Page 58 of Wicked Believer

She snaps a few times more. “You ...” Her jaw drops. “You let me out of here, you ... you puffed-up, prideful peacock!” she shrieks, stomping her foot like the entitled princess she’s always been.

“Mimi,” Gluttony grumbles in warning.

Her twin is the only one among us who’s ever come close to being able to control her.

I shove my hands in my pockets, crossing my legs where I perch on the arm of my throne. “Notoneof you leaves this room until I have answers.”

“Well, might as well settle in for a millennium then.” Levi—Envy—casts his headset aside as he drops down onto an empty spot on the floor.

His businesses are more than capable of running without him, considering he works mostly in tech these days, the advent of social media having benefited his sin the most significantly. Though he’s never allowed that to stop him from being a petulant child and coveting every other fucking move the rest of us make.

“And what makes you so certain it was one of us, humph?” Mammon says incredulously. She stares down the bridge of her nose at me as she waves a pudgy, annoyed hand at the ceiling. “Especially with all ourotherasinine, angelic siblings out and roaming about.”

The others nod in agreement.

I cross my arms over my chest, scowling. “For the sake of us all, Mimi, you best hope it was one of you fools.”

Wrath slowly steps forward, eyes narrowed, his curiosity piqued. “Why, brother?”

The hair on my nape stiffens, my expression suddenly grave.

“Because whoever killed Charlotte’s double did so with our Father’s Holy Spear.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Charlotte

I come to on the floor of Grand Central Station, my body aching and bruised from all the ways Mark’s hurt me, but when I try to sit up, a pair of harsh hands gently hold me in place.

“Don’t move.”

The rough voice is familiar. One that seems to have haunted my dreams.

But this time when I glance toward him, it’s not Death’s skeletal face that stares back at me. It’s the face of an angel.

The Angel of Death.

“Where am I?” I rasp, gazing up into his handsome features.

He doesn’t answer me.

Instead, he strokes a gentle, reverent hand through my hair, his breath hitching as I relax into his touch. “Your soul looks just like his before ...”

Somehow, I know without asking that he means Lucifer.

“He hurt me.”

I don’t know whether I mean Mark or Lucifer—how he lied to me.

Maybe both?

My angel’s face softens. “Charlotte, we only have a few moments, and there’s things you need to know. Things he’s been keeping from you that would—”

Abruptly, my angel glances up, his expression hardening.

I scrunch my face in confusion, noting the hint of fury tightening his jaw. “How do you know my—?”

But Lucifer’s warning snarl rings out loud and clear. “Azrael.”