Rogue Rider

Twenty-nine

Underworld General Hospital, staffed by vampires, were-creatures, and demons, came to a screeching halt when Reseph entered through the ER doors with a werewolf cub in his arms.

Probably because three months ago, Pestilence had gone on a rampage inside the hospital, butchering hundreds of patients and employees before grabbing an ex-angel staff member to torture. His rampage was still evident in the cracked walls, smashed equipment, and the dented furniture.

Laughter clanged inside Reseph’s skull; Pestilence’s satisfaction at what he’d done. Reseph had been battling the bastard all day, engaging in an internal struggle to keep the demon from clawing his way too close to the surface. Most of the time, maintaining control wasn’t difficult… the problems came when Reseph’s temper surfaced. Pestilence provided an extra shot of adrenaline, more juice to fuel Reseph’s strength—both physical and mental. Things Reseph would never have been capable of before, like torture, were now far too easily considered.

But for the first time, Reseph could see the mental container he’d been kept in while Pestilence had been in charge. Now Pestilence was imprisoned inside, and Reaver’s assessment was accurate… the vessel was cracked, oozing Pestilence’s essence. How the hell was Reseph supposed to repair it?

“You son of a bitch.” Eidolon, head doctor and founder of UG, dropped the charts he’d been going over and came at Reseph like a bull, his eyes glowing with crimson fury. “How dare you set foot in my hospital.”

Waves of both fear and hatred radiated off of every person in the emergency department. Reseph felt their stares like lashes on his skin. He recognized some of them as Pestilence’s surviving victims, and there were far too many to count.

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Reseph said, cradling the squirming toddler against his chest. “This cub needs medical attention.”

“What did you do to him?” Eidolon growled.

“I rescued him from a slave trader.” And damn, that had felt good. Reseph had gone through Sheoul like a blade through butter, slaughtering dozens of demons who had served Pestilence. Taking out the slave trader, a Neethul who had been Pestilence’s right hand, had been the most satisfying.

So far.

Since being relegated back to Sheoul after the Apocalypse had been averted, the Neethul, Silth, had gone back to his first love—slave trading. Reseph had found him beating a werewolf cub who had been sold into slavery by his own parents.

Reseph, who had never possessed a cruel streak, had almost welcomed the cold stir of Pestilence deep inside, because it had allowed him to toy with Silth for a while. He’d relished questioning him about plans to bring Pestilence back, but the demon hadn’t known anything. No worries though, because Reseph had several more people to visit.

“Does he have a family?” Eidolon spoke through clenched teeth, his voice distorted with rage.

“His family sold him to the slaver in the first place.”

Eidolon took the child, handling him carefully despite the anger that had the doctor visibly shaking. The demon would welcome the chance to get in just one punch if he could. Reseph might let him someday.

“We’ll take care of him.” Eidolon gestured toward the emergency department’s Harrowgate. “Now get out.”

Gladly. Reseph got his unwelcome ass out of there and gated himself to Sheoul, where his next self-appointed mission was waiting. He’d gotten as close as he could get to his target without going in on foot—a lot of demons restricted the use of Harrowgates near their homes. No one wanted a surprise attack.

“Conquest, out.”

The tattoo on his arm writhed, turning to smoke before materializing as a white stallion next to him. Reseph didn’t waste time in leaping onto the horse and riding across the surrounding rocky plains. Smoke rose up from the ground, and a variety of creatures skittered out of the way of the warhorse’s hooves as Conquest galloped along a familiar trail deep in the exclusive Fangorg region.

Soon, a massive black mansion rose ominously out of the craggy side of a hill, the knotted trees surrounding it adding an extra layer of security. Those trees were carniverous, their sap running with acid that dissolved the flesh of anyone careless enough to touch the leaves or bark. The vines that crawled—literally—up the stone walls were just as dangerous, and remnants of their unlucky victims lay scattered on the ground, airy husks that blew around Conquest’s hooves as Reseph pulled the stallion to a halt at the entrance. He got a kick out of Pestilence’s frantic stirrings—this time, the demon wasn’t eager to kill.

This time, the target meant something to Pestilence.

Aw, Pestilence actually cared about someone. Good. This was going to make revenge so much sweeter.

Reseph dismounted, fed Conquest a sugar cube, and patted him on the neck. “Pestilence didn’t give you these, did he? I owe you a year’s worth.” Conquest pawed the ground, sensing Reseph’s mounting anger. Time to play. “To me.”

Conquest dissolved into a wisp of smoke and slid under Reseph’s gauntlet to settle on his arm. With the horse firmly in place, Reseph stalked into the residence. The guards didn’t stop him, although they stumbled all over themselves in confused chaos. Pestilence was supposed to be dead.

In a few minutes, the guards were going to wish their idol was dead.

The halls, decorated in the owner’s own paintings and sketches, were quiet, but ahead, in the gym-sized room, the sounds of both misery and pleasure grew louder with every step.

Reseph shoved open the massive double doors and walked into a den of lust. Pestilence had played here often, and Reseph’s mouth stung with bile. The whipping post had been a favorite, and so had the St. Andrew’s cross, where he’d cuffed his sexual partners and used a variety of the sexual and torture toys hanging from every inch of wall space.

Some of his partners had been willing to let him do what he wanted… even if it meant their deaths. But beyond the blood-filled pool in which a dozen people were currently involved in an orgy, unwilling victims languished in cages. They could be purchased for use, but Pestilence had gotten them for free.

Yes, you should be terrified. But also honored that I chose you for my pleasure today. There are those who beg to feel pain and pleasure at my hands and at the tip of my cock. So scream, cry, plead for your life. But know that many of these people will look on in jealousy.

The memory of Pestilence’s lecture to one of the victims boosted Reseph’s resolve. Not that he’d been wavering about this. But it would be so much easier now.

As he strode across the room, all gazes latched onto him. Even those who had been on the verge of climax stopped to see what was going on. They’d know soon enough.

He was going to kill them all.

His target wasn’t in the room, which meant she was probably in her private quarters. Unimpeded by her guards, he threw open the door and there she was, wearing only high heels and getting it on with a female Trillah and a male Ramreel.

Smiling, he drew his sword. “Hello, Mother. Did you miss me?”