Immortal Rider

Nine

For the last hour at least, Arik had stood, back to the wall, eyeing the sandwich and pie. His mouth watered, but his mind was in turmoil. If he ate the food, he’d suffer in ways no man had ever suffered. Well, no man except Arik, because he’d already been through it. A couple of times.

You’re a slow fucking learner, boy. The voice of his father pounded through his head, and what the fuck? He’d been done with the abusive son of a bitch since the day he’d passed away in the hospital, nothing but an empty shell, mentally and physically. It had been surreal to look at the hands that had pounded Arik, Runa, and their mother into bloody pulps and to see how fragile they were, the skin paper thin and bruised by IV catheters and blood draws.

Not once had Arik felt sorry for his old man’s premature death, but now that he’d gotten an eyeful of Sheoul firsthand, he almost regretted cursing his father to hell. Almost, because some people deserved to be there. Here. Arik was still in hell, and he needed to remember that.

He inhaled, taking in the fragrant sweetness of the pie, because the demons wouldn’t beat him for breathing. He knew, had tested them time and time again by getting as close to the forbidden food as possible and taking deep, full lungfuls of air, as if maybe he could absorb some calories that way.

So. Fucking. Hungry.

He swore, long and loud, and then turned his attention to the clothes. The black sweat pants were too long and the waist too big—who the hell wore these things?—but the drawstring tightened enough that he didn’t have to worry about them falling off. The T-shirt, black, with Guinness written across it, fit better, though it was loose around the shoulders.

The door opened, and he stiffened, waited for this dream to fade and reveal that he was back in his cell.

Instead, the Limos-demon entered and put a plate and plastic bottle on the floor. As hungry as he was, he couldn’t look away from her to the food. They ^and’d gotten her image perfect, right down to the jewel-colored eyes, the satin black hair, the tan curves that could make a guy weep.

He’d come all over that fabulous body.

The demons must have gotten a serious laugh over that, but Arik just wanted to puke. Bastards.

He waited until the female removed the other food and backed out of the room to creep forward. He eyed the stained paper plate, unable to identify the pile of stuff on it. Looked like it had been scraped out of some animal’s intestines. Probably had.

Crouching, he sniffed at it. Didn’t smell putrefied. In fact, it smelled almost familiar. He sniffed again, and blinked in surprise. Dog food? They were giving him dog food now? Well, hell, it was an improvement over unidentifiable, rotten organs and week-dead animals. He looked at the plastic fork in confusion. They’d never given him utensils, which could potentially be used as weapons.

What game were they playing with him?

Whatever. He was starving. He scooped up a bite, and moaned at the taste. It was awesome. The best thing he’d eaten in weeks, and it actually tasted like food. Some sort of sausage, maybe. Man, people were feeding dogs well these days.

He inhaled the food, licked the plate, and then downed the water. He’d already gulped water straight from the bathroom faucet, so he wasn’t thirsty, but the clear, icy liquid tasted like heaven in a bottle.

There was a tap at the door, and he stood, wondering what was coming next. Usually after eating he got to rest for a little while before the torture started, but sometimes the demons thought it was fun to see how much pain it took to make him throw up the food.

The demon pretending to be Limos entered the room. “I brought you more clothes.” She tossed a U.S. Army duffle with his name stenciled on it, onto the bed.

“Where did you get that?”

“Kynan—”

Without thinking, he was on her, slamming her against the door, his fingers wrapped around her throat. “How do you know about Kynan?”

She clawed at his grasp, her strength enough to keep her from choking. “Arik, listen,” She sucked air. Hard. “This is real. I know Kynan because he helped us. When Ares’s Seal was in danger of breaking. You helped too.”

How long was this mind-fuck going to continue? He released her and stepped back, knowing he’d earned a big, fat beating for daring to touch one of his keepers. God, he was going crazy waiting for it. Being tortured was so much easier than the suspense. These bastards had a new tack, and it was working.

So… fine. He’d play their game. They were obviously working hard to convince him that this bullshit was real, so he’d give them a taste of who he was when he wasn’t being held in a filthy dungeon. He’d take charge of this situation and teach them real fast that he was in control of what was in his head.

“So.” He kicked the paper plate into the corner. “I’m really in Hawaii, and you’re really who you say you are. The Horseman who got me tossed into hell.”

A black brow arched, just a little. “So you believe me?”

“I’m willing to give it a shot.”

“You can say my name now.”

Like hell he could. “That’s not going to happen. I’m not taking any chances. So tell me why, exactly, my captors wanted me to say it.”

She dragged her hand through her hair, and even though she wasn’t the real thing, his fingers flexed, wanting to do the same. “Did they tell you why you were taken to Sheoul?”

Only about a million times. “They said it was because of you. Because you lost control somehow and were selfish.”

Surprise flickered in her gaze, and her lips parted on an indignant sound. “Hardly. You went there because you kissed me, and that was forbidden.” Her chin came up as if she suddenly remembered she was supposed to have a superiority complex.

“A kiss? A fucking kiss got me tortured to within the last inch of sanity? Maybe you could have laid out the rules for messing around with you? You know, before I did that?”

She sniffed. “You should have known better.”

This demon had Limos’s mannerisms and attitude down pat. “So why do—did—they want me to speak your name?”

“Because I’m engaged,” she said nonchalantly, as she studied her nails. “But my fiancé can’t claim me unless I’m captured in Sheoul, my Seal breaks, or the male I give my affections to utters my name while in agony.”

“Oh, now you tell me you’re engaged?” he said between gritted teeth.

She let out a long-suffering sigh, as if his questions were a bother. “I didn’t think it was important. Seeing how I hadn’t planned to do anything more intimate than kick your ass.”

Steam turned his body into a pressure cooker. “You little liar. You kissed me back. You wanted it.”

“I did not.” As if she’d just shot up with a speedball, her pupils dilated, swallowing the purple, and then went to pinpoints before returning to normal.

“Don’t fucking lie to me. I’ve kissed enough women in my life to know, so stop the bullshit.”

A low, pumping growl rumbled in her chest. “How many women have you kissed?”

“Why?”

“How many?”

Oh, now this was rich; she was jealous. She had no right to be fucking jealous. Not when she was engaged to another man. The steam scoured his veins, because even though the logical part of him didniv h chimot t think any of this was real, his body and emotions weren’t as sure.

“You want the truth? Because you won’t get lies from me. So be very careful what you ask for.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared. When it was clear she didn’t really want an answer, he went back to the original subject.

“So let me get this straight. I say your name, and you walk down the aisle with loverboy. That’s it? I was hung from hooks and roasted over coals just so you didn’t have to reserve a church?”

He was so going to say her name. He’d shout it from the rooftop. With a blowhorn.

“It’s not that simple.” Calm again, she caught a lock of hair and twirled it around her finger, and Arik wished she’d stop with the ADHD routine. “I mean, yeah, you saved me from bedding down with the big boy, but it’s about more than that—”

“Wait.” He held up his hand. “Who, exactly, is your fiancé?”

“Um… well… that would be Satan.”

Arik’s entire center of gravity wobbled, and he threw out a hand to catch himself on the dresser. “The Satan? As in, cast out of Heaven, ultimate evil, fallen angel? Lucifer?”

She rolled her eyes. “Actually, Satan and Lucifer aren’t the same. A simple mistranslation led to that belief—you’d be surprised how often mistranslations and biased interpretations have screwed with history and religion. Ask me about the Wars of the Roses or the Seven Deadly Sins sometime. Anyway, Lucifer is a fallen angel, but he’s Satan’s right-hand man.”

“Thanks for the history lesson,” he muttered. Jesus. How the hell had he gotten himself into this mess? You were thinking with the wrong head, that’s how. Yeah, well, Decker was always saying that his dick was going to get him into trouble someday.

This went beyond trouble and right into FUBAR territory. Especially when a horrifying thought came to him.

“Earlier,” he croaked. “In bed… did things just get worse for me?”

Limos turned bright red. “Ah… yeah… that. No. The damage is done. It doesn’t matter what I—we do now.”

“There is no we.” And why had he even asked that question, if this was just one big Star Trek holodeck scenario?

He turned around, put his hand on the glass pane. The view was gorgeous, but a gilded cage was still a cage. Weird, though, how the last time the demons had tried to trick him like this, the world had been fuzzy, dreamlike. Details had been off. Everything here was crisp and sharp, accurate down to the way Limos smelled like coconuts.

Clearly, a far more competent magician was spinning this trick.

“Arik.” Limos’s hand came down on his back, and though his first instinct was to get away from her, he couldn’t.

“Arik?” she repeated.

“What?”

“I wish none of this had happened.” There was an underlying tremor in her voice, and he almost believed her. Almost.

“Wow. If that was an apology, it’s lame. Are you really sorry?”

“Yes.”

For some reason, her answer pissed him off. “Sorry” was for when you forgot to take out the trash when it was your turn. “Sorry” was for when you bought the wrong kind of wine to go with dinner. “Sorry” did not work when you lost your temper and beat the shit out of your wife and kids. “Sorry” wasn’t enough when you blew your paycheck on booze instead of on food for your family. And “sorry” sure as hell didn’t cut it when you got someone sent to hell to have their skin peeled off.

He wheeled around, snaring her wrist as he backed her against the glass. “You do not get to be sorry. If this isn’t real, you’re just fucking with me. If it is, your sorry isn’t good enough.”

“What can I do to prove it to you?”

“For starters, you can admit that I didn’t force any kiss on you. You can admit you wanted it. You wanted me.”

Her violet eyes grew liquid. And that was how he knew this was bullshit. The real Limos would kick his ass and tell him to go fuck himself. But this one looked as if he’d just plunged a stake into her heart.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “If I do, this was all my fault.”

“Newsflash, My Little Pony, it was.” Releasing her, he stalked away, and then realized he had nowhere to go. He stopped in the middle of the room, but didn’t turn back to her. “Why don’t you just kill me? Am I really worth that much to you?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was a tortured rasp. “Yeah, you are.”

The next sound was that of the door closing.