Page 81 of Hell’s Weapon

Suddenly, I feel a caress running up my side and I jerk back as she retracts her tail. “That’s not fair.”

“Aw, is the puddy cat sad that he can’t bring his tail out to play without fully shifting.” I shut her up by stepping into her space again and kissing her so deeply she can’t taunt me anymore.

Eventually we make it to my room, grabbing her scrubs on the way. I don’t want her to leave as she opens the window to duck out into the night. But she must go back to her dorm room, we can’t afford for her to get caught out and having her stay the night is too big a risk.

She pulls me into another deep kiss and leaves my head spinning as she disappears from sight. After stashing her clothes in my closet and stripping down to my boxers, I collapse onto my bed.

Now I’m alone, there's no distractions from the torrent of emotions waging war with my insides. Do I regret the last few hours? Absolutely not! But I can’t help feeling apprehensive. This could blow up in my face without much provocation on my part. I don’t think Hades will mind us being together but maybe the timing isn’t the best when we’re failing to put a halt to the fucker murdering contestants in their beds.

As the morning rolls around, I shower and get ready in a tired haze, having tossed and turned the rest of the night, thinking of ways we can get the contestants in the cells to start talking. Heading to the break room, I make myself a very strong coffee and grab a huge plate of bacon and eggs. The chefs here deliver our breakfast before they start serving the contestants and I’m grateful for the service this morning. It’ll be hard to return to making my own food once these games are over.

Officer Wilson walks in with Tarron and Dominic. He rightly avoids my eye contact as they gather their own breakfasts and join me at the big oak dining table we have in the kitchen area.

“Are you missing something Wilson?” I ask, keeping my voice level. He nearly drops his plate. Thankfully I’d waited until he’d nearly placed it on the wood surface before speaking.

“Sir… I, er…” he stumbles and swallows, freezing halfway between standing and sitting.

I reach into my trouser pocket and pull out his ID pass. Flinging it at him, I do my best to grow the fear I see in his eyes. “Have you not learnt to keep this on you at all times?”

He catches it and sits. “Sir, I’m so sorry, I left it on my desk while I popped to the bathroom. I didn’t expect any officers to take it.”

Tarron and Dominic are both still over by the serving station, even though they’ve filled their plates. Tarron looks terrified too, probably wondering if I’m going to remind him of his own transgressions where the passes are concerned. Dominic is shoving toast in his mouth, enjoying the show.

“You’re lucky it was the Death Bringer that found it.” All colour now leaks from Wilson’s face. “They handed it in to me, although not before using it.”

“It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Good. Because if I find it not attached to your person again I will ask Dom to surgically imbed it into your skin.”

“Sorry, sir” he says.

“You’re lucky Wilson, I’m feeling generous this morning.”

“I’ll say,” Tarron says, finally striding over having decided it’s safe to do so. “You went off like a gargoyle when I made that error.”

“You want to bring that back up?” I cock my head in challenge. The cup of coffee pauses halfway to his lips.

“Nope, forget I said anything.” He dives into his breakfast.

Letting it go, I address Dominic instead. “How quickly can you heal a few bones?”

“I’ve got some mend brewed. It’ll take a couple of hours to work on fingers, noses, or other small breaks. If you go breaking kneecaps or ribs you’re looking at a day. And I only have enough for a dozen tops.”

“Good. It’s about time we showed these contestants what it’s really like to fuck with the Demons of Hell.”

Chuckles break out around the table as I finish my breakfast and return the dishes to the trays for the staff to deal with.

“Meet me down in the cells when you’re done here,” I order them as I leave to go hunt down a few of the others for today’s interviews.

This lot are tougher than they look. I’ve personally questioned three of the suspects and haven’t had a single one crumble under the pressure–unlike their bones. I may have indeed broken a few ribs on the last one in my frustration.

Flicking the excess blood off my hands, I signal to the camera in the corner that Dominic is needed, then I leave number Eighty-Three unconscious.

Next on my list is number Sixty-Two, Cameron Diedamia. He was a private investigator in the mortal realm. He also has some accomplishments in the hired hitman field but kept it low level and seemed to quit when his PI business took off.

Opening the door to his cell, I can immediately tell this one might be a little different. The ire in his eyes informs me he does not appreciate being caged like an animal. He’s sat in the corner, one knee pulled up and arms folded.

If he feels anything about me entering his cell with my clothes wet and hands stained red, he doesn’t show it. I close the door and lean back against it, crossing one foot over the other at the ankle.