Fire, Fury, Faith by N D Jones

Author:N D Jones [Jones, N D]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kuumba Publishing
Published: 2020-04-23T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THREE

August 2012

Hephzibah, Georgia

“How much longer?” Serwa’s words, an insistent question, an unspoken plea. “How much longer?” Good question. Unfortunately, Issa’s answer was always the same. “Until I catch the bastard. Make him suffer.” That would lighten his heart, release the shackles from his charred soul, or so Issa repeatedly told himself.

It would be worth it, the time away from Serwa. The controlled tremors in her voice when she’d accepted Issa’s refusal to return home sent a dagger straight through his heart. It will all be worth it. Please, God, let it all have been worth the sacrifice and pain.

A frisson of demonic energy had Issa hiding deeper into the bleak darkness of the vacant home, wings retracted, solid wall against the raised peaks of his wings. It was finally time, time to face the demon, time to separate Ethan O’Leary’s soul from his worthless body.

It had taken a month to set up the meet, to draw the coward to this home. Yet it had taken Issa even longer to discover—to admit—that he was no Hunter Angel. O’Leary had eluded him time and again, always one step ahead, enjoying the chase, mocking Issa’s feeble efforts.

The hunt was a chronic series of missteps, sophomoric maneuvers, and building frustration.

Hunt. Run. Escape.

Hunt. Run. Escape.

Hunt. Run. Escape.

Endless wasted effort, fury and pride a subpar recipe for success, yet a brilliant one for failure. But Issa wouldn’t fail tonight, not again. No more. Ethan O’Leary would die. His execution date set by Issa, the exact time of death the only unknown.

The front door creaked when it was opened then closed. Then there were steps. Soft, cautious ones on the hardwood floor, coming closer, moving deeper into the ranch-style house.

Come, moth, to my flame.

“I’m here, Malik. You left the door unlocked.”

Ah, that voice, the sickness that had invaded Serwa’s dreams, morphing them into nightmares and sending her into a fit of shrill cries. Issa remembered those nights well. His loving touches barely enough to coax her off the ledge, preventing Serwa’s plummet into emotional oblivion.

How many nights has she cried since you left, Issa? How many nightmares did she have to fend off alone because you had to have your revenge, your damn justice?

Issa refused to think of that now. With force, he pushed back the image of his wife, her beautiful face with the sweetest, most kissable nose he’d ever seen. The one she’d passed on to their girls. No, he wouldn’t think of her…of them now. Later, yes, later when his mission was complete.

Another creak and more steps, the distance between them was shrinking, threatening to shred Issa’s patience. But he had been patient.

Five months.

Of thinking.

Of hurting.

Of hating.

Of missing. Her.

Issa scanned the modest room one last time. There were built-in bookshelves on three walls, each bookcase divided into six modular sections, plenty of space for an avid reader’s collection of books. But the shelves, with the exception of a smattering of odds and ends, were bare, outing the owner of the home as a fraud.

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