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J Ward: Crave

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J Ward Crave

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The battle between good and evil has left the future of humanity in the hands of a reluctant savior and his band of fallen angels. Seven deadly sins that must be righted. Seven souls that must be saved. While his first task was success, Jim Heron is battling a demon that can take any form for the soul of someone he must identify on his own. If that weren't enough, his old boss Matthias wants Jim to assassinate an AWOL member of The Firm – Isaac, the man Jim is pretty sure he is supposed to save. Jim knows first hand that once you're in The Firm, there's no getting out. But when Jim finds Isaac to warn him, he has been picked up by the police for illegal street fighting, and it is clear that Isaac is falling for his gorgeous public defender. Is their love the redemption that will save Isaac's soul? Or has the demon Devina set an elaborate trap?

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Instant. Chaos.

And, of course, Isaac was locked into the octagon.

Jumping over his dead-fished opponent, he clawed up the six-foot-high side of the ring and vaulted over the top. As he landed on both feet, he froze.

Everybody was in full scramble except for one man who stood just off to the side, his familiar face and tattooed neck speckled with Isaac’s blood.

Matthias’s second in command was still tall and built and deadly… and the fucker was smiling like he’d found the golden egg on Easter morning.

Oh, shit, Isaac thought. Speak of the devil…

“You’re under arrest.” The cop’s hi-how’re-ya came from behind him, and less than a heartbeat later, he was in cuffs. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a…”

Isaac spared the officer a glance and then searched out the other soldier. But XOps’ number two was gone as if he’d never been.

Son of a bitch. His old boss knew where he was now.

Which meant the fact that a Boston PD unit was all over his ass was the least of his problems.

CHAPTER 2

Caldwell, New York


As Jim Heron stood on the front lawn of the McCready Funeral Home in Caldwell, he could picture the inside sure as if he’d already been in the brick two-story: Orientals on the floors, paintings of foggy flower arrangements on the walls, bunches of rooms with double doors and lots of floor space.

From his limited experience with them, funeral homes were like fast-food restaurants-they all kind of looked the same. Then again, he guessed that made sense. Just like there were only so many ways to doctor up a burger, he imagined dead bodies were likewise.

Shit… he couldn’t believe he was going in to see his own corpse.

Had he really died just two days ago? Was this now his life?

With the way things were going, he felt like some godforsaken frat boy who’d woken up in a strange bed going, Are these my clothes? Did I have a good time last night?

At least he could answer those: The leather jacket and combat boots he had on were his, and he had not had a good time the night before. He was responsible for battling a demon over the souls of seven people, and although he’d won the first contest, he was gearing up for the next one without knowing who the target was. And he was still learning the tricks to the angel trade. And, hello, he now had wings.

Wings.

Although maybe bitching about that was a lie, as his pair of magical feathered flappers had gotten his ass here from Boston, Massachusetts, in lickety-split time.

Bottom line? As far as he was concerned, the world he once knew was gone and the new one in its place made his years as an assassin in XOps seem like a desk job.

“Man, this rocks. I love the creepy shit.”

Jim looked over his shoulder. Adrian, last name Vogel, was precisely the kind of whack job who’d be into a bunch of stiffs having a lie-down in refrigerator units: Pierced, leathered, tattooed, Ad was into the dark side-and given what their nemesis had done to the angel the night before last, it was a two-way street: The dark side was into him as well.

Poor bastard.

Jim rubbed his eyes and glanced at the saner of his two backups. “Thanks for the assist. This won’t take long.”

Eddie Blackhawk nodded. “No problem.”

Standing in the stiff April wind, Eddie was his usual biker-ass self, that thick braid of hair running down the back of his leather jacket. With his square jaw, and his tanned skin, and his red eyes, he reminded Jim of an Incan war god-fucker had fists the size of most men’s heads, and shoulders you could easily land an airplane on.

And what do you know, he wasn’t exactly a Boy Scout, even though he had a heart of gold.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Jim muttered, knowing that the infiltration was outside the scope of his “employment” so they’d better shake a leg. But at least his new CO hadn’t had a problem with it: Nigel, the tight-ass English archangel, had given permission for this morbid diversion, but there was no reason to take advantage of the leeway.

As Jim and his boys dematerialized through the brick walls and took form in… yup, yup, a big open foyer with a chandelier and a bunch of dour rugs and enough space for a cocktail party… he looked around, wondering where the hell the bodies were kept.

And just standing in the place reaffirmed the fact that this was a diversion he simply had to make. He might be in the business of saving souls, but right now a man’s life was on the line: Isaac Rothe had bolted from the XOps fold, and Jim was supposed to kill him for it.

File that under Fuck No.

Except here was the problem: The way Matthias the Fucker worked, if Jim didn’t off the AWOL soldier, someone else was going to do it… and then an operative would come for Jim.

Little late on that one, boys-he was already dead.

His immediate goal? Fake out his former boss and find Isaac. Then he was going to get that soldier out of the country and safe… before returning to his day job of going head-to-head with Devina.

He hated the delay because no doubt that demon was already gearing up for their next battle. But stepping out of one life and into another was never simple and never cut-and-dried. Inevitably, there were tendrils of what had gone before that you had to snip and cast off, and that took time.

The truth of it was: He owed Rothe. Back in the desert two years ago, when Jim had needed help, the man had been there for him, and that was a debt you didn’t walk away from.

It was also probably why Matthias had given Jim the assignment. The fucker was well aware of their connection and of what had transpired that night on the other side of the globe: At the time, their boss might have been in and out of consciousness, but he’d tracked enough during those dark hours of transport and flight and medical intervention to know who was around and what was doing.

Right. Focus. Where were the stiffs?

“Downstairs,” he said to his boys as he strode over to an Exit sign.

On the way to the stairwell, the three of them walked past all manner of motion detectors without setting the things off, and then they ghosted through a closed door one by one.

Bringing Adrian and Eddie on this little excursion was safer, because God knew Devina could be anywhere at any moment-plus Jim was still learning all the tricks that came with being a fallen angel, and Eddie was the master at them. Spells, potions, magic-that wizard and wand shit was Blackhawk’s forte.

He’d clearly gotten his PhD in Abracadabra and didn’t that make the SOB handy.

Down on the cellar level, everything was stark and clean, the cement floor and walls painted gray. The sweet smell of embalming fluid drew Jim to the right, and as he strode along, he felt like he’d jumped back in time. Fucking weird. This sneaking-around routine was exactly what he’d excelled at for all those years with Matthias-and precisely what he’d been determined to get away from.

Yeah, well, all the best-laid plans of mice and men, yada, yada, yada…

In his first battle with Devina, he’d required some information-and Matthias the Fucker had been the only place to go for it. Naturally, when it came to that bastard, things were strictly quid pro quo, so if you wanted something, you had to give something and the “quo” had been killing Isaac. After all, there were no pink slips for the fired or gold Rolexes for the retired in XOps-you got a bullet in the head and, if you were lucky, maybe a coffin for your corpse.

And yet he was curiously grateful: Being assigned to assassinate the guy was the only way to help him; otherwise there would have been no way to know that Isaac had taken off and was now a hunted man: Jim was the only one who’d been let out free and clear.

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