His gruff sigh virtually shouted his agitation. The heave of the duct tape around his lightly haired chest made a slight ripping sound as it tore at patches of hair. “Yes, and if you’d given me the chance to explain before waving that thing under my nose and screeching like some banshee, I might have been able to finish what I was saying. I was sent here to bring you back to Hell, but I have absolutely no intention of doing anything of the sort.”
Delaney didn’t budge. Like she’d ever eat that baloney sandwich. “I call bullshit.”
Clyde’s stern expression grew harder as his jaw clamped down and a throbbing pulse in his temple picked up speed. “Call it whatever you like, but it can’t be called bullshit. I’m telling the truth.”
“Care to swear on a stack of Bibles?” Marcella’s question was followed by her signature throaty laughter.
“I’d be insulted if I didn’t almost get your skepticism. In the three months I’ve been in Hell, I’ve experienced my fair share of liars. But I’m not one of them, and if I had a free hand, I’d be all over your Bibles, lady.” He gave Marcella a “so there, take that” look, letting his mouth turn to a thin line of furious.
Marcella plopped back down on the bed, taking Delaney with her. “Okay. Soooo, ah . . . what’s your name again?”
“Clyde. Clyde Atwell, and I’d shake your hand, but again—there’s this.” He let his square chin drop to his chest, directing his eyes to the duct tape.
“Okay, Clyde, why don’t you tell us why you’re here?”
Delaney clamped a hand over Marcella’s wrist “No! I told you—”
Now Marcella used her finger on Delaney’s lips. “Hush, mi amiga. Let’s just hear him out.” She followed that with a conspiratorial wink of her thick lashes.
Clyde cleared his throat while Delaney watched his Adam’s apple bob with far too much fascination for her comfort. “I was sent here to torment Delaney—probably, if what goes on down there is accurate—to bamboozle her into a contract with Hell. That much is true. I don’t know why they want her. I’m new to this demon game, and I think Delaney can tell you, I’m definitely not particularly intimidating because I don’t choose to be. I’ve only been in Hell for three months—most of which I’ve spent pondering the whys and wherefores on how exactly I ended up there. Especially because I didn’t believe in it when I was alive.”
Delaney leaned forward toward him, pushing her growing fear as far away as she could and staring him straight in his deep blue eyes. “Isn’t that what everyone says? ‘I just don’t get how I ended up in Hell,’ ” she mocked, using a tauntingly innocent tone and batting her eyelashes. “You chose to go there, you moron. As has been my experience in crossing hundreds of souls to the other side, when reaching your afterlife, you have two choices. Obviously you were swayed by the promise of eternal pairs of epic ta-tas and cash or something equally as nefarious. So save the innocent, wide-eyed fuckwittery for someone who’ll believe you. I’ve been around the supernatural block a time or two and I know you and your kind.” End rant. She sat back on the bed, squishing closer to Marcella in case he had the power to shoot her with his laser beam eyes. She’d totally forgotten to don her protective force field.
Yet Clyde’s posture became more rigid, the tension on his face most evident around his eyes and mouth. “No, I absolutely did not choose to go to Hell. I wasn’t given a choice about anything. One minute I was in my lab, the next I was in Hell.”
Well, well. That admission, as utterly stupid as it was for him to make, explained everything. “You weren’t given a choice because you lived a life that was shitty. People who do shitty things all their lives don’t get a choice about where they end up. You were obviously on the Big Kahuna’s naughty list, my friend. That means you did some freaky-deaky crap while you were alive, thus marking your ass for Hell. Shit I don’t want to know about because to not even be given the opportunity to choose means you broke some serious commandments. And now, I do believe, that ends our discussion.”
She waved a hand at Marcella, using her other to pat her friend’s thigh. “Okay, do your thang, friend.” Delaney rose, making her way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen with Marcella right behind her.
“Um, consultation, please, O Ghost Transmitter.”
“Consult.”
Marcella wiggled her finger at Delaney, summoning her closer so she could bring her lips to Delaney’s ear. “What thing?” she hissed in a whisper. “Aye Chihuahua! You know I don’t have a thing, D. I suck at things. I’m just the talker in this relationship of ours. You know, the one who shows up when a spirit is waffling and convinces them that all that glitters isn’t necessarily golden down under? I don’t know how to get rid of him any more than you do. His skill level, if he’s telling the truth about only being three months old, is probably on par with mine.”
Delaney leaned into Marcella and snickered. “And you’ve been around forevah. Slacker.”