“Morrigan Quill.” Not a man, but a woman. “What have you done, Morrigan Quill, to piss off an archangel?”
…
Someone had invaded her space. Morrigan didn’t call it home. She didn’t have one of those, hadn’t in a long time. These days she lived in ratty motel rooms or in short-term efficiency apartments that rented by the week.
She surged out of bed, a gun in one hand and a knife in the other.
“Glad to see you’re not slipping, Morrigan. Still as sharp as ever.” The voice was cultured and smooth, and every fine hair on her body stood on end.
“Sir.” This was Lucifer himself, ruler of Hell, and her boss. As one of Hell’s bounty hunters, she was tasked with capturing any wayward demons and dragging them back.
Even Hell had rules.
She didn’t lower her weapons but motioned to the chair. “Please sit. What can I do for you?” Very early on in her career, she’d learned it was better to be polite to the Lord of the Underworld. Her stomach churned, and bile burned her throat. The times he’d been displeased with her were the stuff of nightmares and something to never be repeated.
He was a good-looking devil, with dark hair and a lean build, and favored three-piece suits. Custom, of course. After giving the chair with duct tape patching the cushion a dubious glance, he sat and waved his hand to the empty seat across from him.
Keeping a tight grip on her weapons, she sat. Not that a knife or gun would do her much good against him, but it was better than nothing.
“I have a job for you.”
This was highly unusual. Her work details came from her immediate supervisor, Emmett, not from the big guy himself. “Sir?” The drapes were open a crack in the center, and sunlight seeped in, allowing her to see him better. He frowned. Never a good sign. Of course, it was no better when he smiled.
He tapped his fingers on the table. As he continued to beat out a rhythm, his fingernails elongated. The tapping became more like scratching. Morrigan swallowed heavily and stayed still, not wanting to draw his anger.
“You will find and kill this man.” He snapped his fingers, and a picture appeared on the table. She glanced at it but quickly brought her attention back to Lucifer. He didn’t like to be ignored for even a second.
“Not return to Hell?” Her job wasn’t to kill but to capture demons and have them deported from the world. If he was a human who’d made a deal with the devil but was trying to weasel out, then her job was the same—capture and deport. In her ten years on the job, she’d never killed anyone. Injured, sure. Maim, she’d give him that. But she was a bounty hunter, not an assassin.
Lucifer drove his hand down hard on the photo, skewering the image with one of his sharp nails. “Not this one.”
Morrigan swallowed heavily, fighting hard not to heave the contents of her stomach. “Sir, I’m not an assassin.” Capturing a demon was one thing; killing on command was quite another.
He smiled, and her blood ran cold. “You are now, my dear. Do this, and your contract is complete.”
He reached out and caught her face in his hand. Her skin burned on contact, but she didn’t dare pull away. The stink of scorched flesh stung her nostrils, and she trembled.
“Kill this man, and you’re a free woman.”
When she’d signed on for twenty-five years as a bounty hunter, she’d never believed she’d live long enough to complete her contract. And if she died on the job, she forfeited her life and would spend eternity in Hell.
Now here was a way out. It seemed too good to be true. And if she’d learned one thing when it came to working with the devil and dealing with demons, it was that if it seemed too good to be true, then it usually was. There was always a loophole or some detail omitted.
He slowly released her and stood. “Fail, and you’ll spend the