Wolfe’s home was a rental composed of two bedrooms, one bath, a half-kitchen, and a living room. Wolfe turned into the tiny driveway, parking his busted car next to the low chain-link fence around the yard. That was where he had used to let his dog, Pierce, have the run of the place before the mutt had died of old age a couple of weeks ago.

Pierce’s food bowl was still in the yard, just outside his doghouse and next to his favorite blanket. Wolfe hadn’t gotten around to removing them yet. He put his old friend from his mind and turned to the car’s occupant.

“Let’s go, girl.” Wolfe opened his glovebox, took the package, and stepped from his car.

Shel exited after only a cursory glance at the package, and Wolfe clicked his car locked on his keychain fob, then went and lifted the latch to let her into the yard. Even in the rain and two weeks after the fact, Wolfe could still pick up the slightest smell of dog, reminding him further of his old friend.

“You have dogs?” she asked.

“Used to. He died.”

She nodded and didn’t say more until Wolfe had unlocked his front door and entered the house.

Wolfe grabbed a hand towel off a hook near the intersection of the front door and the living room and tossed it to her. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Go clean up and dry yourself off.”

She glanced at him, then nodded and headed to the back.

When she had gone, Wolfe went to his room. It was fairly plain—one queen sized bed, a computer desk and computer, and a single piece of art—a giant, framed poster of a grim reaper, stats and all, signed by one of his favorite bands. A reminder of the part of his youth less misspent than the rest, he thought to himself with a sardonic grin.

As he heard the water splashing in the bathroom, he pulled the picture away from the wall and revealed the safe behind it. He turned the dials to Big Man Grimm’s birthdate, then opened it. Inside, he had almost three hundred thousand dollars—the benefits of being the enforcer for a major gang.

He took the package out, opened it, and counted the money into the safe. A hundred thousand bonus. Shit.

Most of his pay came in ‘benefits’—doctors on staff, free food on missions and at Big Man Grimm’s mansion, the ridiculously low rent house. But the bonuses… he had thought that someday he might retire, and he needed a lot of dough for that.

But what was happening right now… Hell, he could always make up the money. Maybe he’d find one of the other five cards and give it to Damian. That would be worth a crazy bonus.

He grabbed fifty-thousand back out, feeling like an idiot for counting it into the safe in the first place, and then put the poster back over the safe again. Wolfe went and sat at his desk. He put the fifty thousand back in the package—a cardboard shoebox, he laughed to himself.

The water shut off, and Wolfe, still sitting, turned to face the door.

Shel came in.

She had scrubbed her face and tried to wash her shirt but had only succeeded in smearing the blood and turning the front of the shirt slightly transparent. Even as beaten up as she was, she was gorgeous. Strawberry-blonde hair hanging almost to her waist, emerald-green eyes, a light dusting of freckles, thin but still stayed clearly on the side of feminine. Near perfectly symmetrical features.

“Do you have a shirt I can borrow?” she asked. “I can’t fix this one.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He pointed to his closet. “Anything I have will sit on you like a poorly made dress, but you’re welcome to it.”

She nodded, then went to the closest. He paid half attention, simply fidgeting with the shoebox—until she stripped the shirt over her head. She faced away from him, so he didn’t see much, but even her back was something beautiful to look at.

Shel took one of his black T-shirts down and put it on, then turned back to face him. It was ridiculous how much of a tent the shirt was, but it did its job. She didn’t have any visible blood on her, despite the massive facial bruise, and the shirt was so large it even covered the spots on her jeans.

“All right, here’s the deal,” Wolfe said. He held the shoebox out. “There’s fifty-thousand cash in here. Real money. I want you to take this, and get the fuck out of the country, okay? Go somewhere and start a new life.”

Shel didn’t take the box, just stared at him with eyes so wide they threatened to annex the rest of her face. “You’re just going to… give me fifty thousand dollars?”

“I’ve been thinking about this whole thing. I’m not sure how Big Man Grimm will handle someone having contacts with the police. Plus, sooner or later, this all goes south. I’m just gonna pretend I had to shoot you and dumped your body in the river or something, okay? You go live your life and never come back.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Look, who the fuck knows?” Wolfe said, heat rising, then shook the box. “Don’t be fucking stupid. Take the money and go.”

“I… I can’t leave my brother,” Shel said, still not taking the money.

“Oh, for… This is stupid, girl. Your brother is an adult, right? Or close to it?”

She nodded.

“Then it’s time for him to learn to stand on his own two feet. I think you’re in more trouble than he is right now. Plus, I have a rule—I don’t save people who join this life voluntarily. I’ve already broken that rule for you, which is one more than anyone has ever gotten before. Now get out of here.”

“Why break it for me?” Shel head slightly tilted as she stared at him with her beautiful eyes.

Because you’re an innocent, genuinely good person who doesn’t belong in this life, picked to be a divine deckbearer, and I got picked to be an Infernal one. One last good deed.

Wolfe put the box back on the computer table. “Let’s just say the gods let me know my place in life recently, and this is one last middle finger to them.”

She tilted her head to the other side, but Wolfe didn’t explain further.

After a quiet moment, she spoke again. “Please, Wolfe. I’ve heard about you. I was only in the Grimm family for two weeks and I already heard how everyone is in awe of you. I know you could help me save my brother.”

“My street name is Wolfe, not Lone Wolf. I’m loyal to the Grimm family, always. I won’t hurt them.”

“Why?”

Wolfe shifted in his chair angrily. Girl is starting to piss me off. “You sound like a toddler, always asking why. Doesn’t matter why. It just is.”

“They say that Big Man Grimm saved your life.”

Wolfe was becoming irrationally angry. He wasn’t sure why, but still—she was pissing him off. She ought to be more thankful and less judge-y. “Girl, I’m about to throw you from my house if you don’t leave my personal life personal. Plus, there’s nothing in it for me to save your brother, even if we could do it without hurting the family.”

She was hesitant for another moment, then took a deep breath. “What if there was?” Shel dropped to her knees right between Wolfe’s legs and leaned forward, her hands resting on his thighs. “I could make it worth your while.”

Wolfe wasn’t an idiot. He knew what she was implying—what she would do for him if he helped. But…

But taking advantage of an innocent girl—an angel-gifted deckbearer, she was such a good person—because she was trying to help her brother was too far for Wolfe. Plus the whole ‘Infernal Deckbearer’ thing was weighing on him. At some level he hated himself for being a sucker, but Wolfe wasn’t yet so far gone he was comfortable taking this offer.

Wolfe pushed her away and stood. He stared down at her. Her face was flushed, whether with anger or desire or embarrassment was anyone’s guess.

“For fuck’s sake,” he said with a groan. “I’ll help rescue your damn brother. No need to do anything you’ll regret. I’ll find him and then you two can take the fifty thousand and get the hell out of town and my life. You’re complicating my shit.”

Still kneeling, she nodded. “Thank you, Wolfe. It means the—”

He reached down to grab her arm, talking as he did. “But, if we’re doing this, you—”

Shel grunted and half-screamed as he grabbed her right shoulder.

“Sorry,” he muttered, transferring his grip to her unbruised left shoulder, pulling her to her feet.

“If we’re going to do this, however—we since Damian said you have to stay with me the whole time—I need you to be in fighting shape.”

She glanced down at her hundred-pounds-soaking-wet frame. “What?”

“Your deck, girl. We need to train you to use your deck. Magic is as great an equalizer as a gun. Better if you can get high enough level. I’ll need you to learn both.”