The Darkest Secret (Lords of the Underworld Book 7)

TWO SECONDS AFTER STRIDER barricaded himself inside his own bedroom, he had his phone in hand and was texting Lucien. He couldn’t deal with this. He’d reached his bullshit limit.

At fortress. Come get me. Now.

It was nice, having a friend who could flash from one location to another with only a thought.

Within five minutes, his friend materialized a few feet away from him. Lucien was winded, barreled chest rising and falling shallowly. A sheen of sweat covered his entire torso. His mane of black hair shagged around his severely scarred face, and his multicolored eyes were bright. He was shirtless, his butterfly tattoo practically crackling with electricity on his left shoulder. His unfastened pants were barely staying on his hips. To top it all off, tension radiated from the man.

“What the hell were you doing?” Strider asked from his closet. He’d already strapped himself with weapons, but a few moments before had decided a couple more blades wouldn’t hurt. Well, wouldn’t hurt him.

One of Lucien’s black brows practically knitted into his hairline. “Who the hell do you think I was doing?”

O-kay, then. Lucien had been in bed with Anya. For a moment, Strider almost forgot how pissed he was with Amun and Haidee as he savored the fact that he’d just cock-blocked the keeper of Death. Almost. “Anyone ever tell you that you shouldn’t check your messages while you’re rolling around in bed?”

“Yes. Anya. And believe me, I’m going to pay for this.” His deep baritone was amused and excited rather than fearful at the thought of incurring his volatile female’s wrath. “Here’s a news flash for you. No matter what I’m doing, I check my messages when I’m worried about leaving my friends at home with a contingent of angels, when one of my men is sick, or when a Hunter is in residence. And when all three are happening at once? I check even when I don’t have messages. So. What’s wrong? Why did you summon me? Amun okay?”

Strider shoved an extra clip for his .22 into his pocket as he abandoned the confines of the walk-in. “Amun’s great. Better. The problem’s me. I gotta take off for a little while.” For his sanity, yes, but mostly for Amun’s safety.

Amun had lifted the fragile Haidee into his battered arms and carried her to his bed. He had tucked her under the covers, so careful not to jostle her, and climbed in beside her. Strider didn’t think Amun realized this, but the warrior had caressed the woman during their entire conversation, as if the need to touch her was already ingrained in his soul.

A sense of challenge had begun to rise inside of Strider. For Haidee, a godsdamn Hunter. Worse, a godsdamn killer. He’d wanted to win her from Amun and claim her for his own, and the want had been far more intense than his usual “that’s mine and I’m not sharing” mind-set.

If Strider stayed here, he would eventually give in. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. His demon would badger him constantly, and in the end, he would fight his friend, hurt his friend—because no way in hell would he pull his punches like he’d done the first time—and hate himself.

Hate. Huh. He’d never hated himself. If anything, he’d always liked himself a little too much. Once, a human female had even accused him of picturing his own face while he climaxed. He hadn’t denied it, either, and next time he’d slept with her, he’d made sure to scream, “Strider” at the pivotal moment.

She hadn’t appreciated his sense of humor, and that had been the final nail in their relationship coffin. He was too intense, too jaded, too warped and too…everything for most women to take for long. But so what. He was made of awesome. Anyone who couldn’t see that wasn’t smart enough to be with him, anyway.

Haidee, though… She would be able to take him. With her strength of will, her courage, her unbending and reckless spirit, she would match him. Maybe even surpass him.

That is the key player in Baden’s murder you’re thinking about.

Hadn’t mattered to Amun, he thought darkly. Why should it matter to him?

Fuck! He hated those thoughts.

Hated. There was that word again.

“—listening to me?” he heard Lucien ask with exasperation.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Say again.”

Sighing, Lucien strode to the bed and sat at the edge of the mattress. Strider’s gaze followed his friend, picking up little details about the room along the way. He hadn’t cleaned in a few days, had been too busy guarding Amun, so his clothes were scattered throughout. His iPod hung from his nightstand, the earbuds wrapped around a lamp.

How the hell had it gotten there? Oh, yeah. He’d tossed it over his shoulder last night, uncaring where it landed.

“Torin texted me and told me Amun was doing better, but damn,” Lucien said, once again dragging him from his thoughts. “You scared ten years off my life.”

“You’re welcome. Eternity’s too long, anyway.”

“Not when you’re with the right woman.”

He experienced a flash of jealousy that so many of his peeps had found the “right woman” already. And damn it, he was as sick of being jealous as he was of everything else.

“Talk to me,” Lucien said. “Let me help you, whatever’s going on.”

“Nothing to talk about.” He needed to forget Haidee, lose himself in another woman, in the heat and wetness of her body. An appropriate woman. Someone inexperienced, though not a virgin. Someone he wouldn’t have to work his ass off trying to win, then work his ass off again to please. “I need a break, that’s all.”

“You summoned me with a ‘now’ because you need a break?”

“Yeah. You’ve been on break for weeks, it seems. Let someone else have a turn.”

Silence, thick and heavy, enveloped them. Lucien studied him, and whatever he saw in Strider’s expression caused him to lose his air of irritation. “All right. I’ll take you wherever you want to go. For Torin’s sake, someone needs to take your place before we leave. He’d never admit it, would even deny it, but he needs some help running this heap.”

Gods, he loved his friends. Lucien wasn’t going to question him further. Was just going to give him what he’d asked for.

“I’d do it,” Lucien continued, “but I’m busy. I haven’t been vacationing as you seem to think. I’ve been—and currently am—guarding the Cage of Compulsion in a place Rhea can’t reach. And I can’t tell you where that is. Torin asked me not to say anything since there’s a Hunter in residence.”

The cage was one of the four godly relics needed to find and destroy Pandora’s box, and in desperate need of that guarding. Strider knew that wasn’t the only reason Lucien refused to move back into the fortress. The god queen was out for blood, and the man didn’t want his Anya in any more danger than necessary. Strider could dig. “William’s here,” Strider said. “He can—”

Lucien was already shaking his head. “He’s useless. He grows bored too easily to be relied upon. He’ll forget whatever duty he’s promised to perform and head into town for a little some-some.”

Some-some. Someone was picking up his woman’s vernacular. “Apparently he’s related to Lucifer. That has to count for something.”

“Believe me. I know who he’s related to,” Lucien replied dryly. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“Yeah, but he’s strong. No one will want to mess with—”

Again Lucien shook his head. “Nope. Like I said, he’s unreliable. He’ll think of himself first and everyone else not at all.”

“I know.” William wasn’t demon-possessed. He was a god, according to himself, and had spent centuries locked in Tartarus—a prison for immortals—for sleeping with the wrong woman. Hundreds of them, in fact. He’d even slept with Hera, the former god king’s wife, and had been stripped of some of his supernatural abilities as further punishment. Exactly what those abilities were, he wouldn’t say.

Strider liked the man, even though, as Lucien had said, he looked out only for himself. Even though he could turn on you in a heartbeat, stabbing you in the back—or rather, the stomach—as Lucien had experienced firsthand.

My kinda guy, Strider mused. And since William wasn’t wanted here, maybe he’d want to leave with Strider. Strider made a mental note to text him before taking off. Never hurt to vacation with a friend.

So. Who did that leave to guard the fortress and those inside? “Kane and Cameo,” he said with a nod. Disaster and Misery. “Since Amun’s better, they can return from wherever they are.”

Lucien pondered for a moment, then nodded in turn. “All right, then. It’s settled.”

“One more thing. Tomorrow I need you to contact Sabin.” Strider planned to be too wasted to be coherent. “He needs to return, too, and meet the female Hunter up close and personal. But don’t call him until tomorrow, okay?”

While Torin had apparently been texting, Strider had been calling both Lucien and Sabin every day, giving them updates on Amun’s health. Only thing he hadn’t told them—yet—was Haidee’s identity. He didn’t know why. He’d certainly meant to share, but every time he’d tried, the words had congealed in his throat.

All he knew was that he still wasn’t going to tell them. Like him, they’d find out the truth as soon as they talked to her. And when they did, Strider wouldn’t have betrayed Amun’s trust, but would still have done all he could to safeguard his friend from the murdering bitch’s influence.

Shit. He was getting worked up again, fighting a need to stomp back to Amun’s room and do some damage.

Win? Defeat asked.

Oh, no. We’re not going there.

“Consider it done,” Lucien said.

“Good,” he replied, tangling a hand in his hair. “’Cause I really need this break.”

Once again Lucien asked no questions. He merely straightened and gave another nod. “Pack while I hunt down the lucky twosome and bring them home.”

“No need to pack.” He had his weapons. That’s all he needed.

For the first time during their conversation, Lucien’s lips twitched into the semblance of a smile. “Twice you’ve said you need a break. We both know nothing will change in a day or two. You’ll still be stressed, on edge. So I want you gone for at least two weeks, and that’s a nonnegotiable requirement if you expect transport. Pack.”

Death didn’t wait for Strider’s reply. He simply disappeared.

Strider packed.

WILLIAM THE EVER RANDY, as the shitheads here had started calling him, lay propped on his bed, a mountain of pillows behind him. His covers were tucked around his waist and legs, cocooning him in a way he despised but refused to complain about because his Gillian Shaw—nicknamed Gilly, also nicknamed Little Gilly Gumdrop, though only he was allowed to call the seventeen-year-old human that last one—was responsible. She had a huge crush on him, and she had thought “tucking him in” would soothe him.

Unlike the tucking in, he’d done everything he could to discourage the crush. She’d told him she wanted to date a nonsmoker, so he’d immediately taken up the habit. Was even now sucking a disgusting cloud of ash into his mouth and blowing smoke in her too-appealing, perfectly sun-kissed face.

She gave a delicate cough.

Tragically, the smoke failed to diminish the loveliness of her features. Big, wide eyes of the purest chocolate. Sharp cheekbones that hinted at the passion she would one day be capable of giving. A pixie nose, slightly uptilted at the end. Lush pink lips. And framing all that beauty was a cascade of midnight hair.

With a sigh, he smashed the cigarette butt into the ashtray beside him. Maybe it was time he took up drinking.

“Liam,” she said softly. Her nickname for him. A name he would kill anyone else for using. Maybe because it was hers and hers alone. She sat beside him, her hip pressed against his, warm and soft and completely feminine. “I have a question for you.”

“Ask.” He could deny her nothing—except a romantic relationship. Not only because she was too young, but because he…well, he liked her. Yeah, shocking. William the Perfect—a much more suitable name for him—friends with a female other than Anya. The world should have ended.

But, in many ways, Gilly truly was his best friend. When he’d returned from hell, unable to care for himself, she had done so. She had fetched his food, endured his dark moods as the pain became too much, and washed his sweat-soaked brow when necessary.

If, when she reached maturity, he was foolish enough to touch her, their easy camaraderie would be ruined. She would be forever disillusioned about the kind of man he was. He didn’t want to disillusion her.

She deserved a man who would give her the world. All William would give her was pain.

So, become involved? Hell, no. Not now, not later. He wouldn’t allow himself to hurt her. Ever. He was many things—a womanizer, a killer. Callous, sometimes cruel, always selfish and dark in a way no one inside this fortress knew. But this tiny little beauty had been through enough in her short life. Physical abuse, and so much worse. She’d run away from home, had lived on the streets, taking care of herself when loved ones should have ensured her safety.

After Danika and Reyes, the keeper of Pain, had hooked up, Danika had brought her here. William had taken an instant liking to her. She’d needed someone to look out for her, and William had decided to be that someone. For now. That meant destroying those who had destroyed her innocence and later helping her find a man worthy of her love. That meant resisting her.

Lids heavy over those exotic eyes and lashes so thick and curling they seemed to be reaching for her brows, she traced some sort of design on the covers beside him. At last she found the courage to ask her question. “You’re cursed by the gods, but I don’t know how you’re cursed. I mean, I tried to read your book. Anya let me borrow it, I hope you don’t mind, but the pages were weird.”

The subject he hated more than any other. His curse. The only person he’d ever discussed the particulars with was Anya, and then only because they’d been cell neighbors inside Tartarus, and he’d needed something to do while the centuries ticked by. When they’d later escaped, he’d made the mistake of showing her the book that detailed everything he’d told her, as well as his only chance for salvation.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when the naughty goddess had stolen that book—and now threatened to rip the pages out every time he pissed her off. Nor should he have been surprised that she’d given Gilly a peek. Anya had taken over the girl’s care, too, and knew how the sweet little human felt about him. But damn it, his secrets were his own.

“Liam?”

Resisting was pointless. And gods, he was pathetic. To not even put up a fight? Sickening. “The book is written in code,” he explained. A roundabout fuck-you from Zeus, he mused. A “here’s your salvation—not.” He had yet to find the key to unlocking that code. He knew it was out there, though. It had to be out there. He couldn’t believe otherwise. Even though he was afraid to find the key, afraid to know more about his curse.

“Yes, but how are you cursed?” she repeated.

He shouldn’t tell her. He knew what she was doing. Trying to find a way to save him. Still. She needed to know the truth. Maybe then her crush would at last crash and burn. “All I know is that the woman I fall in love with will unleash—” He pressed his lips together. The woman he fell in love with would unleash every evil being he had ever created. And he had created some monsters. That, he wouldn’t tell her. “She will kill me,” he finished. That, too, was the truth.

Her eyes widened as she lifted her gaze to his face. “I don’t understand.”

“The curse isn’t completely mine. I share it with her.” Whoever she was. “Once I fall in love with her, she’ll lose her mind. She’ll think only of my demise, and she’ll make sure it comes to pass.”

Another gift courtesy of that too-cocky shit, Zeus. Good news was, the joke was on the now deposed king. William had never fallen in love and never would. There was only room in his heart for one, and he was that one.

“I would never hurt you,” Gilly said softly. And before he could reply, not that he had any clue as to what to say, she added, “Let’s backtrack a little. The book contains a way to save you? And her?”

“Maybe.” He gently chucked her under the chin. “Don’t even think about it, Gumdrop. The curse is one of blood, which means someone has to die. If I’m saved, the one who saves me will be the one to die in my place. That isn’t going to be you. Understand?”

She didn’t speak, but she didn’t nod, either. Nor did her gentle expression change. That scared him. The thought of dying should have freaked her out. The thought of her dying did freak him out.

With more force than he’d intended, he said, “Be a good girl, and go get some rest. You’ve got circles under your eyes, and I don’t like them.”

Finally. A reaction. Her mouth pressed into a mulish line, and as well as he was coming to know her, he prepared himself for pure, unbending stubbornness. Whoever she ultimately ended up with was going to have his hands full. Poor bastard.

Dead bastard. William might kill him just for fun.

Don’t go there.

“I’m not a little girl,” she gritted out. “So stop treating me like one.”

“You are a little girl,” he replied easily, rolling his eyes for good measure. She was, and that was a fact.

She stuck her tongue out at him, proving his claim. “The boys at my school don’t think so.”

He would not react to the sight of that tongue. Or to the provocative words. “The boys at your school are dumb.”

“Hardly. They want to kiss me.”

A flicker of rage took residence in his chest. “You better not encourage them, little girl, because I will hurt them if they ever try anything with you. You’re not ready for that kind of relationship.”

“And I suppose you get to decide when I’m ready?”

“Exactly.” Smart, his little gumdrop. “In fact, as soon as I think you’re old enough, I’ll let you know. Until then, keep your lips to yourself or you’ll regret it.”

“Oh, really? Give me a hint, then.” There was steel in her voice rather than amusement. “What age do you consider old enough and just how will I regret disobeying you?”

A wiser man would have kept his fat mouth closed. “Three hundred. Or so,” he added, giving himself room to work. “And believe me, you do not want to find out.”

“First, I’m human,” she snapped. “I’ll never be that old.”

“I know.” And he didn’t like that fact, he realized. She had eighty years, give or take a few, but no more. And that was only if she wasn’t run over by a car. Or beheaded by a Hunter.

Damn it. If he had to sign on with the Lords for a permanent place in their army just to look after her, he was going to be annoyed. He had shit to do, places to be.

“Second, I’m not afraid of you.”

She should be. The things he’d done over the years…. The things he would do in the years to come…. “Let’s forget the fear for now. By your own admission, you’re a puny human. Which is another reason you need to rest.” He gave her a “gentle” push off the bed. “Go. Get out of here.”

She hit the floor with a hmph, then popped to her feet. She peered down at him for a long while. He let her look, silent, knowing what she saw. A black-haired, blue-eyed stunner who had broken more hearts than he could count. He prayed that she, like all the others before her, wouldn’t overlook the fact that his heart had never been breached. That she wouldn’t see him as a challenge, as tamable…as worth any risk.

His phone beeped, disrupting the quiet and signaling a text had come in. She glanced at the phone on the nightstand, then at him.

“Go,” he said more firmly.

“Fine.” She spun and strode from the room, leaving William with an odd, hollow feeling in his chest. Damn it, he thought again.

Another beep sounded. He pushed Gilly to the back of his mind and lifted the little black device to read the screen.

Screen name “Stridey-Man” asked, Want 2 vacay w/me?

William snorted as he typed. Romantic getaway for 2? UR not my type, dickwad.

Only a few seconds passed before the second message arrived. Fuck U. I’m everyone’s type. So U in or out? ’Cause I’m thinking about hooking up w/P, wherever he is. U’d just B extra baggage.

Leave the fortress. Leave Gilly and her dark, too knowledgeable eyes. Leave her staggering hope for something he couldn’t, wouldn’t, give her. Leave her probing questions, her gentle touch. Some 1 taking UR place here at fort? he typed. Much as he wanted to escape, he wouldn’t leave her helpless.

K & C are gonna come back. Last chance. In or out?

This time he didn’t hesitate. In. Stridey-Man: Knew U couldn’t resist me. B ready in 5.

Right on. Make it 10. I want 2 style my hair for U. U know, just how U like it.

Stridey-Man: ASSHOLE.

He snickered, having more fun teasing Strider than he’d had in a long, long time. ?? U up for a lil stop before we play??

Stridey-Man: Where?

Locale deets later. Alls U need 2 know is I plan 2 murder Gilly’s fam.

He’d wanted the deed taken care of long before now, but his little jaunt into hell had altered his plans. The demons down there had nearly eaten through his arm, and the stupid limb had only recently healed. Plus, Amun had promised to go with him and tell William about the mom and stepfather’s deepest secrets and fears so that William could make the road to dead frightening and painful.

Only, Amun was still whacked out of his mind and William was tired of waiting.

Stridey-Man: Rock on. But now U only have 8 minutes 2 do UR hair.

Trust the cocky Strider to agree to a brutal massacre without asking dumb questions like “why” and “how.”

William untucked the covers and stood, making a mental list of everything he’d need for the coming trip. A few blades, serrated and nonserrated. A vial of acid. A bone saw. A spiked paddle. A cat-o’-nine-tails. And a bag of Gummy Bears.

Gods, but this was going to be fun.