None of us is without Sin…
After serving untold millennia as the leader of a demon special ops team with a brutal reputation for efficiency, Warrick of the Syx has seen it all, done it all, killed it all. Penance for his own damnation? Sure. But with the world running black with blood and magic, his skills are definitely in high demand.
This time, though…there’s a catch. And her name is Maria Santos. Beautiful, badass, and out for blood, Maria’s wrestling with her own dark secrets. The kind of secrets that call to Warrick’s twisted soul. A call he knows better than to answer.
Unfortunately, the dangerously tempting undercover cop is Warrick’s only ticket into the lockdown hellhole where a particularly vicious demon faction is boiling over, ready to unleash a new Armageddon on earth. If he wants them, he’s going to have to take Maria with him.
But the second she gets caught in the crossfire between Warrick and the scum of eternity, well…
Hell hath no fury like a Demon Unbound.
Read an Excerpt
“Welcome to be-a-utiful Acapulco!” The game show announcer’s self-satisfied voice crackled in the hot, humid darkness, barely audible above the rap music that cranked out over the now-empty beach. Along this stretch of sand, however, no one sang, no one danced. The scent of blood hung heavy on the air, thick enough to taste.
Demons had been here, Warrick knew. Demons who’d murdered God’s children.
So, of course, Warrick and the Syx were here too.
“Shut off your phone,” he snapped at Finn. “If I can hear it, so can they.”
Warrick stood evenly balanced on both feet, fists clenched, head cocked, as if he could smell the very night to find what he sought. Which, of course, he could. Every demon horde had its own particular stench, and Warrick had already come to know the Fuerza Negra’s too well.
“It’s not like they don’t already know we’re here.” Finn, the Syx’s youngest and newest member—which still put his age at right around six thousand years—crouched beside Warrick. He smirked as he pocketed his phone, then stood as well. With one thick-soled boot, he toed aside the spent rounds of ammo that littered the beach. “Looks like they’ve been busy too. Normally, we just have claw marks to go on.”
The third member of their team stepped forward, his face as bleak as winter, his eyes distant. Of all of them, Raum was the best at identifying the dead. He’d also always felt the weight of his sin the heaviest. But they’d each come to their present roles through their own disgrace, each with their own burdens to carry.
“Seven killed,” Raum said, in a voice that had once made angels weep for its loss. “All males. All human.”
“Seven.” Warrick scanned the barren coastline. “I thought you said this cartel left their kill behind as a message.”
“That’s their standard MO, yup,” Finn agreed reasonably enough. “Up to now, though, we haven’t been the ones getting the message. They may be trying to hide.”
“Or they’re making a stand,” Raum offered.
Warrick growled, the sound rolling dangerously over the quiet beach. “That’d be a bad idea.”
Demons had lurked among humanity since the dawn of creation, the ragged remains of Fallen angels who’d been cursed by God for their sins. Most of them, however, were smart enough to stay hidden. If they kept to the shadows, they could survive—some even thrive—cheek to jowl with the sort of despicable humans who could give them a run for their money in a race to the bottom. Those demons spent their twisted existence on the fringes of society, victims of their own insatiable habits.
There was a catch, however. Demons couldn’t kill a human, couldn’t even harm one of God’s children, and expect to avoid His divine wrath. That was where Warrick and the Syx came in.
Though they were themselves demons who’d been damned beyond the veil for their own sins, trapped in a bolt-hole created at the fall of Atlantis, Warrick’s crew of enforcers had earned some measure of reprieve from their condemnation through their ability to rout out the worst of their kind. They’d spent millennia at the beck and call of humans who cried out for their aid. Now, that aid was in epically high demand, for two very good reasons:
One, it took a demon to banish a demon, and nobody was better at it than Warrick and the Syx.
And two, a shit ton of the bastards had just been set free to roam the earth. Again.
Not since before the fall of Atlantis had the world teemed with so many of the damned. Warrick had felt their return like a physical blow, a howling in his bones. But so far, this new influx of demons hadn’t bubbled up to the top of the Syx’s hit list.
The Fuerza Negra had.