The Devil To Pay
Ivan Drake slapped his palm across the offender's reedy neck and shoved hard. Simon Grimm hacked out a groan as his spine and shoulders collided with a brick wall.
It was midnight. Ivan had tracked the mark from his legal office in downtown Berlin to this ritzy underground parking garage boasting rubber flooring and a heated car wash.
"You've been stealing souls, psychopomp," Ivan hissed.
He clamped both hands to the man's bony shoulders and pressed his fingertips until he felt the silk business suit tear— and then flesh popped. Blood perfumed the air, meaty and more than a little inviting.
"Let go of me! Who the hell are you?"
Ivan dug in deeper. "I'm your worst nightmare."
"Ha! You don't know nightmares until you've vomited up the sins of murderers. You don't scare me."
How the idiot managed such lack of reason—so many of his marks acted equally as belligerent—never ceased to amaze Ivan. This psychopomp had been moonlighting as a sin eater. Simon Grimm had been stealing souls for years, and Himself wanted it stopped.
Grimm kicked, his leather loafer landing on Ivan's thigh. Though the man was as tall as Ivan, he was slender and wasn't design ... read full excerpt from: The Devil To Pay ebook
