Terror at the Gates

Chapter Two

I hope chapter one intrigued you. Isn’t the dynamic between Lily and Z delicious? I love them. This next chapter is the catalyst and sets the tone for Lilith’s journey. One of the things I love most about this book are the details. I feel like we have all walked down a sticky street, a sidewalk with too much garbage. We’ve all seen an old wooden door with pealing paint. These are sensory things we are able to imagine and it immerses us deeper into the story.

Don’t forget you can pre-order now!

We also have an indie bookstore campaign. If you pre-order from any of the 77 participating bookstores, you will receive a signed copy and a set of four page overlays (this is while supplies lasts). You can view the list here.

---

Chapter Two

I went home like Zahariev ordered but only to change into dark jeans and a tank top. I needed something that wouldn’t draw attention as I made my way down Smugglers' Row, a street in what was probably the most dangerous part of Nineveh, known as Gomorrah. I also needed my gun, which I kept holstered under my jacket.

The streets were crowded tonight, but that was because there was just as much garbage as there were people. The ground was sticky, and I had to peel my boots up with every step, but there was no way I’d venture into this part of town without at least two inches of rubber between me and these piss-filled streets.

It was a stark contrast to Hiram where I’d grown up. It was a district full of tall white buildings and mirrored skyscrapers. There, the sidewalks were quartz and scrubbed clean every night, though it was easy to do since a strict curfew was enforced. No one was allowed out past ten, and anyone caught was arrested and fined, though that wasn’t even what kept people obedient.

It was the threat of having your name and face splashed across every billboard in the city at rush hour the next morning.

In Hiram, there was nothing more powerful than shame.

Nineveh might not be as beautiful, and life here might be harder, but I would take it over the simulated perfection of Hiram.

The blare of a horn caught my attention, and my gaze shifted to the street, which was lined with sleek sports cars and roaring vintage trucks. A man with shorn hair yelled out the window of a shiny red convertible. “Hey, beautiful, want a ride?”

My lips quirked, though I wasn’t amused.

“You’re going the wrong way,” I said, continuing down the sidewalk.

“I can change,” he said, and to my great annoyance, he exited the car and jogged up to me, falling into step beside me.

“I’m afraid you’re wasting your time,” I said, not only because I wasn’t interested but he wasn’t either. I couldn’t sense a single drop of lust in this man.

“Why?” he asked. “You married?”

“No,” I said.

“Then I don’t see a problem,” he said, cutting me off. I tried to step around him, but he stuck out his arm to stop me. I let my gaze slide to his, and still there was nothing, no sign he was the least bit aroused by me. I suspected he’d pegged me as an easy target, some young woman he could snatch from the streets and sell into the sex trade, a market Zahariev didn’t condone in Nineveh, though I couldn’t say the same for the other families.

I studied his face. I wanted to remember it so I could give Zahariev a good description.

I tilted my head to the side. “You think you can change my mind?”

“Just one ride, baby,” he said with a grin. “That’s all it takes.”

I dropped my gaze and laughed. “You know the problem,” I said slowly, so he could keep up. “It takes over two inches to satisfy me.”

“Bitch,” he said, his lip curling.

I drew my gun and pointed it at his crotch. “Fuck. Off.”

He jumped back, holding up his hands. No one so much as batted an eye at our exchange. It was usual for the area, especially on this street.

“You know what? Fine,” he said, stepping off the sidewalk. “Not even that fucking hot.”

“Whatever makes you feel better,” I muttered. “Bastard.”

I holstered my weapon and continued down the sidewalk, passing bars, clubs, restaurants, and antique shops. Though some were exactly what they preached, others were fronts for very different kinds of businesses, the kind that Zahariev didn’t want the commission to know about. Take Sons of Adam. It was a bar that happened to serve some of the best mozzarella sticks in Eden. I tried to eat there at least once a week. Their owner, a man named Samuel, sold weapons out of the warehouse in the back. I know because it was where I got mine.

The problem was guns were illegal in Eden but essential to protecting yourself in Nineveh.

Zoar was a dance club known for their raves. It was also where Zahariev had stored a recent shipment of jade, a street drug he’d stolen from my father before moving it to the port of Nineveh. I hadn’t told Zahariev I knew he’d taken it. I was saving that little piece of information for a rainy day.

Don’t give away your secrets, Lilith, Zahariev had advised me long ago, so I didn’t, even when they involved him.

But I wondered what he was going to do with it. It wasn’t for the profit. For as long as I’d known him, he prohibited the sale and distribution of drugs in his territory, and anyone caught doing so was punished severely. I guessed time would tell.

Next to Zoar was Raphael’s Relics.

The guy who owned it wasn’t actually named Raphael. He went by Abram. When I asked him who Raphael was, he said no one. When I asked him why his business was named after him if he was no one, he said it was because nothing rhymed with Abram.

I pointed out he could have called it Abram’s Antiques. He told me no one likes a smart-ass.

The shop name was displayed in a gilded arc across a large window, but windows were risky in Nineveh, so it was barred and blacked out from the inside. His door was rotting, the green paint peeling, and when I opened it, a bell dinged over my head.

Abram was standing behind a polished wooden counter that looked a lot like a bar, especially because a mirror served as his backdrop, but I knew he used it to keep an eye on his shop when his back was turned. Abram was an older man with white hair and a matching beard. He had a round face and a stout body. When I entered, he looked up at me over his half-moon glasses and grimaced.

“You again?”

“Don’t pretend you aren’t happy to see me,” I said.

He slipped his glasses to the top of his head. “All you do is clutter my shop with junk.”

“You pay for it.”

Abram huffed and returned the coin he’d been inspecting to a tray before moving the entire thing to the counter behind him.

“What useless thing have you brought today?”

“What have I brought you that you haven’t been able to resell?” I asked.

He paused and then bent, heaving a large, wooden crate full of random shit I’d sold him over the last two years.

“Hey, those are really nice sunglasses,” I said, reaching for them.

Abram moved the crate out of my reach.

I met his sour gaze. “You have to admit, I’ve gotten better.”

Arriving in Nineveh was a lesson in survival, and it had taken me a few months to get my feet under me. In that time, I’d had tons of my own stuff stolen. Apparently everything I had screamed Hiram, and it made me a target for a while, until Zahariev threw his credit card at me and told me to buy new clothes, which seemed counterintuitive, but in Eden, fabrics equaled status.

The clothes had helped me blend in, but nothing acclimated me like time.

I rose onto the tips of my toes for a closer look at the box.

“I don’t see that relic I brought you two weeks ago,” I said. “Or the cross from the week before.”

The relic was a necklace with a plait of hair encapsulated in glass. It was said to belong to Saint Sebastian, a man whose life I knew nothing about, save that the church had canonized him. I doubted the hair actually belonged to him, but who really knew. In any case, people paid good money for a piece of a saint, no matter how small. I’d taken the cross from a priest. It was solid gold, set with rubies, and had dangled from his belt—a belt he’d been willing to remove without any encouragement from my magic.

Though other than creation, celibate priests were probably the biggest myth in Eden.

“Lying is a sin, Abram,” I said.

“Sin is our currency, girl,” he said, shoving the box under the counter. “Well?”

“Don’t call me girl,” I said, drawing the blade Ephraim had given me from my pocket. I refused to say steal. I set it on the counter. Beneath the light of Abram’s antique shop, it looked a little less stunning, but I thought that was intentional. He wanted everything to present poorly so he could lowball his customers.

His expression changed, bushy brows rising as surprise flashed in his eyes, though he managed to put a cap on his interest when he spoke, not a hint of wonder in his voice.

“Where did you find this?” he asked, picking it up to examine it closely.

“Around,” I said. Usually, I would get straight to the point and demand a sum of money, a few hundred dollars more than I wanted in hopes that Abram would negotiate down to what I needed, but this time, I was actually curious about the blade. Plus, if he gave me details, perhaps I could get more than just a few months’ rent out of him. “So? What is it?”

“A dagger,” he replied.

I rolled my eyes. “I know that, asshole. It’s special, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer me but paused to open a drawer. He pulled out a jeweler’s eyepiece, using it to scan the stones.

I didn’t like his silence and crossed my arms over my chest as I waited, tapping my foot. After a few seconds, he tossed his eyepiece into the drawer and closed it before resting the blade on the counter.

“Two hundred,” he said.

I couldn’t tell what I felt more keenly: anger or shock at his offer.

“Fuck you. That blade is worth at least three thousand, and you know it!”

Abram chuckled. “Might be what it’s worth, but I have to make a profit.”

I glared at the old man. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll just pay my rent with the fucking dagger.”

I went to snatch it back, but Abram grabbed it first.

I reached for my gun, furious. I had done business with this man since I’d moved to Nineveh, and this was how he treated me? Fucking blade must be worth a small fortune, but when I met the old man’s gaze, I froze.

The whites of his eyes were red.

The color drained from my face, and for a moment, I ceased to breathe.

“Abram?”

He blinked, and a trail of blood raced down his cheek.

He lifted his hand, touching his face. When he pulled it away, he rubbed his fingers together, brows furrowing, as if he did not understand what was happening.

I didn’t understand what was happening.

The old man lifted his bloody gaze to mine. His face had turned a garish color. A low, strange whine came from his mouth, like he was a balloon leaking air, and as he made that sound, he seemed to fall in slow motion, hitting the ground with a hollow thud.

For a few seconds, I stood stunned, unable to process what the fuck had just happened.

“Abram?” I called and then jumped, resting my stomach on the counter as I peered down at the floor. He lay on his back, eyes pools of blood.

He was definitely dead.

“What the fuck,” I muttered under my breath.

I dropped down from the counter. My body felt weird, like my bones were shaking, but then I realized I really was shaking as I drew my phone out of my pocket to call the only person I could think of—my emergency contact, Coco.

The phone rang and rang.

“Come on, come on, come on,” I murmured under my breath. When she didn’t answer, I hung up and called again. Then the bell rang, signaling someone was entering the shop. I bolted for the door, shoving my weight against it. Whoever was on the other side shoved back.

“We’re closed!” I shouted, fumbling for the lock. I clicked it into place despite my trembling fingers and put the phone back to my ear.

“Lilith?”

“Coco, thank fuck!” I said. Relief descended through my body like a cooling wave, though it did nothing to ease my racing heart.

Someone punched the door.

“Fuck off!” I yelled.

“Lilith, what is going on?”

“Coco, something bad has happened.”

“Where are you?”

“Raphael’s Relics,” I said. “Look, Abram is dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yes! I don’t know what to do!”

I couldn’t think. It felt wrong to leave him, but he also had cameras everywhere. I realized I wasn’t exactly responsible, but I also didn’t trust the enforcers to believe me, even with video. They worked for the church, and I was a woman. It was likely, being the daughter of Lucius Leviathan, I wouldn’t have to serve time, but they would definitely use any excuse to send me back to my father, and I’d do just about anything to avoid that.

“Hold on,” Coco said.

There was a sound like static and the distant echo of music. I waited, my throat feeling tighter and tighter.

“It’s Lilith,” I heard Coco say. “She’s in trouble.”

There was a pause, and then I heard Zahariev’s voice.

I almost groaned. Of course she would go to him.

“Lilith.” He said my name and nothing else.

“Abram is dead, and I don’t know what to do,” I said.

There was silence on the other side. I wondered what he was thinking, what he looked like. Was he clenching his jaw or pursing his lips? He did both when he was frustrated.

“I’m coming,” he said and then hung up.

Slowly, I let my hand drop to my side, clutching my phone. It was the first time I realized how loud silence could be. I looked around, feeling crowded by everything in the cluttered shop. After a few seconds, I crept around the counter. Abram lay still, and despite the lack of movement, I called his name. I don't even know why. I didn't expect him to answer.

There was silence.

My eyes shifted to the blade. He’d been holding it when he collapsed, and now it lay beside his body. The way it shimmered beneath the dull light made me think it was taunting him. I inched forward until I was close enough to reach for the knife, using the tips of my fingers to pull it toward me. I wasn’t sure why I was so afraid of this dead man, maybe because I did not know why he had died so suddenly, but the reality was, once I was out of here, I still had rent to pay.

I shoved the blade into my pocket, skin crawling as I retreated to the front of the store. I was alone, but I still felt like someone was watching. Maybe it was because of the cameras.

Eventually, I chose a spot on the floor and sat, pulling my knees to my chest. The sounds outside kept my spine straight. I waited for someone to break down the door or shatter the glass window, fueled by drunken revelry or a wild high. Antique shops were a frequent target for robberies for those seeking gold, relics, and weapons to move through the black market. Based on my luck, if anyone was going to break into Raphael’s, it would be tonight.

Maybe I was just more paranoid because I was keeping vigil with a dead body.

Where the fuck was Zahariev?

Just then, I heard a sound, like the slamming of a door. While I hoped it was Zahariev, I couldn’t be sure, so I shifted closer to the counter and drew my gun, heart racing as I waited for whoever had joined me and Abram to appear.

“Lilith?”

Relief washed over me when I heard Zahariev’s voice, something I did not feel too often.

I holstered my weapon and popped out from behind the counter. I was surprised by how quickly he came toward me, stopping when he was near, eyes raking down my body. It wasn’t a sensual look. It was an assessment.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, slightly annoyed, though I didn’t know why. Maybe it was because I knew his concern was for his balls, since he’d promised my father he’d take care of me while I went through this phase—my father’s words, not mine.

“Where’s Coco?” I asked, looking around him like she might be trailing behind, but no one was there.

“Why would I bring your friend to a crime scene?” he asked.

“Don’t call it a crime scene! I didn’t murder anyone.”

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“I’m so glad you find this amusing,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I don’t find this amusing,” he said. “I find you amusing.” He stepped past me, and I turned to follow. “Where is he?” he asked.

“Behind the counter,” I said, nodding toward it.

Zahariev approached, silent as he leaned over to look at Abram. I watched him, swallowing around the thickness in my throat. After a few seconds, he straightened.

“What happened?” he asked, eyes meeting mine.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I was trying to sell the fucking knife I stole.”

“I thought you didn’t steal,” he said.

“God, I cannot stand you.”

His lips twitched. “So what? He looked at the knife and died?”

He said it like it was a joke, but it wasn’t.

“Yes,” I said. “Exactly.”

He frowned, eyes narrowing slightly. “Let me see the knife.”

I wasn’t sure why I hesitated to give it to him, maybe because I was still hoping it might solve some of my problems, even though it had obviously caused me more.

“Lilith,” Zahariev said.

“I know, okay,” I said, frustrated as I handed it over. I knew I wasn’t getting it back when he didn’t even look at it as he slid it into his pocket.

We stared at each other for a few seconds before he spoke.

“I thought I told you to go home,” he said.

“Can you not scold me right now? I told you rent was due, and that fucker, Paul, keeps raising it.”

Zahariev paused before asking, “Did Abram say anything about the blade?”

“No,” I said, but that was his tactic. The more information he offered, the more it was likely worth. “How is he supposed to lowball me if he tells me how valuable it is?”

“What did he offer?”

“Two hundred,” I said.

Fucker, I thought, because it felt wrong to speak ill of the dead, at least aloud, but he’d definitely tried to cheat me.

“Hmm,” he said but added no other commentary. Instead, he just left, walking past me into the back of the store.

“Where are you going?” I called after him.

He said nothing. I let out a frustrated sigh as I followed him through the back room, which was crowded with junk.

“So what do you think happened to him?” I called after him.

Zahariev pushed the back door open, propping a crumbling brick against it. As he bent over, his necklace dropped, a gleaming silver cross swinging on the end. The pendant had nothing to do with his religion. Similar to mine, it had been a gift from his father.

“Maybe a heart attack,” he suggested as he straightened.

“His eyes were fucking bleeding, Zahariev,” I said.

“You asked what I thought,” he said. “I’m telling you what I think.”

“You’re lying,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re such a terrible liar.”

“You’re the only one who would say so, little love,” he replied.

I was used to Zahariev’s nickname for me, but it still made me blush.

He dropped his hand from the door and moved out of sight. I followed, finding a line of black vehicles waiting in the alleyway. Two were SUVs and two were vans, the kind that looked like they were made for kidnapping and murdering people, no matter how nice and shiny they were. Men dressed in dark clothing stood beside them like soldiers, though I supposed that was what they were—men who did Zahariev’s bidding.

Once we were outside, they entered the building carrying a variety of cleaning supplies.

A man dressed in a long coat slammed the doors of a van closed. He turned, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Gabriel!”

He grinned as I raced to him, hugging him around the middle.

“Hey, baby girl,” he said, squeezing me tight. He was warm, and his embrace was comforting. It was nice compared to the cold distance Zahariev always put between us.

“Where have you been?” I asked.

“Oh, you know me. Just doing the Lord’s work,” he said.

I rolled my eyes as I pulled away from him, tipping my head to meet his gaze.

“Well, while you were doing the Lord’s work, I was almost strip-searched.”

His blond brows rose high, and he glanced at Zahariev.

“Who?”

“Isiah,” said Zahariev. “Don’t let her fool you. She broke his nose within seconds.”

Gabriel let out a breathy laugh.

“He deserved it,” I said. “I warned him not to touch me.”

“I’m not blaming you,” said Gabriel. “What I want to know is what Z did to him when you left.”

I looked at Zahariev as he was lighting his own cigarette. He took a long drag from it, holding it between his thumb and forefinger before expelling a plume of smoke into the night. He gave no answer.

Sometimes he looked so menacing, I hardly recognized him. A shiver ran down my spine.

“You cold, baby girl?” Gabriel asked, already slipping out of his jacket before I could answer. I let him drape it around my shoulders.

“You always take care of me,” I said, smiling up at him.

“You know it,” he said, then he looked at Zahariev. “You taking her home?”

He nodded once.

“I love you, baby girl,” Gabriel said, patting my shoulders.

“Tell Esther I said hi,” I said.

Esther was his girlfriend, and I loved her. Ironically, I thought my mother would have loved her too. She was everything I wasn’t—nurturing, compassionate, domestic.

If only she hadn’t been born in Nineveh.

“Tell her yourself,” he said. “You know you’re always welcome.”

“I know,” I said. “Thank you.”

He nodded and then vanished into the dark of the antique shop.

My gaze shifted to Zahariev. He dropped the cigarette to the wet ground and crushed it beneath his boot.

“You ready?” he asked, approaching. He put out his arm to herd me toward the SUV at the front of the line but didn’t touch me. His energy was all around me, heavier than Gabriel’s jacket.

Zahariev opened the door, and I slid into the back seat.

“Miss Leviathan,” the driver said with a glance in the rearview mirror.

“Felix,” I said. “It’s been a while.”

“You think two weeks is a while, Miss Leviathan?”

It was, considering Felix had been tasked with taking me home every other day, mostly because Zahariev got sick of my antics.

“Aww,” I said. “You counted.”

He snorted.

I thought for a moment that Zahariev wasn’t going to join me for the ride home. I didn’t like the small twinge of disappointment blossoming in my chest. I told myself it was because he still had my knife, but honestly, I wasn’t exactly sure where the feeling came from.

It vanished the moment he opened the other door and slid into the back. His energy was suffocating. Why was everything about him so electric? It was like he had magic.

If I hadn’t been looking out the windows, I wouldn’t have known Felix had put the car in drive. His acceleration was smooth. I glanced at Zahariev, his profile illuminated periodically by the glow of the streetlights and neon signs.

“Are you mad at me?” I asked.

He was quiet for a moment before speaking, which was usual. I never asked him why it took him so long to answer, because I knew he was thinking through his response.

“Would it do any good?”

“Probably not,” I admitted.

“Then no.”

“Are you going to let me have that knife back?”

“No.”

“Zahariev,” I said, turning toward him. “I need—”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, cutting me off.

“I don’t want your help,” I said. “I want to do this myself.”

I needed to, for reasons he wouldn’t understand.

“I know you want to,” he said, meeting my gaze. “But right now, you can’t, so let me take care of it.”

I appreciated his offer, truly. There was comfort in knowing that he would help me if things got bad, but I was capable, and I wanted to earn my living.

“If you would just let me work—”

“Lilith, we have been through this.”

“No one has to know,” I said. “Isiah didn’t know me!”

“And look where that got him,” Zahariev countered.

“Where did it get him, Zahariev?”

“In the fucking ground,” he said.

“You didn’t.” A twinge of guilt turned my stomach.

“We have rules in Nineveh, Lilith. You know them well. He threatened you. He touched you. He gave up his life. Imagine the bodies that would pile up if you danced for me.”

“Those rules don’t apply when I work for you.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you,” I said. I’d come here to escape one prison, and he wanted to put me in another. “You might not pay me, but that doesn’t mean other men won’t.”

I tried to open the door, despite the fact that the SUV was still moving.

“Child locks, Miss Leviathan,” said Felix.

I released the handle and let out a frustrated growl as I sat back in my seat. This was not the first time we’d had this conversation, and it had gone as well as it had all the other times.

We were quiet after that. I thought about how I was going to make money, and not just something that got me by for the month. Real money. An income. The issue in Nineveh was, outside the clubs, people weren’t looking for women to run their shops.

Finally, Felix came to a stop outside my ruined apartment complex. I was never so relieved to be home. I started to open the door but remembered I was basically locked inside.

Felix exited the driver’s seat and let Zahariev out first, which irritated me. I didn’t need him to walk me to the door, though he would.

He always did.

I didn’t look at Zahariev as I left the SUV, heading straight for my second-story apartment. A few residents who gathered to smoke occupied the stairs. I didn’t know them by name, but I knew their apartment numbers. Usually, when I came home, they didn’t move, so I had to play hopscotch just to get to my apartment.

Tonight, with Zahariev looming behind me, they fled.

I took the stairs two at a time, thinking if I got far enough ahead, I might be able to shut myself inside my apartment before Zahariev caught up, but when I arrived at my door, I couldn’t slide my key into the lock. It was a little bent, so it always took some maneuvering to get it to work. On top of that, I was so frustrated, my eyes were blurry with tears.

I didn’t want to cry in front of Zahariev, which only made me more desperate to get inside before he noticed, but then his arms came around me, and his hand closed over mine as he guided the key into the lock like some fucking magician. For the briefest moment, his warmth surrounded me, easing into my bones.

Then he let me go, and I shivered, even with Gabriel’s jacket on.

“Lilith,” Zahariev said, his voice quiet.

I didn’t want to look at him. I turned the knob and entered my apartment, but Zahariev jammed his foot in the doorway.

“Fuck off, Zahariev,” I snapped, but he didn’t move. He waited until I met his gaze. His eyes seemed brighter, maybe because he stood in the semidarkness, only part of his face illuminated by my pallid porch light.

“Praise, two p.m.,” he said, removing his foot from the door.

My eyes widened, and a flush of adrenaline raced from the pit of my stomach to my chest.

“You mean it?” I asked.

“I never say things I don’t mean,” he said and started to walk away but paused to look back at me. “Let me know if you lose your nerve. I hate wasting my time.”

I glared. “Why would I lose my nerve?”

“Because,” he said. “You’re going to dance for me.”