Chapter 1: Tiebreaker
Lucinda POV
The trick to temptation is never asking someone to do something they don’t already want to do.
That’s amateur shit.
Humans have this ridiculous idea that people like me appear out of nowhere and whisper terrible suggestions into innocent ears.
Steal the money.
Fuck your neighbour.
Burn down the orphanage.
Please.
Nobody burns down an orphanage because a pretty redhead told them to.
Well…
Almost nobody.
My job is considerably more nuanced - and fun.
I find the tiny little thought already sitting inside someone’s head—the one they’re ashamed of, the one they’ve shoved into a dark corner and covered with several layers of morality—and I give it some sunlight.
Tonight, that thought belongs to a forty-three-year-old accountant named Steven.
Steven has consumed six whiskeys.
Steven has been married for seventeen years.
Steven’s wife has cancer.
And Steven desperately wants to forget his life for one night.
Which is why I’m sitting on the barstool beside him wearing a red mini dress that would get me written up by Human Resources if Hell had Human Resources.
We don’t.
We have Darren.
Darren handles complaints.
Nobody likes Darren.
“So,” I say, crossing one leg over the other, “you’re telling me there isn’t a single woman in this bar you’d take home?”
Steven stares miserably into his whiskey. “No.”
“Liar.”
“I’m married.”
I glance pointedly around the bar.
There are approximately forty people here, half of them women, several of them attractive and at least three who have checked Steven out since I sat down.
Despite his age, Steven still has a wicked body and tragic, sad-boy attitude that would tempt most women with a saviour complex.
Luckily (or rather unluckily) for Steven I’m not trying to save him.
I’m doing the opposite.
“Congratulations.” I purr, touching his arm briefly.
He looks at me. “What?”
“On being married.”
“That’s not—”
“Although statistically, marriage does appear to be a temporary condition. And in this bar, no one needs to be married tonight.”
His mouth twitches.
There we go.
Tiny crack.
I lean my elbow on the bar. “Come on, Steven. Look around. See what is out there.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“Looking isn’t cheating.”
He looks.
Of course he does.
They always look.
My wrist tingles beneath my delicate silver bracelet covering the small black horn tattoo there.
Steven’s gaze lands on a brunette near the pool table.
She smiles at him.
I smile too. “She’s interested.”
He immediately looks away. “I can’t. My wife is sick.”
“I know.”
Steven doesn't question how I know.
Or why I'm sitting next to him offering him a free pass to cheat.
Or why out of all the women here he hasn't even considered me an option.
I'm nothing but a suggestion - a flash of red hair, luscious curves, and a honey-coated voice - but utterly unattainable in his mind.
After I leave, he won't even remember that I was in the bar.
“She’s really sick.” He clarifies, casting me another vaguely confused look as if wondering again why we are having this conversation. His fingers tighten around his glass. “I shouldn’t even be here.”
“But you are.”
“I just needed to get out of the house.”
“Understandable.”
“She’s been sick for eight months. Doctors. Hospitals. Chemo. I love her, but—”
There.
There it is.
But.
My favourite word in the English language.
I turn slightly toward him. “But?”
Steven closes his eyes.
“I miss feeling normal. I miss…sex.”
My smile softens.
Not because I feel sorry for him.
Obviously.
I work for Hell.
We don’t do sympathy.
It’s in the employee handbook.
Probably.
I’ve never actually read it.
“You’ve spent eight months taking care of someone else,” I murmur. “Maybe tonight you take care of yourself. And get laid in the process.”
His eyes open wide. “That’s horrible.”
“Is it?”
“My wife is at home.”
“I figured.”
“She trusts me.”
“Possibly.”
His expression twists. “If I went home with someone while she’s sick, that would make me a terrible person.”
I grin. “Yes, it would, wouldn’t it? But it would feel so good while doing it.”
Steven turns his head and looks at me - really looks at me and I know I have him…for all of ten seconds until a warm golden light appears beside me.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I don’t even need to look.
I know that energy.
I know that irritating warmth.
That faint smell of rain and clean linen.
And, most importantly, I know the insufferably cheerful voice that follows.
“Evening, Red.”
My jaw clenches.
Steven looks past me with another small frown.
I slowly turn my head.
Gabriel stands on Steven’s other side.
Of course he does.
The smug bastard looks like he always does: golden hair, clear blue eyes, white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
Not a wrinkle anywhere.
He looks wholesome enough to be printed on a fucking Christmas card.
I hate him.
I especially hate his forearms.
“Gabriel.” I grit out.
His smile widens. “Lucy. I've been looking for you.”
“What a coincidence. I've been avoiding you. Go away.”
“No.”
“I was here first.”
“I know. You always are.”
“Then find your own soul and stop being tardy.”
“This one isn’t yours.”
“It almost is.”
Steven looks between us. “Do you two know each other?”
“No,” I say.
“Very well,” Gabriel says simultaneously. “We’re friends.”
I glare at him. “You obviously just had a mini stroke. You meant to say, enemies.”
He smiles at me. “Did I?”
Steven blinks. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing,” I tell him.
Gabriel leans casually against the bar. “Hi, Steven.”
Steven’s eyes widen. “How do you know my name?”
“The same way my friend Lucy here knew it. But that isn't important. What is important is that your wife is waiting for you.”
The drunken haze in Steven’s expression shifts. “Shit. She is.”
I straighten and touch Steven’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to him.”
Gabriel doesn’t even look at me. All of his attention is on Steven. “She’s probably worried.”
“She knows I’m here.”
“Does she?”
Steven swallows and I see the slash of guilt overtaking the lust that was there before.
Gabriel’s voice becomes softer. “Go home and be with your wife.”
“Gabriel.” I hiss.
He continues to pretend I'm not sitting here about to win this soul.
“Sit beside her.” He encourages gently.
I stroke my blood-red nails up Steven’s arm. “Or you can stay here and see what colour panties that brunette is wearing.”
Gabriel finally looks at me- with a withering roll of his eyes.
Then he switches back to Steven. “Hold her hand. Tell her you love her.”
Steven nods seriously. “Yes. I love her so fucking much.”
Fuck.
Gabriel might actually take this soul tonight.
I flash him a snap of my teeth. “I swear to Satan if you—”
Gabriel looks at me again and my words freeze in my mouth.
Not because he is about to go away.
But because I know he is about to say something that is going to make me rage out.
And then he does.
“You’re adorable when you’re losing.” He murmurs, the words somehow intimate and infuriating all at once. “Almost cute.”
I narrow my eyes. “I am not losing.”
“You’re definitely losing.”
“I had him.”
“You had nothing.”
“He was mentally undressing the brunette.”
“People are allowed thoughts, Red.”
“Thoughts become actions.”
“Not tonight.”
I lean across Steven, ignoring his small squeak of protest as I nearly knee him in the groin.
“She smiled at him.” I point out to Gabriel.
Gabriel leans closer too. “So?”
“She wants him. He could have her draped over this bar within minutes.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I absolutely know that.”
“You think everyone wants everyone.”
“Most people do. Humans were made to be fucked, Boy Scout.”
“That’s deeply cynical.”
“I work for Hell.”
“And yet somehow your personality remains your worst quality and not the fact that the devil is your line manager.”
“You sanctimonious—”
“Excuse me.”
We both stop.
Steven is standing.
He looks pale.
And ashamed.
And suddenly considerably more sober.
“I’m going home.” He announces.
“No, you’re not,” I say.
“Good choice,” Gabriel says at the same time.
I whip toward him. “Stop encouraging him. He deserves some fun.”
“Not your type of fun, Red.”
Steven pulls some cash from his wallet and drops it on the bar. “My wife shouldn’t be alone. I've got to go.”
“Steven,” I say sweetly.
He looks at me and hesitates.
I smile. “The brunette. She's probably already wet and soaked her panties right through. Go and show her a good time.”
Gabriel makes a disgusted sound while Steven’s eyes flick briefly toward the pool table, a hungry expression fighting his instincts.
Gabriel steps between us. “Home, Steven. Now.”
Steven hesitates again. Then he nods. “Home. That is where I have to be.”
He walks away.
I watch him disappear through the crowd with a sigh of regret.
He was going to be my easiest mark tonight.
Then I slowly turn toward Gabriel. “You.”
He lifts a sparkling water that has somehow materialised in his hand and gives me a mock salute. “Yes me.”
“I nearly had him.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“He left.”
“Because you cheated.”
His eyebrows rise. “I’m an angel. I can’t cheat.”
“Your entire existence is cheating.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“You appeared in the final thirty seconds, as always, undoing all of my fucking hard work.”
“Timing is everything.”
“I spent forty-five minutes on him.”
“Maybe you’re losing your touch. Old age does tend to slow you down.”
My eyes narrow.
Gabriel takes a leisurely sip of water.
I hate all angels - that fact is basically hardwired into me.
The whole good versus evil thing makes that inevitable.
But I especially hate this angel.
I hate his face.
I hate his stupid golden hair.
I hate that tiny movement in his throat when he swallows.
I hate—
My wrist burns.
I freeze.
Gabriel notices.
His eyes drop.
Beneath my bracelet, red light begins to glow.
Slowly, I smile.
Gabriel does not. “No. He didn't.”
“Oh, yes he fucking did. I knew Steven had it in him.”
I push away from the bar.
“Lucy,” Gabriel says wearily.
I practically skip toward the door. “What’s that, Gabe? I’m losing my touch? Unfucking likely.”
He follows me. “Stop swearing.”
“I'm evil, Gabe. Swearing is my love language.”
I shove through the door and step into the cool night air.
“You don't even know that he is here,” Gabriel says right behind my back.
“Of course he's here. He wanted a screw not a candlelit date.”
The alley beside the bar is dark except for a flickering security light.
And there is Steven.
Pressed against the brick wall with the brunette from the pool table.
Her hands are in his hair.
His mouth is on hers.
And they are definitely going at it quite vigorously.
I can see the muscles of Steven’s ass working rhythmically as he thrusts into her again and again.
I stop and grin again. “Go Steven. That’s my boy.”
Gabriel stops beside me.
For several beautiful seconds, I let the victory settle silently between us.
Then I slowly turn my head.
His jaw tightens.
I beam. “Timing is everything.”
Gabriel sighs. “Don’t.”
“Say it.”
“No.”
I clasp my hands beneath my chin and flutter my lashes at him. “Gabe. Pretty please?”
His eyes close briefly. “Fine. You won.”
“Sorry? You might have to be louder.”
“You won.”
“A little louder.”
His blue eyes open. “I said you won. You successfully destroyed a marriage and devastated a dying woman. Congratulations.”
I pat his chest before nodding to the climax happening behind us.
The brunette’s cries bounce in the alley.
“There, there.” I coo. “Being bad is always so much more satisfying. He’ll apologise. She’ll die. Steven will have more sex than ever. Everyone wins. And now I need to go and corrupt another delicious soul.”
He catches my wrist before I can pull away.
Warmth shoots through me.
Actual warmth.
It's angelic energy - good and pure.
It's disgusting.
My eyes meet his.
For one strange second, neither of us moves.
Then I tug my hand free and step back a space. “What?”
“We haven't compared scores.”
I sigh in irritation even though I secretly like this part. “Okay. You go first.”
“Two hundred and thirty-two.”
“Two hundred and thirty-five.”
“That businessman didn’t count.”
“He stole seventeen thousand dollars…from a charity.”
“Then returned it.”
“After spending half of it on hookers and coke.”
“He returned the rest.”
“Partial sin is still sin.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“Tell that to Darren.”
“I hate Darren.”
“We all do. But my wrist never lies. It glowed then and it's glowing now.”
He looks at the glowing horn. “I despise that thing.”
“Jealous because mine is prettier?”
“My mark isn’t meant to be pretty. Not that you would know.”
I glance toward the small golden wing hidden beneath the cuff of his shirt.
“I’ve seen yours.” I point out.
His gaze returns to mine. “I remember.”
Something in his voice changes.
Just slightly.
I clear my throat. “Anyway. We’re done.”
“It’s eleven thirty.”
“So?”
“Night’s not over, Red.”
I narrow my eyes.
Gabriel smiles.
Oh no.
I know that smile.
“Tiebreaker.” He announces.
“You’ve lost by two.”
“You just counted the businessman.”
“Because he counts.”
“And I say that he is a grey area. So give me a chance to make the score even.”
“That’s not mathematically—”
“I choose her.” Gabriel cuts over me.
He points across the street.
I follow his finger.
A small park sits between two apartment buildings.
On one of the benches is a girl.
Maybe eighteen or nineteen.
Black hoodie.
Dark hair.
Completely alone.
She's clearly been crying and is still occasionally sniffling into the elbow of her jumper.
Something about her makes the back of my neck prickle.
She doesn't look like a typical junkie or teenage runaway we would normally see this late at night.
Something about her presence feels...odd.
And when her eyes snap up and meet mine all the way across the park and the street separating us, I actually shiver.
“Gabe,” I warn. “Don’t.”
But he’s already crossing the road.
“Gabe.” I try again. “Leave her alone.”
He doesn’t stop.
“Gabriel.” I almost shout.
Fucking angels.
Too focused on another save to ignore all good common sense.
I should just leave.
I don't owe anything to Gabriel and he's a big boy.
He can protect himself if something goes wrong.
I have souls to steal and no time for whatever fuckery this teenage girl seems about to bring upon the stupid oblivious idiot running toward her.
I debate with myself for all of two seconds.
Then I curse and hurry after Gabriel.
