Far From Heaven

Ash stared at the unfamiliar law. What the f**k was such an offense Hell wouldn’t even hold it? He’d never heard of that before. Whatever it was, it must be an extremely rare occurrence. Curiosity getting the better of him, he opened his mouth to ask, but Metos cut him off.

“I’ll take that.” Ash looked up to find Metos’s waiting hand stretched toward him, his eyes narrowed in warning. With a shrug, he handed it back. Must be ultra-top-secret master demon business.

Metos settled back in his chair. “Now. According to my records, your contract with one Maxwell Gatlin for the soul of Madeleine Dean is open-ended. You can move at any time now, but it’s been two years. Why haven’t you collected?”

“Because it’s open-ended,” Ash said slowly, as if he were speaking to an uncomprehending child. So much for treading cautiously. “I’m enjoying the game. Choosing my moment to strike.”

“And you didn’t get it last night?”

“What does it matter? She’s ours regardless if I take her now or if I let her live out her entire life and take her at the end of it.”

It was the exact same thing he’d been telling himself since she’d lifted his fingers from her chest, from over her beating heart, and kissed the tips. He didn’t have to do it now. There would be many, many more opportunities.

“I’m telling you to do it now.”

Shit.

Metos went on. “We can’t afford these delays. Every day we wait is a day those winged imbeciles can find a way to thwart us. It concerns me that I have to remind you of this. You were once one of my swiftest collectors—why linger now? Take her.”

Ash cast his gaze to the floor, refusing to give up anything through his expression alone. He had been prepared to strike. Last night. Last night before Madeleine had turned her blue eyes on his. He’d prepared himself again, only to be defeated by the press of her sweet lips against the hand that would’ve drawn the soul out of her.

“Ashemnon.” Ash looked up into the harsh yellow eyes of his master. “I trust you will not allow a minor thing like your lust for this human to deter you from claiming what is ours.”

“Of course not.”

“Excellent. Now get back to the surface and do your job. You don’t want me to have to send someone else.” The last words seethed with such warning Ash didn’t doubt the threat for a moment.

What was he waiting for? He’d had his taste. It was all he’d wanted, just a few hours pressed against and buried inside the exquisite softness of her body. Metos was right, and Ash had said as much to the angel up on the surface. To delay was to invite peril. He didn’t think he’d left any loopholes—the whole thing was simplicity itself—but as he’d learned the hard way a couple of times, one could never be too cautious. And he couldn’t afford to care about anything other than staking his claim.

Chapter Eight

Maddie didn’t mind working at Delia’s store at all. That wasn’t work. It was getting paid to hang out with friends all day, talking about music. Laughing. It never failed to take her mind off whatever was troubling her.

Her waitressing job was another story.

She tried not to whine too much; at least she had a second job. The place was upscale and the tips were awesome. Besides that, she could always look for another gig somewhere else, if it came to that. But while things mostly sucked there, big time, she hadn’t been pushed past that breaking point yet. She was toughing it out.

Still, the situation always seemed far, far worse than usual when she was called in on her night off. Even more devastating was the fact she’d first met David here. He’d come in on a business lunch. She’d spilled a glass of water on his shirt. Ironic, wasn’t it, that the very bumbling nature he would eventually leave her over had been endearing to him in the beginning. It had gotten his attention, anyway. He’d dawdled at the table until the rest of his party moved toward the door, and gently caught her wrist as she walked by, slipping his card into her palm. God, she hadn’t been able to wipe the goofy grin off her face the rest of the day.

Of course, he’d made her come to him. Bastard.

She could’ve declined to come in to work, but she’d be crazy to turn down the money. Plus the idea of sitting at home by herself didn’t appeal. She would think too much, and that was never a good thing. Maybe leaving would mean missing a knock at her door, but how pathetic would she be to sit around waiting for it? She knew, deep down, it was never going to come.

Was it so wrong to hope, though? She didn’t want to sleep alone tonight.

But at the moment, here she was, wearing her pressed white shirt and black slacks with the little black apron tied around front. Carrying her little pad around. Serving all the happy, well-dressed couples on their Saturday night dates. And if in her mind she could picture herself dumping red wine into their designer laps, well, it was her little secret.

For being so frantic to get in touch with her in the middle of the night, David hadn’t tried to call or text her once today. Maddie gnawed her lip and tried to concentrate on writing down the convoluted order she was taking, but her thoughts were in turmoil. Did he know what she’d done? Why should she freaking care?

It wasn’t as if there’d be any chance of reconciliation. When David made up his mind about something, he was a rock, unmovable. So she hadn’t sabotaged anything by her little indiscretion—at least she didn’t think so, no matter how many times he’d called last night. There was nothing to sabotage. It was done.

She headed to the back, through the swinging doors, edging around one of the waiters bearing a heavy tray on one shoulder. Her dickhead manager was shouting as usual, his voice like grating glass in her head. She barely registered the words—something about accuracy—as she refilled her water pitcher to make her rounds. Her feet hurt already. Her head hurt. The pleasant afterglow of great sex had long since faded, and she didn’t even have the lingering aches to remind her last night had really happened.

She didn’t know which loss hurt her more—David or Ash. What did that even say about her? How f**ked up was she?

Ugh. She needed a minute alone. Glancing at the clock, she shouted “Break!” and made a beeline for the bathroom. The place was closing in on her right now, and the small bathroom didn’t help matters, but at least she was away from the noise and bustling bodies.

Cool water on her face. It felt good, but it couldn’t wash away the dirt on her soul.

And wasn’t she just a barrel of laughs tonight? Chuckling to herself, she turned the faucet off and glanced up at the mirror—and gasped, slamming her back to the wall of the nearest stall.

Nothing there. Nothing there, but there’d been a face behind her in the mirror, gray and ghastly, mouth open in a soundless howl, a withered hand reaching for her shoulder like the ones in the nightmares.

Oh God, it had never happened here, it had never happened outside her home. Oh God…

Pull yourself together! Her mind screamed it, but she didn’t want to obey because she couldn’t deal with this, she really couldn’t. The panic attack hit hard, and she slid down to the floor, gasping for breath, heart galloping, not caring, not giving a damn anymore because she was about to absolutely lose her f**king mind, but at least then the pain and the fear might go away…

The door swung open and feet shuffled in. If she’d given a damn about anything she’d have leaped to her own feet and maintained what little composure she could muster. But she didn’t. Dana, one of the other waitresses she didn’t know that well, came around the corner and stopped dead when she saw her.

“You okay, hon?” Dana asked cautiously.

Maddie nodded, aware of how she must look. Still not caring. Her face was tingling and numb. She had to force her lips into motion, wrench the words from her closed-up throat. “Just give me a minute.”

“You sure? Do I need to call—”

“I said give me a f**king minute. Please.”

Without another word, Dana stomped from the room. Maddie clambered to her feet, ignoring her violent trembling and trying to keep her heart from tearing its way out of her chest. She splashed more water on her face, getting more on her shirt than her flushed skin. As soon as her palms covered her face, she broke into sobs.

The part of her brain that was still rational tried to soothe her, assured her she was fine, she was still here, she wasn’t going anywhere. But the growing black pit of dread and doom that had been spreading inside her for as long as she could remember was poised to swallow her whole now. One day soon, those things were going to get her. Those shrunken, skeletal hands were going to grab her and not let her go. When that happened, it would all be over. Maybe by then she would even go willingly.

Something had a hold on her. Something evil.

Five minutes later, she left the bathroom, having fixed her hair, dried off and composed herself as well as she could. A faint tremor still shook her hands and weakness lapped at her legs, but maybe she could make it through the rest of the night. Suddenly she didn’t mind being around people, no matter who they were. She found Dana and mumbled a thanks and an apology, to which Dana shrugged and said, “Fine, whatever.”

Her manager rampaged through the kitchen again, so Maddie grabbed her water pitcher and hit the doors lest she become the new object of his incessant ire. She paused to let Lucy, the hostess, walk by in front of her. “Just sat you a couple,” the too-perky blonde informed her.

“Thanks.” Hopefully after these, the night would start to wind down. She could really use a glass of wine.

Even more so after she glanced over and saw who it was Lucy had seated in her section. And froze in her tracks, causing the waiter behind her with a precariously balanced tray to crash into her.

“Jesus, Maddie! Watch out,” he said, but she barely heard him. He managed to hang on to the tray somehow, but her full water pitcher was jostled by their impact. She didn’t know how it happened, but ice water sloshed right down the back of the perfectly coiffed hair of the woman sitting just in front of Maddie’s right elbow.

The woman screeched. Heads turned, even the sandy-blond one that was the object of Maddie’s scrutiny. And the red one sitting across the table from him.

On the other side of the restaurant, beneath the big bay windows, sat David. And he wasn’t alone.

What the hell is he thinking?

The idiot knew she worked here! What kind of a**hole brought his…his date to the workplace of the woman he’d dumped just the night before?

In his defense—if such a word could even apply in this case—he’d looked as shocked and mortified as she felt. Well, he did know her schedule pretty well, so he’d most likely thought she wasn’t working tonight. But still. Those things changed all the time. He knew that.

She sat in her manager’s office, taking an ass-chewing for her clumsiness. Wow, it was David all over again as she listened to the tirade. Get your shit together, Madeleine. Quit f**king everything up, Madeleine.

You’re going to end up just like your mother, Madeleine.