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As bad as he knew it would be to indulge in this violent fantasy, a fight would do him some good right about now. And if there was anyone in this city who was a worthy opponent, it was this asshole.

Darien found the corners of his lips tipping up. What he wouldn’t give to realign this guy’s nose and jaw. But as Darien continued to study Malakai, he realized someone had already beat him to the punch.

With his hands stuffed in the pockets of his black leather jacket, and his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, the leader of the Reapers looked a little worse for wear. There was a limp in his step, and dried blood was caked on his left eyebrow and lower lip. His shoulders were hunched, and his black steel-toe boots were untied, the laces dragging through mud puddles. From what Darien could see of his shirt through his unzipped jacket, it was filthy and torn in more places than one. So were his jeans, as if a wild animal had ripped into him.

Darien snorted a laugh. What a sight that would’ve been.

Strutting at Malakai’s side in chunky platform sneakers was a petite female with purplish-blonde hair that fell to her hips, a leather skirt and crop-top, and fishnets that made her moon-pale legs look like they were glowing. She wore a skull-print hoodie that had to be at least two sizes too big for her, and around her throat was a black necklace that looked more like a dog collar.

Jewels Delaney, Malakai’s sister. Judging from the look on her face, and the way she was waving her hands in the air dramatically while she spoke, she was giving him shit for something. Malakai was too distracted to notice Darien as they made their way to a flashy motorcycle, the sides painted with the Reapers’ logo.

When they reached the bike, Malakai got on first, shaking his shoulder-length hair out of his face as he handed Jewels the only available helmet. She put it on and swung her leg over the bike to perch on the seat behind her brother. She was still giving him hell as she buckled and tightened the straps on the helmet, and Darien had to admit it was amusing to see her smack the back of her brother’s head with an open palm, and even more entertaining to see Malakai shrink under the punishment, looking more like a little boy getting scolded than a twenty-six-year-old man who slit throats for a living.

The engine rumbled to life, and they sped away in a flash, Malakai refusing to let up on the accelerator until the whole city could hear that blasted motorcycle ripping through the streets.

Gritting his teeth, Darien shoved a finger into an ear, holding it there until the bike was far enough away that the sound of it stopped grating on his nerves. With a shake of his head, he returned to sparking the cigarette.

“You look like you could use a drink,” said a husky male voice.

Blowing out a breath of rippling smoke, Darien turned to see an Angel of Death approaching, ebony wings tucked in tight behind him.

Whenever Darien saw Dominic Valencia, the Angel wasn’t usually dressed in blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and sneakers—and he usually wasn’t looking like a bus had run him over approximately ten times. His eyes were bloodshot, the purple half-moons ringing the skin underneath suggesting he hadn’t slept a wink last night. There was a gash in his left eyebrow, and dark bruises were scattered across his cheekbones and the column of his throat. He looked just as rough as Malakai, which made Darien realize it likely wasn’t a coincidence that the two of them were here at the same time.

Dominic liked to fight, which was why Darien didn’t feel guilty for smirking as he took in his friend’s battered appearance. Darien hadn’t seen Dom this messed up since their high school days, when they used to beat the living daylights out of the students they didn’t get along with. They didn’t always win, but they always had fun.

Darien’s lips twitched with a smile. “Are we having a Darkslayer reunion or something?”

The Angel grinned, his teeth a bright white against brown skin. “I take it you saw Malakai.”

“Sure did. And his cryptic little sister, too.”

Dominic laughed.

Taking another drag on the cigarette, Darien jerked his chin at the bruises on Dom’s throat. “You look like you got choked.”

“I did, and it wasn’t the fun kind.” Dom answered Darien’s growing smile with one of his own. “That’s actually why I’m here.” He shifted his weight to one leg, winced, and then shifted back to the other. “Got into a fight with Delaney last night. He tried to choke me, I smashed an ashtray over his head… I think we’re even for a while.” Dom’s wings twitched, feathers rustling, as if simply remembering last night’s events gave him an instant rush of adrenaline.

“Shit,” Darien chuckled. “I would’ve liked to see that.”

“I could’ve used the backup.”

“Where was Conrad?”

“Ah, you know how he is. He was getting his cock sucked by some chick in the bathroom and didn’t hear anything until Delaney came after me with a meat cleaver. People were screaming by then, emergency was called—it was a full meal-deal at no extra charge.”

Darien laughed, picturing it.

“The peace officers thought it would be a good idea to bring us here instead of to the precinct. More magic spells and all.” He winked.

“Right. You look hung over as shit.”

“Thanks,” Dom snickered, kicking a pebble away from his shoe. A question sparked in his eyes as he looked Darien over, no doubt searching for evidence to suggest he’d been locked up here as well. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“Got called in by Finn Solace.”

The Angel’s mouth twitched. “Something tells me you’re pissed.”

More smoke rippled past Darien’s lips. “I’m livid.” He couldn’t deny that the cigarette was helping with his mood, but his blood was still boiling in his veins. It would take more than a little nicotine to fix how he was feeling right now.