A ragged sigh sips from her lips, and she drags her fingers through damp, knotted hair. “Will you help me?” Wings. Fire. Green eyes. Help me. I slam my eyes shut, trying to force the images from my mind.

  “Yes.” And just like that, it’s done. In the blink of an eye, I feel it, the presence of God, radiating from her. I have to fight the urge to touch her, to just…be…near her.

  Forcing myself to open the door, I silently slip from the rusted shell of a vehicle, allowing the rain to wrap me in its embrace once more. Icy water instantly trickles beneath the collar of my shirt, sending a shiver down my spine.

  Bending down, I glance back inside the car. Her eyes lock with mine, and something passes between us, though I can’t identify it. “Be here tomorrow. 10 p.m.”

  She opens her mouth to respond, but I cut her off, slamming the door of the tiny car and making it rock on its axis.

  Eden Harris will work for me, and I will watch her. I will possess her. I will be touched by God.

  And so the angel will be my own personal vessel, a beautiful possession.

  10

  Eden

  Text Message: Summer

  The words flash across the screen of my phone, and I tap it on a sigh.

  You’re quitting? Are you okay? X

  No, I’m far from okay, but I can’t tell her anything. I have no doubt that Saint will go to extreme measures to maintain his privacy.

  Cutting the engine, I toss my phone in the glove box and make my way towards the front of the ominous-looking church. The bouncer offers me the briefest of acknowledgements before stepping aside. I nervously smooth a hand over the tight skirt of my dress, heels clicking over the worn stone floor as I cross the threshold. A wall of sound hits me, the club in full swing. Various lights sweep over the crowd of people, illuminating the high rafters and colourful stained glass windows. It almost seems a travesty, to turn such a beautiful building into nothing more than a nightclub. If these walls could talk, I’m sure they could recall the ever-changing tide of humanity. And now…now they’re witness only to drunk people gyrating all over each other.

  As I descend the stairs into the catacombs, it’s silent. What looked like nothing more than a quirky club, now seems exactly what it is: an underground harbour for the dead.

  I flinch when the clatter of glass disrupts the eerie silence. A girl drops a crate of beers onto the bar, glancing up at me as she does. Dark hair falls in a braid over her shoulder, and a white dress clings to her curvy body. She looks like a supermodel.

  “You shouldn’t be down here.” Backing up, she folds her arms over her chest, eyeing me up and down.

  “I’m supposed to be working here.”

  “Yeah. Upstairs,” she huffs with a roll of her eyes. “Newbies don’t work down here.”

  “Uh, okay.” I turn to go back upstairs and find Jase striding towards me. His gaze is fixed on his phone. His brows pulled tightly together in concentration. Copper waves stick up in every direction as though he’s been dragging his hands through his hair all day. He almost walks right into me before coming to an abrupt halt.

  “Eden.”

  “Uh, am I in the wrong place? Should I be up there?” I jerk my thumb toward the stairs.

  His lips twitch. “If you were supposed to be up there, security wouldn’t have allowed you down here.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Saint insisted you work down here. The tips are better, though the clientele is considerably worse.” There’s something in his voice when he says it. Disdain? He tilts his head to the side, his eyes flicking over me slowly. “What is it about you?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Moving closer, he slowly reaches out and pinches a piece of my hair between his fingers. “You’re so innocent. Like sunshine. I can see why my brother would be so fascinated.” They’re brothers? Now that he mentions it, I can see the similarities: eyes the same shade of blue, the set of their mouths, the angle of the jaw. Though Jase is much more friendly. Dangerous, undoubtedly, but with a veneer of charm. Saint is just…cold and scary.

  “I’m grateful for Saint’s help…”

  He laughs, leaning in so close that I feel the warm rush of his breath on my neck. “Well, you have his attention now. And for that, I’m truly sorry.” I shiver at his words, a sense of dread sinking into the pit of my stomach. “You should go to him. He’ll think you were late, and you really don’t want that.”

  He walks away, and I watch him go in confusion. Taking his advice, I make my way through the claustrophobic rooms until I’m standing in front of those heavy wooden doors again. My pulse races and my mouth instantly becomes dry. Tentatively, I knock on the door, waiting for a response. There is none.

  Eventually, I bite the bullet and grab hold of the thick metal ring that serves as a handle, twisting it until the latch comes free. The door opens with a groan of squealing hinges, and I quietly step inside, trying not to allow my heels to click against the floor.

  For a moment, the room looks empty, but then I spot him. Saint. Sitting there on that chair with a stillness that’s nothing short of unsettling.

  “You’re late,” he says.

  I check my watch. It’s two minutes past ten.

  “I was speaking to Jase.”

  “Did Jase employ you?”

  “No.”

  “Then Jase is not your priority.” I don’t respond, and a tense silence reigns between us. Slowly, he pushes to his feet, stalking across the distance between us. Every instinct I have wants to retreat because he makes me feel vulnerable, unsafe — like helpless prey. His lips quirk, and I know it’s because, despite my lack of actual movement, he sees it. He senses my fear.

  He moves into my personal space, pinching the material of my dress.

  “I don’t run a whorehouse. One of the girls will dress you.”

  I glance down at the tight black dress and heat creeps into my cheeks. I’ve never been made to feel ashamed for wearing a short dress before.

  “I will tell you this once, fail to abide by it, and I cannot be held responsible for any consequences. Understand?” His voice is a whiplash without compromise. I nod mutely. “Good. This club caters to…a certain ilk of individual. You may hear things, see things…you will never repeat any of it. The people who come here expect discretion, safety. Do you understand?” I nod again. What the hell is he getting me into? “Words, angel.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “Good.” He retreats again. “You may go.” I turn for the door. “And Eden…don’t ever be late again.”

  I’m pretty sure he’d kill me given half the chance, and I’d be lying if I said that prospect didn’t terrify me.

  My feet feel like lead as I climb the five flights of stairs to my floor. That irritating fluorescent light in the hallway buzzes incessantly as I fumble in my bag for my keys. I’m half asleep, so I jump when I spot movement in my periphery.

  “Jesus, Ash, you scared me.” I press my hand to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. It’s not exactly safe around here, and I’m always on edge. He’s leaning against the wall beside the door, his foot kicked up, and his hands rammed in his pockets. “What are you doing here?”

  He pushes off the wall, stopping right in front of me. His eyes dart over my face, a frown marring his features. “Well, you don’t seem to return calls or texts.” He spreads his arms wide. “So here I am.” I don’t want to deal with this right now. “Are you going to invite me in or not?"

  Sliding my key in the lock, I shove the door open; resigning myself to this conversation, despite the fact that I’m so tired, I can barely keep my eyes open. “Come in.”

  Slamming the door, I dump my handbag on the floor and follow him to the living room. He glances around the room as though he’s never been here before.

  “You come to me and ask for help. I take you to Jase Kingsley then I hear nothing. The Kingsley’s could have killed you, and I wouldn’t even have known. Now I hear you’re working for them.”

  “It’s three in the morning, Ash.” My eyes feel like someone has rubbed sand in them.

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “Well, you don’t need to. I’m not helpless.”

  On a growl, he moves closer. “No, you’re a good girl, Eden. You have a future away from this dive of a place. Otto has gotten involved in some shit, and now he’s dragging you down with him.”

  I snap. “Fuck you! Otto is a good kid!”

  “You know as well as I do that he’s into something bad, Eden. Your only lead is Saint Kingsley for fuck’s sake. That says it all.”

  “Saint’s trying to help me,” I mumble.

  He laughs. “The Kingsley’s don’t help anyone but themselves.”

  “Our interests are aligned.”

  He laughs harder now, throwing his head back before he shakes it. “Don’t be stupid, Eden.”

  “You know what, just get out.”

  The laughter cuts off, and his head tilts to the side almost predatorily. Gone is the adoring bad boy that I’ve always known, replaced by something colder, harder. This is the guy that earned Ash a reputation amongst the criminal world of Peckham. This is a side he never allowed me to see.

  “You’re naïve. Right now, they want to find Otto because they want to know how the fuck he ended up with so much of their cash. He’s a leak, a potential risk. Do you know what the Kingsley brothers do to people who get in the way of their business?” I swallow heavily, my pulse ticking up with each passing second. Taking his phone from his pocket, he taps over the screen a few times before handing it to me. On the screen is a news article about a murder at a Chinese restaurant. No, not one murder. Four. Four bodies found with their throats cut. The deaths are a suspected gang killing. “That’s what they do. They aren’t your friends, Eden, and trust me when I say that there are few men out there more dangerous than those two.”

  “How do you know that was them?” I whisper, but even as I say the words, I can picture Saint mercilessly holding a knife dripping in blood. I know it’s not beyond him, or Jase for that matter.

  “Let’s just say I know their business connections and those,” he points to the phone in my hand, “were some of them.”

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is finding my brother.” That’s it. One goal and everything else is just details. I’ll make any sacrifices necessary for Otto.

  He places a finger beneath my chin, tilting my head back until I meet his gaze. “Fucking run, Eden.” His eyes are so earnest, and I truly believe that he cares.

  “You know I can’t.” He hisses a curse under his breath and whirls away from me, pacing across the room. Stopping at the dining table, he grips the back of a chair so hard that his knuckles turn white.

  “I’ll run with you.”

  “I. Can’t. And neither can you.” Has he lost his mind?

  “Why won’t you listen? You have no clue who you’re dealing with! Mayor Rick Kingsley…Saint’s Uncle. His father and brother: the biggest suppliers of cocaine in the city. His cousins — supply arms to most of the Middle East. You are nothing to them. A blip. And Saint…he’s the worst of them all, completely unhinged. I don’t know why you’re still alive, but you won’t be for long.”

  “I’m just trying to play this one day at a time. That’s all I can do.”

  Ash closes the gap and cups my face in both hands, ducking until we're eye level. "I won’t lose you again, Eden.” He never had me. At least not this version of me.

  Turning, I walk to the front door, pulling it open. “Thank you for your concern. I need to go to bed.”

  I see the disappointment on his face. He thinks he can save me, but he can’t. I’m committed to this path now. There is no way back, and no way out. I’m in. I’ve made a deal with the devil, and he can gladly have my soul if he’ll let go of my brother’s.

  11

  Saint

  It’s been a week — a week of observing Eden from the shadows, here, in my own club. I don’t speak to her. I don’t need to. We’re kindred spirits, spiralling into hell together. I see it in her eyes, the growing desperation — the grief that threatens to swallow her whole. Sometimes she looks at me like the monster she knows I am, and at others, it’s like I’m her only hope in this world. And when she looks at me like that, I feel empowered, holy.

  She’s now polishing glasses and stacking them on a shelf. The dress she wears covers her from neck to knee, and yet the black material shows every elegant curve of her body. As she reaches for the top shelf, the material inches a little higher, exposing more of her thigh. All the blood in my body instantly pools below my belt, and I hurry away to the safety of my lounge. Shutting the doors behind me, I pace to the fireplace and back again, my footsteps short and quick. My cock presses against the fly of my trousers painfully, and bile rises up my throat. Sinner, sinner, sinner.

  Panic rises in me. I need…something. I slam my fist into the wall, feeling my knuckles crack under the force. Pain shoots up my wrist, and I sigh with relief, punching the wall again. It takes three more hits before my cock calms and the sick feeling dissipates. My hand throbs, and blood coats my fingers. I open and close my fist, needing the fresh waves of pain the movement brings. I’m fraying, threads coming loose and being pulled, pulled, pulled, until everything that once held me together is just gone.

  “Saint.” I turn at the sound of Jase’s voice. His eyes drop to my bloodied hand before a frown mars his features. “We need to talk,” he says seriously.

  Moving away, I take a seat on my chair. He settles on the sofa across from me, bracing his elbows on spread thighs.

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “Careful, Jase.”

  “You’re not yourself. You’re not on top of things.” He releases a long sigh and drags a hand through his mop of hair. “You still haven’t given the okay for them to start printing again.”

  “Has the investigation into our money been closed?”

  “No.”

  “Well then, there is your answer.” I shove to my feet and fasten my jacket.

  “It’s not just that. You’re acting crazy…crazier than normal. Why would you employ Eden?”

  “So we can watch her.” There’s no we about it.

  He snorts. “Two weeks ago you wanted me to kill her. Now you’re giving her a job. I see the way you look at her.”

  Anger starts to bubble like lava, just waiting to spill over and destroy everything in its path. “And how is that?”

  “Like she interests you. And nothing interests you aside from money.”

  So he sees it. “My interest in her is money because she threatens it. Her brother threatens it.” The lies pour so easily from my lips with enough plausibility to fool my brother — he who knows me so well — the only one who would notice my attentions slipping.

  “You aren’t focused.”

  “I’m fine!” I instantly regret the slight loss of control, the snap in my voice because it proves an element of truth in his words. Pushing to my feet, I move to the bar and pour a half glass of whiskey before knocking back a full gulp and slamming the glass on the bar. I walk straight past him and yank the door open with a heavy groan of old hinges. I storm from the room, right into Eden. We collide, and she staggers back, dropping the tray of glasses in her hand. The crash can be heard over the music.

  She drops to her knees immediately, scrambling to pick up the glass. “I’m sorry,” she says, glancing up at me through long lashes. My cock twitches, my lungs shrink, and my pulse hammers out a staccato rhythm against my eardrums. She’s on her knees before me. Worshipping me, praying at my altar. The thought makes my cock painfully hard, and I can’t…think. A breath hisses through her lips, and she snatches her gaze away, lifting her hand. Blood pours from her finger, cascading down her hand so hypnotically. I drop to a crouch, grabbing her wrist and tugging her closer. The soft jazz music swells around us, and I know there’s a room full of people, but all I see is her…and her blood. So red, so vibrant. Our eyes meet, and I hold my breath, fighting the torrent of images flashing through my mind. Wings. Flames. Blood tears. Blood, blood, blood. Wings of crimson. An angel on her knees, a sacrificial offering. For me. To me. And she looks so good in blood, the crimson against that pristine, pale skin. No!

  Shoving to my feet, I stagger away from her. “Clean that up,” I grunt before hurrying away.

  She tempts the very darkest parts of me to the surface. Which is precisely why she should be dead, a little voice pops up in my mind. It would be so easy, her existence washed from this planet and thus my mind, as bleach washes germs away. I would feel cleansed. Fixed. Right. But if an angel is the voice of your conscience, encouraging good, then this…craving must surely be the work of the devil. Burning, burning, burning.

  She tests me with her simple innocence and naivety, and how truly damned does that make me — that I should crave the destruction of something pure? She plays to my weaknesses, and that troubles me in ways I cannot fathom. This is what He wants, to watch me lose control, to watch me struggle for Him.

  I need to get out of this club.

  l've never run from anyone, but I’m fleeing from the monster she entices from deep inside me. I should never have offered her a job here. I keep walking, moving through the club and straight out of the front door, racing towards the salvation that I sorely need.

  As soon as I set foot in the church, a sense of calm washes over me, soothing my permanently conflicted soul. The chill that emanates from the thick stone walls has goosebumps rising on my arms, and my breath fogging the air. The confessional sits in the corner like an old friend, beckoning me. Approaching, I pull back the curtain and take a seat on the shallow wooden bench. As soon as I tug the curtain closed, a hush falls over my mind. The endless war that rages in my head reaches a tentative ceasefire. The scent of wood polish and incense fills my senses, and all at once I feel like I’m home.