Pandora's Hell (A Post-Apocalyptic Romance) (Box of Sins Duet Book 1) by EJ Everette

Author:EJ Everette [Everette, EJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2022-03-15T04:00:00+00:00

24

Chapter Twenty Four: These are my Confessions

“How do you get it back?” I ask after a solid ten minutes goes by with nothing but silence from Eli. There has to be a way for him to get that mojo back in his system, or the angels wouldn’t have told me he could help.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Make. It. Easy.” I shout, because this fucker is really getting on my damn nerves. “No one has time for your woe-is-me bullshit, Eligor. People are literally dying right now while you sit here pouting. Man the fuck up and tell me how you get your shit together so we can save the goddamn world!” Infuriating man! No wonder the angels kicked his ass out of heaven. I’d do the same damn thing.

“You are a human, Pandora,” growling my name, he finally stands just so he can yell at me. “As big and bad as you want to play that you’re more, you’re breakable. Fragile. Your lifetime is a blip in the existence of this world, and many others. You can’t possibly comprehend what I’ve lived through. You know nothing, and you are nothing.”

I hit him. I don’t even hesitate. I stomp my fine ass right over to where the pompous jerk is mouthing off about how I’m jack shit, something I’ve been struggling with myself since dealing with all these angels and demons everywhere, and I ram my fist right into the side of his perfect face with everything I’ve got.

Which is exactly how I break my hand.

“Damnit to hell! Motherfucking stone-faced asshole.”

The worst part? He didn’t even flinch. He saw me coming, watched me punch him, and I don’t think his head moved a centimeter from the impact. In fact, his cheek was so hard, it might actually be made of stone, come to think of it.

‘Let me see it.” Oh, now look who gives a shit.

“It’s nothing,” I bark out. “Just like me.” Ow ow ow ow ow ow! It hurts so damn bad.

“Pandora, I didn’t… I mean. Fuck.” He storms away, but must realize he can’t actually leave, because he stops and comes right back.

“I have to pray,” he snaps.

“Okay, pray. What the fuck do I care?” Cradling my hand, I try to move the fingers, flexing them to see how many bones are actually broken, but they won’t even extend. Not a good sign.

“I haven’t done it before. Ever.”

That gets my attention. I mean, I guess as an angel, you don’t have to pray to the others when you need help. Still, never ever? Even before The Great Release, I shot up a prayer or two here and there.

“When I was cast out,” he looks over at me, gauging my reaction since he hasn’t really admitted much to me at this point. I keep my face flat, devoid of emotion, while I nurse my broken hand. “I didn’t pray because I knew they wouldn’t answer even if I did. Then, as time went on, I was angry with them for their judgment.

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