for the male attention. God knows she doesn’t get any.”

Not flying across the yard to punch those two guys took all of Dante’s willpower.

“Even more reason to keep her away from that asshole. Come on. You’re the man of the house, right?” The minion leaned in close and clapped Scott on the back.

Dante froze as he surveyed the scene. Something was totally wrong about the way the minion acted and how he manipulated Scott when they made contact.

“Keep her away. You bet I will.” Scott upended the bottle and threw it into the street with a harsh crash. “I’ll lay down the law. For her own safety, of course.”

“Dude, you’re such a good brother.”

“Yeah, you got that right.” He staggered toward the house. “Give me another beer.”

“Whoa, hold on there. What’re you going to do about the hangover tomorrow, dude?”

“Hannah will take care of it. She always does.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“She cures me.”

Radar on overdrive, Dante strained to listen. He wanted to know what the fuck Scott was talking about, too.