Page 44 of From Hell

“There are no rules for Gods like us,” he grinds out.

“That’s where you misunderstand. You are not a God yet.” I take out a six-inch Liston knife, our ritual instrument for ascendancy, and inspect it. “I am.”

His eyes widen a fraction. “I want to see The Archkey.”

A dark smile plays over my lips. “I’m afraid The Archkey is unhappy with your service.”

“Wait!” What’s left of his voice scrapes at the sharp corners of my mind, drawing the darkness to the forefront of it. “What do you want? I can give you—”

“Shhhh.” I place the blade’s edge against Henry’s tongue. His eyes bulge, breathing becoming shallow when my eyes flicker, and Hell takes over. He knows what’s coming.

I let the Evil in.

When I come to, the sterile table is awash with blood.

Harvesting his organs may be too late, but I’ll do it anyway. I’m supposed to be representing Mitre Hospital at The Foundation’s after-party brunch tomorrow. My father won’t appreciate me turning up late, half dead on my feet, but that doesn’t bother me. It’s been a long time since I sought his approval. And I like everything neat and tidy and cleared away.

My loss of control may have cost me what Henry’s heart would be on the black market, but the darker parts of me are easier to handle when satisfied.

I take the prepared scalpel and make a slash incision on another part of the body, not caring to maintain perfection. There’s no audience, no life on the line this time. I can be as messy as I want. Dead blood pools dark, almost cherry black, in steel grooves like a vintage wine. I work succinctly, severing ligaments and tissue.

Until the heart can be plucked out.

I place it in a transport cooler, pack it with ice, and seal it.

Imagining it’s my little fox on the table, tied up, mewling for release shoots a thrill straight to my cock…but then I see that bastard Henry and what he did to her, touching her, placing his hands on what’s mine. Red clouds my vision just as much as the workspace, and I rip the rest of the corpse to shreds.

It’s a ritual—a soothing one.

When I’m finished, his body is mutilated from the waist down. Perfection. If only he’d been alive, I could have punished him properly. Still, he’ll serve a purpose. They always do.

Before I finish, peel back the gauze and admire her handiwork: the precise cut of her blade, the depth of the first slice—her training at medical school wasn’t wasted, then. Shame she dropped out. She would have made a fine surgeon.

Christian still hasn’t woken up. I check his pulse. It’s weak, but he’s alive.

Good.

After placing Henry’s body in a cold drawer, I clean up and leave. A call on my phone lights up the screen just as I’m pulling into the driveway of my apartment. It’s Shepherd checking in like he usually does.

“Henry’s family are asking where he is,” he says gruffly, classical music wafting in the background. “Do you know?”

“I told him to keep low.” He doesn’t need to know Henry is dead just yet. That little secret will stay between me and my sly little vixen.

“And the potential scandal?”

I don’t hesitate. “Dealt with.”

“Good. The Archkey doesn’t like loose ends. He wants this harvest to go smoothly. We can’t have the police poking their noses in our business.”

“I never leave loose ends.”

“He’s concerned with your…harvest. Your orders are to come in and submit—”

I hang up before he regrets his words.

Shepherd thinks he’s my superior because he’s golf buddies with my father, but I’d rather chug acid than listen to him preach at me down the phone about orders. I don’t take orders from the Archkey, just as he no longer controls me. I’m a tool of the Divine. My father wouldn’t understand that, just like he can’t enforce his power over the Lucians, the acolytes without me, his instrument of death and punishment. He certainly can’t control the blood market without my contribution.

The Lucians were founded to promote a distinct code of ethics in the medical fraternity. The structure may be flat, but inherently, it’s based on family. Acolytes rise through the ranks by the strength of inheritance and their connections—what they bring to the table. Apart from knowing my father, Shepherd brings next to nothing. I tolerate him only because my father does.