On Your Knees, Prospect (Kings of Hell MC 3)

Damon laughed. “You must be the ‘kid’ I’ve heard so much about. Am I right?” He pulled the garotte tighter, making Vars gasp in panic as black spots appeared in front of his eyes. “I assure you, you’re just a lackluster replacement for me no matter how much you crawl on your knees and beg for more pain.”

Gray pushed past Jake, his arms stretched out, a Glock pointed straight at Damon’s head as he stepped closer with the same grace of a feral cat that Vars associated with Damon.

“Ghost. You’re on my turf, uninvited. I suggest you leave now.”

Damon hissed, pushing the cold muzzle of Vars’s own firearm against his head. “This is a private matter between me and him!”

Vars choked, getting only a thin stream of air that was making him so desperate he thrashed against the garrotte, struggling against the biting pain that felt exactly like a knife cutting into flesh. Through the haze overcoming his brain, he locked eyes with Jake, who stepped closer in an instant, even if the gun in his hand trembled slightly.

“Nothing’s private about attacking a Kings of Hell prospect!” Jake yelled, as he stood alongside Gray yet having nothing of his mentor’s cool.

The gun moved away from Vars’s skull, but when it shot, Vars still twitched, expecting the black nothingness of death to pull him in once more. On the other side of the room, Gray gave a sharp yelp, pushing Jake away as if he’d somehow anticipated Damon’s move. Jake’s face twisted with pain as the bullet grazed his arm. The projectile might have missed his heart, but the scream of pain shot straight through Vars’s heart.

Jake’s scream didn’t miss though. It shattered Vars into a million pieces.

When Damon moved, the wire around Vars’s neck went loose, ever so slightly, but as air flooded back into Vars’s starved lungs, he only saw the pallor of Jake’s face and heard the water aggressively bubbling up around him, even though he knew it wasn’t there.

He called the gargoyle’s name so loudly it hurt his throat.

Gray was yelling something to Damon, the wire once more bit into Vars’s neck like a rabid dog, but his focus was on Jake, who stilled, staring at Vars in shock for half a second before his summer sky blue eyes turned red, then black, then began weeping tar. The goo dripped down his neck from his ears before exploding out of his mouth like a rapidly growing tree, which spurted black vines down his body to build its own, demonic shape.

Gray backed into the wall, and this time even his hands trembled holding the gun pointed Damon’s way.

Jake would be safe now. The gargoyle’s skin could protect him in ways the supple, boyish flesh could not, and yet the image of those baby blues staring back at Vars with a sense of betrayal pierced his heart and ate into it like a parasite.

Azog spread his wings wide, smashing them against the walls of the narrow space, his jaws wide open to reveal rows of shark-like teeth.

Behind Vars, Damon’s body was like wood, and yet the bastard still held on, tightening the wire against Vars’s throat until it felt like a noose about to snap Vars’s neck.

The aroma of gunpowder used with the intention of hurting Jake was bitter on Vars’s tongue. There was no understanding in the gargoyle’s eyes, none of Jake left in the confused monster, whose only goal was survival. Damon stepped back, loosening the wire around Vars’s neck, and the sudden change in Vars’s circulation sent him to the grimy floor that seemed to wobble under him as if they were all on a ship.

Gray ran from one side of the room to the other in a desperate attempt to avoid getting hit by Azog’s wings, but the gargoyle moved, roaring helplessly when Damon sent two bullets into its chest.

Azog spun to protect his front, which sent its tail on a collision course. The muscular appendage smashed against the bed and sent the heavy piece of furniture flying. Still shocked and with blood rushing back to his head, Vars screamed when the bed rolled over him and knocked him to the floor, leaving him in vapors of sulphuric aroma. Strong arms snaked under his armpits, pulling his limp, throbbing body along the floor, but he opened his eyes just in time to see the massive gargoyle crash against the wall.

Glass broke, and the last Vars saw of Damon was his slim body falling through the window in a rain of shards, narrowly escaping Azog’s clutches.

“Can you walk?” Gray asked, roughly pulling Vars into the corridor while the gargoyle was still roaring after Damon but unable to fit its bulk through the window frame.

There was no time to answer, and Vars barely managed to choke out a sound, let alone crawl farther away when they both saw Azog punch his way through the door and the surrounding wall, which left him with a necklace made of the broken door frame.