The Darkest Passion (Lords of the Underworld #5)(87)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Boss?” one of the men holding William said. “We can’t just let him roam. He’s seen too much.”

“First, I’m not your boss,” William said, then he frowned and clutched his stomach. “Second, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

The man in charge—Dean Stefano, Galen’s right-hand man, Aeron realized, even as Wrath prowled through his head, ready to hurt, to kill—flicked his attention to William before turning back to the shattered remains of the door. “Make it look like he was mugged. And do it away from the building. I don’t want anyone sniffing around here.”

A cold, utterly uncaring death sentence for a man they assumed was human. Humans, the very beings they allegedly strove to “protect.” But then, Stefano was a cold, uncaring man. He blamed the Lords, particularly Sabin, for his wife’s suicide, and wouldn’t rest until all of them were dead.

Punish…

In the past, Aeron would have secretly loved the demon’s command and hated himself for it. No matter how much the victim deserved what he dealt. But no longer would he castigate himself. Losing Olivia was reason to rage. Destroying someone evil? A reason to rejoice. And he would.

He’d have fun.

Soon.

The two guards jerked a now-protesting William outside. “What’s going on? Just let me go and we’ll—”

“Shut up, ass**le, or I’ll cut out your tongue.”

That’s when William began sobbing like a child. If Aeron hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought the warrior was truly scared. But he did know better. This was all part of the role William had volunteered to play. And by “volunteered” he of course meant “caved to Anya’s threats to burn his book if he didn’t cooperate.” They’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, to what was about to happen, but deep down they’d all known it would.

William couldn’t free himself and run; that might raise their suspicions, put them on guard. He had to take whatever was dished, and let the men walk away afterward.

The guards rounded a corner and hurried down a back alley, out of sight. Even though Aeron could no longer see them, he could hear what was happening through his earpiece.

When they reached their destination, their footsteps tapered to quiet.

“I didn’t mean any bloody harm,” William cried.

“Sorry, pal, but you’re a liability now.” Next there was a slide of metal against leather, followed by the rip of flesh and muscle. A grunt. Another rip, another grunt.

William had just been stabbed. Twice.

Aeron flinched in sympathy. To take whatever was dished, just to leave an enemy unsuspecting, required guts—guts William was probably spilling all over the pavement. He’d survive, though, and he’d be able to repay the favor. They all would.

He heard clothing rustle, then a thump. William must have dropped to the ground and slumped over as if dead. The footsteps started up again, and then the two guards—smiling now over a job well done—were once more rounding the corner. They headed back inside.

Strider kept the hidden car trained on Stefano and the workers even now boarding up the hole. Finally, they finished up.

“Fuckers,” William grumbled in his ear. “Those two are mine. They went for my sweet, innocent little kidneys.”

There was nothing sweet or innocent about William. Not even his kidneys.

“Just a few minutes more,” Aeron promised.

“I want two guards at this door until morning,” Stefano barked. “The rest of you go back to what you were doing. And for f**k’s sake, someone contact Galen. Better we tell him what happened than he hear it from someone else.”

The two who’d stabbed William nodded and claimed their posts.

So Galen wasn’t there. Disappointing.

As Aeron watched, the rest of the Hunters filed out of the lobby, through the club and down a hallway. Strider stared at the monitor as he maneuvered the car silently behind them. In that hallway were several doorways. One, the camera showed, led to a room where a few Hunters were relaxing in front of a TV. In the second room, a few were peering at screens and clicking at computer consoles, much like Torin did. In the third, bed after bed stretched. Several Hunters were clearly sleeping in them.

Stefano entered the fourth, an empty room. There were no people and no furnishings. There was only a rug. A rug that had been flung aside to reveal a dark, yawning void. A void into which Stefano descended.

An underground tunnel.

Digging their way to the fortress?

Planning to sneak inside, never having to deal with the traps on the hill?

“We have the location of their hideaway,” Strider said smugly.

Go time. For Aeron at least.

“You know which way you have to go?” Strider asked.

“Yes.” As he’d watched the monitor, he’d memorized his path.

Strider patted his shoulder. “May the gods be with you, my friend.”

“And you.” Aeron pushed to his feet. He hadn’t worn a shirt because he’d known he would be flying. With a single mental command, he popped his wings free from their slits. Grateful for the freedom, they stretched to full length.

“Good luck, my man,” Paris said.

“Be careful,” a few others echoed.

“If anything happens to me,” he said to no one in particular, “make sure Olivia returns home safely.”

Aeron didn’t wait for their replies, but shot into the air.

Punish…

He soared high…higher…moving so quickly he would be no more than a blur to any camera in the area. Even one that could cut through shadows. Finally, he leveled out and hovered.

Punish…

Below him was the club. He searched the darkness, but there were no Hunters on the roof, and he couldn’t see the Lords he knew were scattered nearby.

Tonight, victory would be his.

Punish…

My pleasure. “Descending now.” Down, down he fell, wind whipping over his skin, wings tucked into his sides, increasing his momentum. When he reached the building, he flattened out and burst through the wooden slats that had just been erected. They brutalized his wings, cutting and breaking them, but they also knocked down the guards.

Aeron didn’t pause, but flew through the lobby, the dance arena, and then the hallway. Hunters had heard the newest crash and were springing into action, but they were doing so behind him, too slow to catch him. Only when he reached the room with the rug did he finally stop.

Wrath laughed, images flashing through Aeron’s mind. The sins of his targets. Beatings, stabbings, kidnappings. So much violence, so much hatred. These men deserved what they got.