Rapture (Fallen Angels #4)(34)
Author: J.R. Ward

What the f**k was Devina playing at now?

“That bitch,” Adrian hissed as he walked out, “is going to pay.”

Jim was so done with the people watching in the lobby, but he stayed where he was even as the night dragged on: Matthias was still hanging out in that room of his, and that meant Jim was all about the hurry-up-and-wait.

It was the life of an operative: stretches of total inactivity separated by bursts of life-and-death tap dancing.

Goddamn, this was just like the good ol’ times—that hadn’t been good, and didn’t feel all that old at the moment because Matthias’s backstory wasn’t the only one he was thinking about. Ever since his new job as an angel had barged in and taken over his life, it was as if everything that had come before had been wiped clean—except that wasn’t the case. Vital distraction was a kind of amnesia; didn’t mean you had no history, though—

Looking up at the vaulted ceiling, he frowned. Matthias was on the move.

A minute and a half later, the elevator doors opened and the man stepped out into the lobby, relying on that cane of his, his sunglasses in place even though it was nighttime. All around, people noticed him—then again, it had always been like that, as if Matthias’s power created a lighthouse effect even among the mercifully clueless.

Making himself visible, Jim stepped out into the guy’s path. “Late-night appointment?”

Those Ray-Bans whipped around, but that was the extent of the reaction. “Babysitting me?”

“Yeah, and I’m not getting paid enough.” Jim nodded at the revolving glass doors of the main entrance. “You off to somewhere?”

“Nah, just need fresh air. I feel…” Matthias dragged a hand through his hair. “Cooped up. I can’t stare at those walls anymore— What? Why are you looking at me like that.”

Before Jim could think of a lie, he said, “You’re so much more human now.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Jim shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter. Mind if I tag along?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You could always try to outrun me.”

“It’s not nice to make fun of cripples.”

“Show me one.”

Matthias laughed in a short burst. “Fine. Help yourself.”

Outside, the night was unseasonably warm with a thick mist choking the air, the moisture hanging between the clouds above and the asphalt below like it couldn’t make up its mind whether to be a downpour or not.

Taking out his cigs, Jim lit up and exhaled a stream of smoke. Between the mist, the Marlboros, and the resonant sounds of their footfalls on the sidewalk, the whole damn thing was film noir in real life…and that was especially true as they came up to a group of men who were striding along—or marching, as was the case.

What. The. Hell?

The six bastards were all dressed in black leather, which might have marked them as Goths—except the way they walked in formation behind their leader had a professional soldier vibe.

As they passed by, Matthias and Jim moved to the side, and the one in front glanced over.

An ugly son of a bitch for sure, with eyes that were pits of aggression.

Huh…in his old life, Jim might have considered them candidates for recruiting. They looked like they could kill anything or anyone in their path, especially the guy in the lead.

But he was different now. And hopefully, so was Matthias.

“I remembered something,” his old boss said, after the stretch of concrete was their own again.

“Yeah?”

“Just personal shit. Nothing I was interested in.”

As the silence became as prevalent as the fog, Jim took another drag and talked out the exhale. “Waiting for me to fill the void?”

“You were the one who wanted to come along. You could at least make yourself useful.”

“And here I thought I was decorative.”

“Not for me, buddy.” When Jim didn’t comment further, Matthias glanced over. “So, I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Not romantically, I hope.”

“No, I used to like women. A lot.”

“Used to?”

Matthias stopped and faced off. “What I want to know is—”

At the far end of the block, a figure stepped out into the sidewalk with the ease of someone trained to ambush, and the gun that was discharged in their direction didn’t make a sound. All Jim saw was the brief flash as the bullet left the tip of the silencer.

With a cursing lunge, he tackled Matthias into an alley, the force of his two hundred and twenty pounds sweeping the other man off his feet, the pair of them going parallel to the ground in slow motion. In midflight, and with perfect synchronization, they took out their guns, trained their muzzles at the shooter, and pulled their triggers—and as their rounds left their silencers, Jim pivoted so that they landed on the damp pavement with him on the bottom, and Matthias using him as a mattress.

There was no time to f**k around, and he didn’t need to tell his old boss that—clearly Matthias’s preference in nooky wasn’t the only thing the guy remembered: he was on his feet and ready to bolt for cover behind a van that was about three yards away—

More shots were fired at them, pinging off the pavement, the GMC’s quarter panel, the wheel well. The shooter had followed them and was keeping to the shadows as he closed in.

That kind of stealth was another identifier. Their attacker came at them without sound, and not just because he was using the same kind of autoloader with a suppressor on it that Jim had against his own palm: No footfalls, not even heavy breathing; this was a trained killer, operating in his element.

XOps, Jim thought. Had to be.

With another curse, he looked around for options. The van wasn’t good for shelter, because it had a gas tank: he knew where the lines were in terms of what he could survive, but he wasn’t exactly sure where Matthias fell on the spectrum of untouchable, and a mushroom cloud over their cover was not a good way to test that shit out.

Grabbing one of Matthias’s arms, he helped run the guy down the back of the GMC—and by dumb luck, the thing was parked at an industrial rear entrance to the hotel, the set of ugly steel doors inset into the brick. Jim went right for the handles, latching on, giving a twist.

Locked. Duh.

Annnnnnnnd f**k that for a laugh.

Throwing a blast of energy down into the metal, he blew the locking mechanism apart and threw his shoulder into the reinforced panels. As the pair gave way with a squeal, Matthias froze, the response so quick it was as if he had been trained into the fear.