The Darkest Torment. Gena Showalter

Her family excelled at creating calm during chaos.

      The girl...she’d died centuries ago. Killed by—the details remained hidden. What Baden knew? She was now a spirit, though her lack of tangibility wouldn’t be a problem for him. Despite the bands, he was still able to connect with other spirits.

      “Bring me her tongue,” Hades commanded.

      As in, cut out her tongue? “Why?” The single word lashed from Baden.

      “My sincerest apologies for giving you the impression I would assuage your curiosity. Go. Now.”

      Baden opened his mouth to protest only to find himself inside the fortress in Budapest, where his friends lived. He was in the entertainment room, to be exact, with Paris, the keeper of Promiscuity, and Sienna, the new keeper of Wrath. A Hallmark movie played in the background as the two reclined on the couch, eating popcorn and strategizing ways to sneak into the underworld without detection.

      Amun, the keeper of Secrets, sat at a small round table, with his wife by his side. Haidee was petite, her shoulder-length blond hair streaked with pink. A silver stud pierced her brow, and the tank top she wore revealed an arm sleeved with names, faces and numbers. Clues she’d needed to remind herself of who she was every time she’d died and come back, her memories erased. She’d died a lot, the demon of Hate reanimating her every time but the last, allowing her to continue her mission: destroying her enemies. The last time, the incarnation of Love reanimated her.

      Baden had once been enemy number one, which was why she’d helped kill him all those centuries ago.

      The memory rose, one he’d actually lived, and he couldn’t beat it back, as if—because he was both living and dead, body and spirit—he was trapped between present and past. He’d resided in ancient Greece with the other Lords. A distraught Haidee had come knocking on his door, claiming her husband had been injured and he required a doctor.

      From the start, Baden had suspected her of malicious intent. But back then, he’d suspected everyone of malicious intent, and he’d been tired, so very tired, of the constant paranoia. He’d even begun to suspect his friends of wrongdoing, and the urge to hurt them, to kill them, had proven nearly irresistible on a daily basis. On several occasions, he’d stood at the foot of someone’s bed, a blade clutched in his hand. One day, he would have snapped.

      Moving to a new town would have done him no good. Distrust had been as hungry then as Destruction was now. Eventually, the demon would have driven him home. Loose ends could not be tolerated for long, the paranoia they caused too intense. Suicide by homicide had struck him as the only option.

      Seeing Haidee now sliced him up inside. He’d hurt her years before she’d attacked him—had killed her actual husband in battle. She’d hurt him in turn. They were even. Now, they weren’t the people they’d used to be. They’d started over with a clean slate. For the most part.

      Destruction stopped playing dead and snarled at her, remembering her betrayal as if he had been the target. He craved revenge.

      Not going to happen, Baden informed him.

      Kane, the former keeper of Disaster, paced the length of a second table, while his wife Josephina, the queen of the Fae, studied an intricately detailed map. Long black hair tumbled over her delicate shoulders. Hair Kane stopped to smooth out of the way, revealing her pointed ears.

      The warrior whispered something to her—something that made her chuckle—before kissing the scar on her cheek...the hollow of her neck. Her blue eyes warmed and sparkled.

      “War is serious business.” She ran her hands over her rounded belly, a loving caress for her unborn child. “Let’s get serious.”

      Need to leave. Now. Baden wasn’t stable. He shouldn’t be this close to the females, must less the pregnant one.

      In unison, Paris, Amun and Kane noticed him. Each man jumped in front of his girl, acting as a shield while extending a bloodstained dagger in Baden’s direction.

      He thrilled at seeing them work together. After his death, the twelve warriors he’d only ever sought to protect had split in two groups of six, severely weakening their defensive line. My fault.

      While the groups had mended their broken relationships centuries later, Baden had yet to mend his conscience.

      Destruction kicked at his skull. Kill!

      The moment Baden’s identity clicked, the daggers were lowered and sheathed. Not that the beast was pacified.

      “How’d your vacay with Willy go?” Paris winked. “As bad as the one I took with him?” The male was as tall as Baden, topping out at six-eight. He had multicolored hair, the strands ranging from the darkest black to the palest flax. His eyes were vibrant blue and, when not glaring at potential attackers, they almost always gleamed with welcome, inviting others to enjoy the party...in his pants.

      Baden had always been the sympathetic one. Solid as a rock. There when you needed him. Sad? Call Baden. Upset? Show up at Baden’s place. He would make everything better.

      But not anymore.

      “The vacation—” his excuse for leaving “—is over.”

      Amun nodded a greeting. The strong, silent one. He had dark skin, hair and eyes—guarded eyes—while the fun-loving Kane had happy hazels and, like Paris, multicolored hair, the shades tipping the darker side of the scale.

      They were handsome men, created to be sexual lures as much as assassins.

      “Don’t ever sneak up on me like that, man.” Kane wagged a finger at him. “You’re likely to lose your apple bags. And when did you acquire the ability to flash?”

      “Today. A...gift from Hades.”

      Amun stiffened, as if he could see into Baden’s head. Hell, he probably could.

      “Did the H-bomb do something to you?” Paris demanded. “Say the word and we’ll take him out right along with his degenerate son.”

      “Speaking of Lucifer,” Kane said, waving Baden over. “We’re in the process of creating a step-by-step plan to ensure his downfall.”

      “Right now, we only have step one. Break into his dungeon to liberate Cronus and Rhea.” Josephina rubbed her belly. “They know too much about you guys. Your weaknesses, your needs. We can lock them in our dungeon.”

      It was never a good idea to allow one of your enemies to be controlled by another of your enemies. But recently, Cronus, the former keeper of Greed, and Rhea, the former keeper of Strife, had been beheaded. The self-touted gods had been given a pair of serpentine wreaths, but theirs had come from Lucifer. Hades had not performed an exchange.

      “Don’t go after the Titans,” Baden said. “Not yet. They’re likely enslaved to Lucifer.” The way he and Pandora were enslaved to Hades. They might have powers—and desires—the Lords knew nothing about.

      “I don’t see the problem.” Sienna moved beside her man. The slender woman had curly dark hair and a freckled face. The enormous black wings arching above her shoulders gave her a regal and slightly wicked quality. “An enslaved man is a weakened man. There’s no better time to nab them.”

      No! Baden refused to believe her assertion. He was enslaved, but he wasn’t weak. “Just...trust me on this. Lucifer might want you to rescue the pair. Let me do a little digging first.” He knew the first place to use his shovel. Though Keeley was currently shacked up with Torin, the keeper of Disease, she’d once been engaged to Hades. “Where’s the Red Queen?”

      “With the artifacts,” Haidee said. “Why do you—”

      Baden strode into the hall before she could finish, and the beast roared with displeasure.

      Never leave an enemy behind.

      I didn’t. I left friends.

      He tuned out the shouts of denial, reaching the artifact room without incident.

      Keeley