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The man rounded the corner…and skidded to a stop as he took in the Devil and the Reaper standing before him.

Malakai grinned. “Boo!”

And then Darien punched the guy in the face.

—

It was the perfect room to interrogate someone, especially for a last-minute decision that had stemmed from little planning or set-up. Casen had the strongest spells available coating the walls, ceiling, and floor, built to contain the screaming and hitting that would surely be heard by the people at the Block otherwise. It was only early afternoon, but the place was still filled with enough people to be a cause for concern.

The room was all concrete. There was a hard chair in the centre, where the hellseher sat, restrained and unconscious. A single lightbulb of mercury vapour swayed from a crumbling ceiling, bathing Darien and Malakai in jade.

Malakai stepped forward, reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket to take out a small glass capsule of smelling salts. He held it under the man’s nose and cracked it open, ammonia and ethanol drifting up into the warlock’s airways.

The odour caused the man to wake up with a jolt, head snapping back. Watery eyes blinked frantically as he took in the nondescript room.

And then those eyes widened when they focused on the two Darkslayers standing before him.

“What the hell is this shit?” The chair rattled as he tried to break free, the zip ties on his wrists cutting into his flesh. “Where am I?”

Darien stepped forward and placed his boot on the chair between the man’s thighs, tipping it back so it teetered on its hind legs. “Relax,” Darien whispered. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

The veins in his neck were bulging. “I ain’t talking. You’ll never make me talk.”

Darien reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of spiked brass knuckles. He slid them on and squeezed his fist, the gold spikes reflecting the acid-green of the mercury vapour. “Never?”

The hellseher’s skin turned pallid. A sheen of sweat broke across his face, the smell of it permeating the air.

Darien lowered his chair back down with a bang that made the man jump. “I don’t see a need to use these if you cooperate,” Darien said. “So why don’t you make this easy on yourself and tell us what’s in those silver briefcases you’ve been guarding so religiously?”

The warlock’s eyes were overflowing with fear as they flickered between Darien and Malakai. “If I don’t tell you, will you kill me?”

Darien and Malakai answered in unison. “Yes.” Malakai added, “And then we’ll bring your girlfriend in here and make her scrub your blood off the floors.”

Fear coated the room, thick as smoke. The man’s breathing quickened. “Are you serious?” he panted. The cold walls volleyed his words back with a sharp echo. “Where is she?”

The glance Malakai tossed Darien’s way, and the slight tilt to his lips, told Darien the Reaper was amused by how easily the warlock had walked into that trap, revealing that he had a girlfriend he cared very deeply about. And while they would never take an innocent woman hostage, this warlock didn’t know that.

“You’ll see her,” Malakai drawled. “As soon as you be a good man and answer our questions.”

The warlock swayed in his seat. “If you touch her—”

Darien stepped closer, fingers tightening on the weapon. “I don’t really think you’re in the right position to be making threats right now.”

“You’re a couple of filthy murderers is all you are. How does it feel to have killed hundreds of people? Huh? How does it feel?!”

“We haven’t killed in the hundreds, we’ve killed in the thousands,” Darien hissed, voice thick with sick pride. But even as Darien said it, Loren’s face flashed through his mind, and something deep inside him shrank away from the truth of his words. This moment wasn’t something to be proud of, and neither was the statement he’d just made. And for one split second, he saw himself through the eyes of this man who was tied to the chair.

Monster. Demon. Killer. Exactly the things he was trying so desperately to get away from, in order to build something new.

But this was one of the many steps he would need to take to get to that new life—that perfect future glowing in the distance, always out of his reach.

He blinked the thoughts away and nodded at Malakai. “Hold him still. We’ll start with a few hits to loosen up his tongue.”

Malakai did so without delay. Darien stepped forward. Malakai held the guy by the shoulders as Darien wound back—

“Wait, wait!” the guy blubbered, head recoiling. “I never said I wouldn’t talk!”

“And I never said I cared,” Darien hissed. But he took off the weapon. The guy’s aura was pulsing with a fear so strong, it told Darien he was close to passing out, which was exactly what they didn’t need right now. “We’ll forget about this little toy for now,” he said, slipping it into his pocket. “How does that sound?”