Page 121 of Hellbound

Kill him.

No. Tori was right; Greg wasn’t worth it. What had come over her?

No.

“Tori,” Marian said in a tone that hardly sounded like her at all. “Please get the wallet.”

The traveler jogged away while Marian stared down Greg, the shadows in her periphery slowly disintegrating.

Paul burst through the door as the last mote of darkness vanished, leaving Marian standing there with Tori clutching her elbow while Greg Bjernsen stood with his saggy pecs out, joggers nearly around his knees.

Clad in black gloves and a long-sleeved blue shirt that masked his tattoo, Paul looked livid. “Everybody downstairs. Now.”

The bartender’s face compelled Marian to comply without protest. She and Tori hurried out the door with Greg hot on their heels.

“Not you.” Paul intercepted him before he reached the landing and put him in a choke hold, taking the diver to the ground in a tangle of flailing limbs that quickly fell limp to the concrete. Marian paused on the first set of stairs and turned toward the sound of metal clicking into place. Her eyes flared wide as Paul pressed a pistol and silencer to Greg’s temple.

“No!” Marian barked. “Let him live.”

Paul lowered his gun and threw a fiery glare over his shoulder at her.

“Are you serious? That shit stain would throw you under a bullet train for a Cheeto.”

But over Paul’s massive shoulders, Marian saw Greg pop up and barrel down the back hall. She shouted unintelligibly, spurring Paul into action. The bartender lunged to pursue, then hesitated, looking back at his charges. He gritted his teeth, anguish in his eyes as he threw his head back with a frustrated groan.

“I could slap you both.” He stormed up to Marian and Tori and shoved them forward.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The ride back to Vale’s was sullen and uncomfortable with Paul at the wheel of the stolen Audi. Marian never once saw him take a breath the whole time he chastised them, all while securing his motorcycle in front of Greg’s swanky condo. He’d have to come back and get it, he’d said, and that he absolutely loved hauling ass across town every goddamn day.

He’d found them so quickly, Marian assumed the car had a GPS tracker before Paul said as much. She should have thought of that.

They went back willingly, though. Tori sat slumped against the door, her forlorn gaze trained out the window while Marian inspected the worn brown leather wallet open in her lap. The crease was pliant and cracked, the card holders mostly empty. Credit cards and cash were long gone—Greg probably saw to that, the bastard.

A few fading business cards were left inside. One was Vale’s. Tucked into the ID sleeve was an old California-issued driver’s license. She pried it free and read the text. It had expired when Marian was in elementary school.

The photo showed a man with cloudy eyes and a mop of dark brown hair. No remarkable features; just a solemn face with good bone structure. Another human lost to the Remnant.

But the name on the license didn’t make sense. Her brows scrunched together as she feared for a second that she’d forgotten how to read. She read it over and over again, lost in those impossible letters.

Bennett Meyer.

In Marian’s world, where there was no such thing as coincidence. Vale was exactly who she needed to see next.

He was waiting for them in his office dressed head to toe in black slacks and a matching collared shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Only his eyes betrayed his fury as Paul marched them in.

“Bjernsen flew the coop. I had to make a choice,” Paul announced as they entered.

“I see,” Vale said with lethal quiet.

But Marian wasn’t afraid; she quietly seethed where she stood. She wanted answers, and all roads led to Vale. “You sent Arthur Falk after the knife, too. He had your mark. But he never came back from Hell. You played him like you played me.”

An uneasy hush fell over the room as the accusation rushed out of her. Marian locked eyes with Vale, searching him for any hint of emotion, intent.

Shadows rippled off his shoulders like a shudder, twisting lazily down his bare forearms.

“Paul, Tori,” Vale said at last in an icy tone. “Leave us.”