Read No Angel for Free Online

place, steepled on the counter, were a pair of silver-plated .44 Magnum Desert Eagle handguns and a thick embossed envelope, the kind only used for wedding invitations and charity dinners.
    Anger rushed in to fill the hollow void shock had carved out in her chest. “Goddamn holier-than-thou sons of bitches,” she snarled, wishing she had a convenient angelic target to test out the aim of the Desert Eagles.
    She palmed one of the guns—just in case anyone else decided to open up a portal in her kitchen. The grip warmed to her touch, seeming to mold itself into her palm. She checked the clip and found it fully loaded, but the heft was off. She’d worked with Desert Eagles before—they were the most common guns on film sets so she’d fired more than her fair share—but this one felt somehow both lighter and more substantial. Maneuverable, if a gun could be such a thing, and natural, like it was an extension of her arm.
    Ignoring the tingling inching toward her elbow, Sasha broke the wax seal on the envelope one-handed.
    Mme. Sasha Raquel Christian, you are cordially invited to enter the domain of His Highness, the Prince of Darkness, Morning Star and ruler of the Multitudes of Hell. Please present this card to the Gatekeeper for admittance to the Underworld at The Catacombs, Our Lady of the Angels Cathedral, 555 W. Temple Street, Los Angeles, California.
    Well. Wasn’t that polite?
    The script glittered gold on the creamy parchment, disturbingly beautiful for an invitation into the pits of damnation.
    Sasha didn’t fool herself that her entire trip would be so civil. Hell. She was actually going to Hell.
    The scent of burnt gingerbread broke into the surreal haze surrounding her brain. “Shit.” She’d forgotten to set the damn timer.
    Sasha turned off the oven, grabbed a hot pad and yanked the charred gingerbread cinders out of the oven. The leg of one little man was actually on fire. Sasha stared at the ginger man, her stomach rolling over.
    Jay is in Hell.
    The reality of what she had to do slammed into her.
    She had a boyfriend to rescue. At least, she thought she had a boyfriend to rescue. She wasn’t entirely sure they weren’t broken up. Either way, she was getting Jay the hell out of Hell.
    But first, she had an armory to visit. The U.S. government didn’t have access to half the weapons a Hollywood stuntman used. Hell wouldn’t know what hit it.

Chapter Four
Waking the Dead
    Sasha shouldered through the crowds, smiling apologetically as she shoved her way toward the Cathedral doors. A knee-length jacket of brick-red leather protected against the light chill in the air—and helped her avoid shocking the parishioners with a stray glimpse of the hardware strapped to her body.
    The average devotee probably wouldn’t appreciate her crashing mass, armed to the teeth.
    The Desert Eagles had appeared complete with an Old-West-style holster which now slung low across her hips. She’d belted extra ammo clips around her waist along with a collection of throwing knives. More throwing knives filled her wrist sheathes, her favorite Walther automatics nestled in her shoulder holster and a modified katana pressed against her spine. Once you factored in the extendable blade tucked in her left boot and the Taser tucked into the inner pocket of her jacket, she was ready for whatever Hell threw at her.
    She hoped.
    The arsenal wasn’t quite the comfort she’d wished it would be. It was difficult to feel confident about victory when she didn’t know who—or what—she would be fighting. So little was known about Hell and its denizens. It wasn’t as if humans were invited to visit the demon realms on a regular basis. She’d heard of people questing into Hell, but the stories always had the air of myth or urban legend about them—more likely to be splashed on the front of a tabloid next to a story about alien abduction than the subject of gritty investigative journalism.
    Angelic quests made a popular action-movie