Devil of a Chance, page 2
Slowly, I lifted my head, and a pair of silver eyes filled with fire glared back at me from across the platform.
Lucifer.
He wasn’t merely our king. He was, in a sense, our creator. It was his hellfire that created demons. That same fire flowed through our veins and powered every inch of Hell. His fury and disgust weren’t only felt by me from the subtle cringing of the other demons. He was tall and lean in appearance, but I was no fool. Beneath his black silk shirt was a strength enough to tear a demon limb from limb if he so desired. His firm jaw was clenched while he stared me down. A bloody rag was in his right hand, though both hands were still covered in gore. Short black hair surrounded two elegantly curved obsidian horns that stretched back along his head. His nostrils flared, and when his lips parted, his fangs extended as if he debated throwing himself across the platform and finishing me off.
The air crackled with fiery tension. I flinched when my skin burned, bracing for the end, knowing Heph’s offer had been too good to last. Then Lucifer pulled back on his emotions as if slamming a mental wall down to keep us all out. That was his gift and his curse, having every demon feel as he did unless he blocked us out. He gave me one last repulsed glance that turned to one of warning, then his gaze shifted to Heph. He stepped onto the platform and disappeared in a column of fire.
I sagged, not believing my luck.
Heph chuckled until I glared at him. “What? If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead,” he said, maneuvering us onto the platform.
“You going to tell me what you’re up to yet?”
“No, but if I’m right, you may find yourself back in Lucifer’s good graces far sooner than you think.”
Chapter 2
Ashmielle
Rock music blared from the small bar speakers behind me while I wiped down the counter with a wet rag. Not like it ever did much good. The damn thing was always sticky. Hank, the guy who owned this hole in the wall known as Hank’s Hideaway, said it was supposed to be sticky. It had been like that for decades before I came along.
Two guys sat down at the bar. I dropped the rag and went to get their orders.
“Jerry, Vick, usual?” I asked the two regulars.
The burly men in leather biker vests nodded, and I set out two glasses, filling them with whiskey. “When are you going to get out of this place, huh?” Jerry, the older and greying of the two, asked. “You’re too good for this shithole.”
I laughed, leaning on the counter. “Don’t let Hank hear you say that.”
“Hank can kiss my ass. He should’ve fired you by now. Let you go do something more worthwhile than waiting on assholes like us.”
“Oh, now Jerry, don’t talk about yourself like that,” I teased with a wink. “We all know Hank’s the worst asshole of them all.”
“Ouch,” Hank, the man in question, said from behind me. I turned, smirking at the hand he had over his heart and how he dramatically rolled his eyes. “That hurts, girlie. Really hurts. Might’ve been a killing blow.”
I shook my head while Hank sidled by me to get behind the bar. He was over six feet tall and had the start of a beer gut. The long, black hair he had back when we first met was turning white at the temples with a few random grey streaks here and there. The crow’s feet around his eyes had deepened, too, and there were a few more lines around his forehead and mouth. He wore all black as usual, with two leather bracelets on his right wrist, each with a small metal plate. One read strength, and the other love. Hank scared most people off with a peek, but he was a teddy bear when he wasn’t making drunks piss their pants if they crossed the line. He’d been married once upon a time until his wife was taken from him. Cancer was a bitch, he always said. It was the only time I’d seen that man shed a tear, talking about her.
I topped Jerry’s and Vick’s glasses off and turned around to check if we needed anything from the back. My black and silver-streaked hair was coming loose from its bun. Quickly, I redid it, the black and silver strands slipping through my fingers while I studied my reflection. The silver was natural; something few people believed when I told them. I’d had it as long as I could remember. My mom’s hair had been a silverish grey, but there’d been no black to it. My eyes weren’t like hers either. She had the bluest irises, blue like the sky in summer. Mine were a shimmery silver, and unlike any other I’d ever seen. I always assumed I took after my dad, a man I never met and had no idea who he was. Mom only slipped up once about what kind of man he was. She said he was a bad guy who put our lives in danger by merely existing. It was why we’d run away when I was a baby and why we’d always been on the move. She’d looked so sad and lonely when she mentioned him. He might not have been some knight in shining armor, but she’d clearly loved him.
With her dead these past twelve years, I had no one else to ask who he was. I’d made it this far in life without knowing him. I’d manage to survive the rest of my life the same way just fine.
Yeah, but maybe he’s the reason you don’t really feel anything except fiery anger that comes out of nowhere.
My lips thinned at the annoying sound of my inner voice. Who says I don’t feel anything but that? I could be happy if I wanted to. And Hank, I care about him. That’s feeling.
And look how long it took for you to reach that point? It might also explain your other issue.
I don’t have another issue.
Really? You know Hank was right. You should’ve seen a shrink all those years ago. It could’ve helped with all this damn denial of yours.
“I don’t have any other issues,” I muttered under my breath.
Tell that to the long-sleeve shirts you wear. Or why you ended up on your own in the first place.
“It’s been twelve years. Let it go.”
I’m not the one who can’t let it go.
“Just shut up, alright?” I said louder than I meant to, but no one at the bar noticed, thankfully.
If anyone ever heard me arguing with myself like this, they’d think I’d lost it. Sadly, my inner voice that had grown far louder since I’d been on my own was right. Even before Mom died, I’d always felt disconnected from the world around me. I was here, but not here, merely going through the motions. Most of the time, it was like I was in a fog some days.
Hank had asked me one time why I always put on such a fake smile for the world. I’d told him it made everyone shut up and leave me alone. A real smile was too hard when every day I was vividly aware of feeling as if someone cut a chunk of my soul away. He dropped the matter and poured me a shot of whiskey, then told me to lighten up.
My anger was another beast altogether. After years of practice, I managed to shut it down with some deep breathing and distancing myself from whoever was pissing me off. A few times, I failed, and Hank saw firsthand how much of an animal I turned into.
The few people I’d hurt before Hank or Zane got me under control had been customers that were a little too handsy. The regulars all just said I was hot-headed, but I remembered Hank’s reaction the first time he saw me lose it. His eyes had gone wide, and his hands had shaken while he’d guided me to the backroom to cool off. He’d studied me with a severe scowl on his face. That had been the first time he asked me what really happened to me while I lived on the streets. I hadn’t been able to tell him, and after a while, he’d dropped it. A few times, he’d attempted to get me to see a therapist, and each time, I flipped him off. I honestly had no idea why the old bastard put up with me all these years.
“Quit your daydreaming, girlie,” Hank’s gruff voice sounded from behind me, and I prepped my fake smile. His reflection appeared in the mirror beside mine, but there was a sour look on his face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, spinning around.
“They’re back.”
My hands curled into tight fists at my sides, following Hank’s glare across the bar. I skipped over the regulars, a few college kids out for a night on the town, and the demon sitting at a corner table. The neon lights reflected off his obsidian horns, but the demon wasn’t the issue. They came in here every now and again, as did the Fallen Angels that hung around our city in the middle of the Nevada desert. None of them caused issues, not for us personally. What they did with the humans outside these doors was their business, and we stayed out of it.
No, what had Hank cursing were the three guys two tables over from the demon. The first night they came in, I knew they were going to be trouble. They kept their heavy leather jackets on even though it was summer and the bar’s AC was set relatively warm. Hank was getting up there in age and hated being cold.
The men would order tequila shots with their beers and stay at their table the entire time. Some nights, a fourth guy would show up. He’d stay a few minutes, leave, and the three others would pay and follow not too long after. For the past two weeks, they’d been showing up. Two nights ago, they’d started a fight when a drunk guy got a little too close to them. Hank had broken it up, but during the scuffle, I’d spotted the knife sheathed at the redhead's hip. That would’ve been enough to set me off, worried he’d use that blade on Hank.
The murderous glint in the redhead’s green eyes was what had made me round the bar, ready to give him the same treatment he gave Hank until Zane, our bouncer, intervened. He’d dragged me away, but not before the redhead had spotted me, licked his lips, and shifted his hips suggestively.
Zane had to physically pick me up at that point to get me away from the asshole.
“What do you think they’re doing?” I whispered, looking anywhere but at the three men. I had to stay in control. No going off on the customers, not unless they started it.
“Nothing good,” Hank replied. “You remember what I told you?”
I huffed, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, no one serves their table but you.” I tugged on the sleeves of my long-sleeve grey shirt with a black skull on the front. “You sure you just don’t want to call the cops? Or I could always find a way to scare them off. Could serve them the beer that went bad.”
The mischievous glint in Hank’s eyes said he was considering the last option. “Let’s see how the night goes. Deal?”
I wanted to argue, but Hank was hardheaded. I let it go and went back to tending the bar I’d worked behind since I was twenty-one. Before then, I worked in the back, stocking shelves and even cooking a bit. After hours, I’d helped clean the place, and Hank had taught me how to mix drinks. Not that anyone knew except him and the four other employees that I’d been around for that long. They all thought he hired me almost four years ago.
Hank found me when I was fifteen, digging through the dumpster behind his bar. I remembered that night clearly. We’d stared at each other for what seemed like forever until he opened the back door and asked if I was hungry. He was the only person I trusted in this world. Everyone else I met either abandoned me or tried to screw me over. Not Hank. I owed that man everything. It was thanks to him I was finally able to stop looking over my shoulder.
An echo of the night my life fell apart threatened to distract me, but I breathed in deep, let it out, and did what I always did—shoved that memory down as deep as I could.
The evening wore on, and I mixed drinks while I chatted with the customers, keeping my pretty fake smile plastered on my face the entire time. It was turning out to be a typical Friday night. Around half-past ten, I ducked into the back room to grab more ice—
A shout from the bar had me rushing back through the door.
Hank was at the table with the three guys. He pointed to the door, his face bright red, but none of the guys rose to their feet. I glanced around for Zane, but he was busy at the front dealing with a set of drunks arguing with him over taking their keys.
Taking the bucket of ice with me, I marched over to stand a little behind Hank. The intense flash of heat that hit me left sweat beading on my brow, and my hand tightened around the thin handle of the ice bucket.
“I want you gone, you hear me?” Hank snapped. “All of you, out. Now.”
“Calm down, old man,” the redhead muttered with a wink and sly grin which sent an uncomfortable shiver down my back. “We’ll leave when we’re good and ready. You don’t want to be kicking out good-paying folk now, do you?”
“I don’t want your money,” Hank stated and pointed to the door again. “Out of my bar and don’t come back.” When no one moved, Hank grabbed the closest one by the arm and dragged him off the tall barstool.
Time seemed to speed up. The man balled his hand into a fist and connected with Hank’s face. Hank fell back, staggering to keep his balance, blood dotting his lip.
The fiery flash turned into a spike of heat shooting through me. I shouted and chucked the ice at the guy. He cursed, swatting it away. I shoved him hard enough to send him reeling into a table filled with people. He crashed into it with enough force to knock them all to the floor.
The redhead rushed around the table for me, and I grabbed the chair closest to me while the rest of the bar broke out into chaos.
Zane yelled, his voice rising over the fighting, but I’d lost sight of him and Hank. The redhead stomped toward me. I grunted, swinging the chair into him. He was thrown into another group of bystanders and quickly disappeared beneath their legs.
The last guy at the table launched himself over it and right for me. He took me to the floor, his fist aimed at my face. I dodged it, smirking when he punched the hard floor instead. Grabbing him by his shoulders, I hefted him off me, and he vanished into the melee.
A hand appeared in my face, and I took it. Jerry and Vick were both giving me wide-eyed gazes, which I ignored. This wasn’t the first time they’d seen me lose it.
Still don’t think you’re weird?
Shut up, I snapped at my inner voice.
Just saying you’re getting stronger if you hadn’t—
“You alright, girlie?” Hank’s voice came from behind me, cutting through the voice inside my head.
“Yeah, great. You?”
He wiped at his bleeding lip and shook his head. “Peachy,” he muttered. “We’re closing down, folks. Everyone out. Drinks on the house tonight.”
There was a smattering of cheers, and the bar quickly emptied, with Zane guiding people out the door. I kept looking for those three guys, but they must’ve already snuck out. Pity. They all could’ve done with at least one more punch to the face.
Zane was on his phone, probably with the taxi company, ensuring everyone had a ride to get their asses home safe.
Jerry and Vick hung back, still giving me weird looks until I finally snapped.
“What? I wasn’t going to let them beat up Hank.”
Jerry’s head bobbed slowly. “You uh, you’re a lot stronger than you look.”
I shrugged, starting to right bar chairs that had been flipped over. “Adrenaline.”
“Yeah, we’ll go with that,” Vick muttered.
Jerry and Vick murmured to Hank, patted him on the back, and headed out the door. Zane locked it behind them. When he spun around, he too had a curious expression in his eyes. Avoiding him, I went about picking up the mess. I kept waiting for Hank to go off on me for inciting a brawl in his bar, but he didn’t say a word. While I cleaned up, the fight replayed in my head. I’d been in a few skirmishes in my time on the streets. Each time, the same heated flash would hit me right before that fire would take over my body. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was getting stronger. Those men had easily been twice my size, and those barstools weren’t light. My hands stilled in picking up beer bottles. All I wanted to do was blend in, pretend I wasn’t some weird freak of nature, and get on with my life.
The last thing I needed was a Fallen Angel realizing I had some supernatural ability and trying to recruit me.
Or deciding I was a threat and killing me. Shit, the demon. There’d been a demon here. Had he seen the whole fight? They didn’t try to recruit humans like me. They straight up stole their souls.
“Go home, girlie,” Hank called, and I jumped. “Ashmielle?”
“Good, I’m good. I should stay and help clean up.”
“You’re good. I got this. Go home and get some sleep.”
“Hank,” I tried to argue, but he arched his brow and crossed his arms. “Right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I was at the back door about to head out when he repeated my name. “Thanks, by the way, for saving an old man’s ass.”
I smirked. “Least I can do.”
There was a question in his eyes, but he waved me off, and I left the bar. The night was warm, and I tugged up the sleeves of my shirt. The glow from the streetlight danced over the scars on my forearms. Forcing my gaze to steer clear of those blemishes, I climbed into my old beat-up red Chevy and headed for my apartment.
By the time I was inside the tiny one-bedroom place I called home, I was wired. So much for getting any sleep. I kicked out of my black steel-toed boots, wiggling my toes in the carpet. My tight black pants went next, and I let out a sigh of relief at the cold air of my apartment. The shirt went too, and I traipsed into the tiny galley kitchen to snag a bottle of beer from the fridge. Resting against the counter, I wondered about the fight again. What if those guys came back?
What if next time they didn’t just start a fistfight?
Cursing about what kind of trouble I might’ve brought down on Hank’s head, I sank onto my beat-up bright blue couch, flipped on the TV, and failed to stem the concern coursing through me.
Why are you so worried? Bout time we had some excitement in our life again—something to get our blood pumping and see what we can really do.
Grunting, I dragged one of the throw pillows over my head, ignoring my inner voice. Excitement was the last thing I wanted. That’s what I told myself.
