Sins of the Soul

The second guy was as good-looking as the first, but for some reason, as she reached the car and yanked open the door, her gaze slid back to the blond.

And caught him looking at her. For a millisecond, she held his gaze, and had the oddest sensation of recognition. Like she’d seen him before. But she knew with one hundred percent certainty that she hadn’t. She’d remember that face if she had.

The sensation was more than a little unnerving.

She dropped her chin and tipped her head a bit to the side, hoping to rob him of a clear view of her features. Like he hadn’t already gotten an eyeful.

When she looked up, all she saw was his back, disappearing through the door.

The crowd at the Playhouse Lounge was usually a mix of human and supernatural. For a second, she wondered if he was human. Then she shrugged. Not her business. But she was guessing he was because she hadn’t sensed a supernatural vibe, and usually she was good at that.

Climbing into the passenger seat, she glanced at her companion.

“Making new friends, Naph?” Butcher asked.

“You know me better than that.”

“Sure do.” He offered a wheezing laugh.

She pulled the plain brown envelope Mick had given her from inside her jacket and tossed it on the seat between them. It was stuffed fat with bills.

“You count it?”

“What’s with you and the bizarre questions tonight?” She dragged the shoulder strap over and buckled her seat belt.

Again, Butcher laughed. “Where’re we going?”

“Ashton Memorial Park. Whitby. Tomorrow night. Mick said there’ll be two open graves to choose from. Maybe more, if someone else dies before then.”

“Hnn,” Butcher grunted, and started the car. He stared straight ahead. “What else did Mick say?”

“That you owe him a bottle of scotch when this one’s done. And that the client says you already have all the information about the mark that you need.”

“That I do, Naph.” Butcher put the car in drive, his expression thoughtful. “That I do.”

“You plan on sharing anytime soon?” Not that she really needed to know. This was Butcher’s hit. She was just along as backup. But she liked to know details before she made a hit. Her scruples were a tad more discerning than his.

As though he read her thoughts, Butcher said, “I know your rules, Naph. The mark’s a killer.”

“That’s fine then.” But of course, fine was a relative term.

Funny how no matter how hard you ran from destiny, it always caught up and bit you in the ass.





“NOW THERE IS A FINE ass.” The pounding music coming from inside the club nearly drowned out Mal’s voice.

Thinking his brother was talking about the girl they’d passed on the way in, Alastor Krayl slapped his palm against the door, stopping it from swinging shut entirely, and glanced at the parking lot. He’d already noticed the sleek line of her long, jeans-clad legs, and the high curve of her arse on the way in. Now, as he stood half-in, half-out of the club, he caught only a glimpse of her face: dark eyes, dark hair, lush lips. She quickly looked away.

Pretty girl, he thought. More than pretty. Memorable.

Better for her if he forgot her.

He hesitated for a few more seconds, feeling like he ought to go out and—

What? Ask for her number? That was Mal’s style, not his.

Squelching the urge to stop her before she drove away, he let the door of the Playhouse Lounge swing shut behind him.

“Just look at that sweet booty,” Mal said, and Alastor realized it wasn’t the girl outside he was talking about. He followed Mal’s gaze and immediately wished he hadn’t.

The ass in question was anything but fine or sweet. Protruding above grease-streaked jeans was a large, white mound of quivering flesh bisected by several inches of deep crevice and adorned by tufts of wiry black hair. The owner of said body part was out of his chair, chest pressed flat to the stage, arms outstretched. On the stage, illuminated by the intermittent, flashing glare of the stage lights, a woman undulated and dipped with amazing elasticity just beyond his reach.

“Bloody hell,” Alastor muttered. “Now that you’ve pointed it out, I’ll carry that delightful image for the rest of the night.” He wasn’t certain his brother heard him because Mal was laughing like a lackwit and the music was pumping loud enough to shatter glass.

He glanced around. Before he’d even walked through the door, he’d felt a distinctive current crackle in the air, stronger now that he was inside. There were supernaturals here…where?