The Devil's Only Friend (John Cleaver, #4)

“You think you offended my tender sensibilities?” asked Nathan. “I sold drugs for five years, kid. I’ve seen people do some of the darkest stuff you can imagine.”


“Exactly,” I said, studying the subtle slope of the floor. “You’ve already proven that you’re willing to get your hands dirty if you get something out of it, but with us you weren’t getting anything out of it. You spent your days in a rented office and your nights in the cowboy bars of scenic Fort Bruce.” The floor was relatively clean, with two good drainage holes. I nodded and stood up, circling back toward Nathan. “You figured you deserved better,” I said, “and since you were working for a bunch of killers anyway, why not switch teams to a killer who could actually offer you something? What did he promise you, money? A big house somewhere, maybe a prestigious post at a university?”

“Money’s all it took,” said Nathan. “That’ll buy me all the other stuff. And you’d better believe that a man who’s been alive for ten thousand years has a lot of money to offer.”

“I bet he does,” I said, stopping beside him. He looked at me uncertainly, his eyes flicking over my face and body and arms as if he wasn’t sure what to expect from me; whether he should pat me on the shoulder or shoot me in the gut. I assume Rack had ordered him not to shoot me, but if I made any sudden moves he’d react without thinking. Unless I made him think about something else. I looked him in the eyes. I still needed to know one more thing. “Did you tell Rack how much I hate you?”

He made a sort of half frown, half smile. “Why … is that relevant?”

“Did you?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I need to know what to expect when he gets here,” I said. “I want to be ready.”

“You think he’s going to hurt you any more than otherwise just because I told him what a little prick you are?”

“So you did tell him?”

“That you’re insubordinate and mouthy and stubborn as hell?” asked Nathan. “Yeah, I told him. I told him no matter what he wants you for, you’ll never do it, and you’ll be completely useless, and anything he needs I can do a better job of.”

“Thank you,” I said. Our eyes were locked, each sizing the other up, each waiting for the other to blink. Would he make a move? Would I? How long did we have until Rack arrived? Time to move. I tried to smile, to unnerve him with my confidence at the last second, but I couldn’t do it. Nothing I was about to do made me happy. “If you think Rack’s going to share his power with you, maybe you should remember what we learned about Gidri.”

Nathan frowned. “Gidri? What’s he got to do with this?”

“He’s gorgeous,” said Brooke. She slammed her hand on the hood of Elijah’s car. “I hate him!”

“Oh, come on,” said Nathan, rolling his eyes. “Now you’ve done it, she’s going to freak the hell out again—” He turned toward her, and I stabbed him. Up under his ribs, as deep as the knife would go. I put my other hand on his back to hold him place, shoving the knife in further, clenching my teeth and twisting the blade. He tried to turn but I had him in a lock, wrapping my arms around him, practically hugging him, turning as he turned, so he could never get a shot. His body twitched against mine, convulsing with pain, doubling over and then curling back, and I pulled out the knife and slammed it in again, hearing him grunt and grunting in time with him. He dropped his gun, and his body went slack, and I lowered him gently to the floor. He twitched again, and his eyes rolled back in his head, and he was gone.





19

Brooke was screaming in a rage, beating the wall with a heavy metal wrench. “I hate him!” she shouted, “I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him!”

I collapsed on the floor, exhausted, between the bodies: Potash and Nathan, and Elijah’s smear of ash. I looked at the garage door, but no one was there yet. I took a deep breath, dropping the knife, pausing only a moment before clambering back to my feet. We didn’t have much time.

“I hate him!” screamed Brooke. “I hate him!”

“Be quiet,” I said, “you’re going to wake the neighbors.”

I looked at Potash’s body; his forehead was mangled by the bullet, but his face was intact. Nathan’s face was untouched. I only had time to prepare one body, so I had to choose the right one. Whose voice would Rack try to use? What did he want to say to me, and how would he choose to say it?