Hell's King (Hell's Son Book 3) Read online

  “There is nothing wrong with my shirt.” He peeked down at it, the faded wording still readable—I’m not a weatherman, but you should expect a few inches tonight.

  Her brow arched. “Nothing wrong? Are you sure about that?” Before he could react, she leaned forward and grabbed the collar.

  Rip. The hard yank tore the T-shirt, rendering it a reverse belly top that exposed his upper body.

  “That wasn’t nice,” he declared. “I happen to love this shirt. Especially since it’s true.” He waggled his brows.

  Her lips twitched. Almost got a smile.

  “Spank me later.”

  “Why not right now? I’m not busy.” He was never too busy when it came to fondling his wife.

  Before he could grab her, she danced out of reach and wagged a finger. “Actually, you are busy. You need to shower and get dressed.”

  “Or I could shower and have dinner naked in bed with my wife.”

  “That might be awkward, seeing as how we’ve got a guest coming over.”

  “Since when? I don’t recall you mentioning this before.”

  “Maybe because you weren’t listening,” said with a huff.

  Possible. He tended to tune out things that didn’t directly apply to him.

  “What happened to your hatred of hosting parties?” Which he approved of given he disliked cleanup. He and his wife, early on in their marriage, discovered they preferred to be entertained in other people’s homes.

  “This isn’t a party, just an invitation to an old friend, but I never thought he’d say yes. He’s usually so busy.”

  He?

  “Who?” His gaze narrowed in suspicion. “You better not have invited my dad.” Because he wasn’t ready to play nice.

  “That old lecher?” She made a face. “Nope. As if I want to dodge his innuendos all night. I reached out to your cousin, and he agreed to come meet you.”

  “My cousin?” It took Chris a moment to percolate on who that could be. When he figured it out, he shouted, “You invited Jesus fucking Christ to dinner?”

  2

  “What do you mean you’ve made other plans?” His father didn’t sound angry. He never did. Or warm. Not even cold. As usual, he was completely neutral about everything.

  Charlie sighed. “It’s not like you really care if I show up. You barely say a word to me when we have dinner.”

  “It’s not polite to speak with your mouth full.”

  “It’s also not polite to ignore your son when he’s sitting across from you.”

  “Perhaps I have nothing to say.” Which seemed doubtful. Charlie tried plenty to get his dad to talk. Freak. Do something other than give him that same old placating smile.

  “Nothing at all? Really?”

  His father paused a moment in thought, stroking his beard before saying, “Have a pleasant time at your dinner.”

  “Aren’t you even going to ask where I’m going to eat?”

  “No.”

  His father, honest to a fault. Ask him if he thought you had talent as a camel jockey, and he replied, “If all the other camel jockeys were to die, then you’d be an expert.”

  At times, Charlie wanted to hate him, except he knew it wouldn’t do any good. That was just his dad’s way.

  Still, there was one thing guaranteed to get him going. “Isobel invited me to her place.”

  “Isobel? Is that the French princess you met a few years ago?”

  “No. The Russian one. Her grandfather is Rasputin, the sorcerer.”

  “I see.” Nothing more. Even his father could not completely hide the tiny hint of disapproval, but he didn’t criticize. He didn’t have to. He kept a mental record instead. Another black mark against Charlie.

  “She wants me to meet someone.” No need to say whom, there was only one person Isobel would have anyone try and meet.

  Father’s brows pulled together, thick and bushy and white. “She consorts with the wrong sorts these days.”

  Charlie totally agreed. “Perhaps she can be convinced to do otherwise.”

  “She is a married woman. You’d do well to recall that.”

  “I was speaking of helping as a friend, Father. Nothing more.” Only a white lie. Barely a blip, and yet his father would notice—and hold it against his only son.

  “You should take a few of the Virtues with you.”

  Some of Father’s more self-righteous guards. No, thanks. “It’s a friendly dinner, not an ambush.”

  “You might want to have them nearby. If not the Virtues, then Michael at the very least. He’s good at hiding in plain sight.”

  Very good. Charlie was always getting into trouble because Michael was a tattletale.

  “Such safeguards. I’m surprised, Father. You’re acting unusually protective.” Most times, Father preferred to let Charlie blithely go off and get injured without a word of warning. His way of ensuring that his son learned his lesson. It didn’t exactly endear him. Especially after the crucifixion incident.

  “Defending family is an implied commandment.”

  Father and his rules. The basic tenets of which had evolved millennia ago and still changed depending on the situation. Father had to bend plenty to keep his son from going to the Bad Place. But that courtesy didn’t extend to anyone else.

  “Your caring just melts my heart.” Charlie placed a hand on his chest.

  Father harrumphed. “I have to leave. I need to check on the garden.”

  “Stalking Mother Earth again?” Father had given the Garden of Eden to his old girlfriend ages ago. He claimed it was a loan. One that had lasted eons.

  “I would never do such a thing. Gaia is a married woman now.”

  Married to the Devil. His father’s brother. That had to burn—not that Dad ever said a word. Charlie wondered at times if that were why his father had gotten with Mary. Rebound revenge.

  “Speaking of women, has there been any word on the entity?” As in the being locked in another dimension. No one seemed to know much about her—or so they claimed—but what they’d seen thus far indicated that the mysterious person, who had control of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, was dangerous. She was also his cousin’s mother. His kin being Isobel’s husband and Lucifer’s son, Christopher Baphomet. The man married to his old flame.

  Look at him living a soap opera—which he could say was actually better than reliving an old Bible chapter.

  His father shushed him. “You shouldn’t speak of her.”

  “Seriously?” Charlie arched a brow. “No way can she spy on us here.” Not with his paranoid father having banned all kinds of surveillance in and around his home.

  “You can’t be too careful.”

  “And we can’t be stupid, either. We can’t exactly ignore the situation.”

  “As a matter of fact, we can since the situation is still quiet. Despite the seal being broken, my network of angels has neither seen nor heard anything. It’s as if she disappeared or went to sleep.”

  “What of her soldiers?” The horsemen of the apocalypse rode again, or at least they’d been riding. They were silent of late, too.

  “I imagine they are plotting to overthrow the world.”

  “Or not,” Charlie replied to be contrary. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe they just want to hang out? Live life?” He knew he did. Screw all the machinations in the tug of war between Heaven and Hell. “Maybe you’re all worrying for nothing. Maybe she just wants to enjoy her freedom.”

  “Enough already!” His father jumped to his feet. “You must stop speaking of her, lest you draw her attention.” The closest he’d ever come to hearing his father bark. Finally, something that flustered him.

  “You’re not superstitious enough to really believe talking about someone summons them.” Then again, if there were anyone to be superstitious about, this woman fit the bill. Powerful, with innate magic. From what he’d been able to learn—which wasn’t much—she’d been imprisoned because no one knew how to kill her. Or so his father
claimed. Things like her name and why she’d gone on a rampage were still a mystery. Charlie had never met the woman, having taken a break from Earth for a time, visiting with his mom in another dimension. Eventually, he’d gotten bored and returned to the same old thing with his father.

  Pacing a bit with agitation, Father slashed a hand through the air—and somewhere on Earth, there was a rumble. “You’d be superstitious, too, if you’d met her. We only barely succeeded in trapping her eons ago.”

  “There you are, claiming eons again, which makes no sense. She had a kid, and he’s only in his twenties.”

  “Time doesn’t move the same for some.”

  “Or she’s not his mom.”

  Father shook his head, his long beard bucking the trend and dangling past his waist. “She is his mother. She was pregnant with him behind the seal. Somehow, she managed to get him out. And now, it seems she might have escaped, as well.”

  “So what if she did? If she causes trouble, we’ll put her back in.”

  “With whose help?” Father asked. “The only wizard who had that power has long since left this world. And you know the forces of evil will join her.”

  Evil as in the Devil and his demonic horde. “Ever think of talking to your brother? Maybe forgiving him, working with him against this threat to mankind?”

  Elyon, the name his father liked to be known by—formerly Yahweh—drew tall and stubborn. A sin his father refused to recognize. He’d based an entire religion on an intractability that wouldn’t allow any wiggle room.

  “Lucifer has too many sins for forgiveness.”

  “And yet that hasn’t stopped you from playing golf with him.” And chess and other games where the Devil cheated to win.

  “Golf is a sporting event that allows me to study my brother firsthand.”

  “Just like this dinner will let me get to know my cousin firsthand.”

  “I disapprove.” Father finally said it.

  Which meant he could gleefully say, “Christopher is family.”

  “The Son of Perdition is destined to do evil.”

  “Ever think that maybe, just maybe, shutting him out of our life might be the thing that turns him to the dark side?”

  “No.”

  “That’s not very Christian of you, Dad. What happened to turn the other cheek?”

  “We forgive those that can be redeemed.”

  “Here we go again,” Charlie sighed. He knew better than to keep pushing. On some things, Father wouldn’t budge. “Think there’s a chance that maybe his mom will show up if I’m there?” Killing her might solve a few problems. Father said that was impossible. Charlie considered it a challenge.

  “If she appears, you will leave and warn Michael. He’ll know what to do.”

  “Leave? What if she’s killing people?” Charlie knew the answer, but his father’s determination to not intervene was legendary.

  “If it is their time, then they shall flock to my kingdom.”

  “And then get jammed at the gate because they didn’t pass the entrance exam,” Charlie muttered.

  “What did you say?”

  “I was saying I agreed. Now, if we’re done, I’ve got a dinner to prepare for.”

  “Try not to get arrested again.”

  He stalked out of his father’s palace in the clouds. Get betrayed by Judas one time, and Dad never lets me live it down. Meanwhile, what had his father done lately? His temper tantrum over his old girlfriend marrying his brother had resulted in some pretty big tropical storms. People blamed global warning.

  Accuse hot jealousy instead. Except, according to his dad, it was nothing of the sort.

  Elyon was peeved without being able to be publicly irked over the fact that he’d waited too long to make a move. And he was also aggravated that his only son wouldn’t take an interest in the family business.

  Been there. Done that. Father held on to the reins too tightly to share the glory.

  Besides, Charlie wanted to make his own mark on the world. To separate his existence from that of his father’s.

  Charlie needed to accomplish something epic to make people erect churches in his name. Write books about his life.

  Not the time back when he knew nothing, had only twelve disciples, and lived in poverty. He wanted them to write about his life now. His success. His philosophies.

  An existence that could use a feminine touch. And he knew just the woman he wanted for the job.

  Upon arriving at his home, he headed straight for his secret lair. The entire top floor of his house had been converted into a great big man cave. A wide bank of windows overlooked the ocean. Arcade video games, vintage ones like Pac-Man and the original Gauntlet, sprinkled the outer edges of the space. A pool table covered in blue fabric with chrome edges and legs took pride of place in the middle, while a large, leather sectional faced a wall covered by gigantic television screens. A tablet linked to a state-of-the-art network let him choose any channel he wanted in the world. Gave him access to episodes not even aired, including coveted HBO seasons.

  But tonight, he wanted a different view. One he’d scrambled to get installed when he got the call from Isobel.

  He only had a kitchen cam thus far, the hidden gadget his employee had stuck in the window the only one they’d managed to install in such a short time. After tonight, he would add more.

  He didn’t consider it spying, more like keeping an eye on an old friend.

  However, the channel showed nothing but an empty room. Not even a peek of the lovely—and forbidden—granddaughter of the grand sorcerer, Rasputin. Father had never approved of their friendship, and it was one of the only times he deigned to rebuke Charlie. Actually, the first and only time he’d ever forbidden his only son something he wanted—which was the only reason Charlie had listened. But he never forgot the lovely Isobel.

  And now she was back in his life. Calling him!

  Surely, that meant something.

  Since she wasn’t live on camera, he rewound the footage a few hours and sat staring at Isobel as she puttered around the kitchen, making dinner. Preparing for him.

  “I’m coming, Isobel.” Coming in more ways than one. Good thing leather wiped easily.

  3

  “Jesus fucking Christ is coming to dinner.” Chris couldn’t stop repeating it and chortling.

  Not exactly the reaction Isobel had expected when she announced their dinner guest. “I don’t see what is so funny about it.”

  “Can’t see…” He gaped at her. “You have got to be shitting me.”

  “I shit you not,” she declared solemnly. “Your cousin is coming to dinner.” Which was kind of a big deal given that Elyon wouldn’t like it. To those who might gasp, thinking her disrespectful, she should note that she was a Rasputin. They knew gods existed; they just didn’t worship them.

  “Fuck me, Jesus is coming to hang. That’s kind of cool.” He rubbed his chin. “Can’t you just see it? Me and Jesus, sitting down for a beer, chowing down on some pot roast.” He shot her a serious look. “You are making your pot roast, right?”

  “Yes.” Because she knew how much he loved roasted potatoes and gravy. It was the one meal guaranteed to butter him up. Also, the only food she could make with any degree of competence. “As I told you, this isn’t a joke. He’s really coming.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why is he coming over, of course.”

  “Because he wants to meet you.”

  Chris frowned. “I thought you said you invited him, which means he didn’t ask to see me.”

  “Does the how really matter? He said ‘yes’ right away.”

  Chris rubbed his chin. “How does one call up Jesus and invite him to dinner? Do you ring a bell and get an angel to fly him a message?”

  Her lips twitched. “No bells. Or angels. He’s in the contacts list of my cell phone.”

  Chris rolled his eyes upward, staring at the ceiling. “They have phones in Heaven?”

&nb
sp; “He lives on Earth.”

  “Really?” Chris didn’t hide his surprise. “Where? In a monastery, on his knees all day, reciting religious, ass-kissing prayers to his dad?”

  For a moment, she almost chided him. However, she had to remind herself that Chris knew nothing of the heavenly side of his family. Lucifer certainly hadn’t told him.

  “Actually, your cousin has a beach house in Los Angeles. Ten bedrooms, and a view to die for.”

  “Must be nice to have a rich daddy,” he grumbled.

  “His father had nothing to do with it. Charlie has been successful.”

  “Who the fuck is Charlie?”

  “Your cousin. Jesus prefers to have people call him Charlie.”

  “Charlie?” Repeated with a hint of incredulity.

  “His full name is actually Charlie Sylvester Shepherd. The first two in honor of his favorite action heroes, and the last because it’s like one of his fifty names.”

  “Why didn’t he stick with Jesus?”

  “Is that seriously even a question?” Isobel rolled her eyes as she led the way into the house. “You did hear what happened to him the last time he was living in the open, right? They wrote a few books about it. Does being nailed to a cross ring a bell?”

  “He didn’t die, and he obviously healed.”

  “Doesn’t mean he enjoyed it and wants to risk doing it again.”

  Chris coughed into his hand. “Pussy.”

  “Christopher!”

  “What? Just saying it like it is. Why hide in the shadows? Be proud of who you are.”

  “Even if it’s dangerous?”

  “Especially if it’s dangerous. I am dying to do more stuff with my name, but the moment I say, ‘hey I’m the Antichrist, son of the Devil,’ people freak out. Then the crosses get flashed, and some people start flinging water at me. Which fucks with the gel in my hair.” He flicked at the crown of his head, and she snickered.

  “You don’t wear gel.”

  “If I did, it totally would.”

  “Since when do people flash crosses at you?”

  “The other day, an old lady in the grocery store did.”

  “Were you drooling over the fresh meat at the deli again?”