LUCIFER'S POV
The aroma of vanilla and burnt sugar still clung to my clothes, a reminder of the life I wore like perfume, sweet, delicate, deceptive. The bakery had been hell this morning, three cake orders were messed up, one oven fire, and one customer even tried to condescendingly explain macarons to me. I had smiled through it all like a good little baker named Sabrina.
People loved Sabrina, she made caramel croissants and wore pastel aprons with flour on her cheeks… If only they knew.
I kicked off my heels the second I walked into my penthouse, groaning as I let my bag slide from my shoulder. I was looking forward to just one quiet night, one fucking night, maybe I would cook something for Sebastián, his favorite, arroz negro with calamari.
"You are home early," said a voice behind me, from the voice, I can already tell who it is.
I didn't even flinch, I turned, expression sharp. Red, my right-hand, leaned against the wall in a black suit like he owned the place. The guy was everywhere and nowhere at the same time; he acted like a ghost in daylight and a monster in the dark.
I raised a brow. "Red. If you are inside my house before I finish unhooking my bra, then I know it's bad." I noted.
He didn't smile. "We found him."
I blinked. "Who?"
"The rat, the one who has been poking around our gun shipments. He has been trying to trace the leader of the West Syndicate. Which… is you, Lucifer." He pointed out the obvious.
I know exactly who I am and what I stand for, he doesn't need to remind me.
My pulse kicked up like a junkie on sugar. "Location?"
Red handed me a phone. "He is holed up in a shitty apartment off 7th Street, alone. Looks like he has been panicking, he probably suspects we are onto him."
I inhaled deeply. So much for arroz negro. "I'm coming with you," I said, already walking to the bedroom.
Red blocked my path. "Sabrina …"
I grabbed his wrist and twisted until I heard a pop, he groaned but his face didn't flinch, but he stepped back… who the hell gave him the right to think he can stop me?
"That's Lucifer to you, sweetheart," I snapped. "And don't ever try to stop me from doing my job again."
Red flexed his wrist as I stormed into my room. My closet clicked open to reveal a second life, my other life, a life filled with black leather jackets, bulletproof vests, shoulder holsters, knives hidden in stiletto boots and guns of different shapes and sizes.
My hair went up in a tight braid as I dressed up in a matching bulletproof black leather pant and jacket, stiletto boots and my shoulder holster. No more sweet aprons, no more pastel lies.
Tonight, Lucifer was going hunting.
…
We pulled up in front of a decaying brick building that looked like it was falling apart, and it felt totally unsafe. I stepped out of the matte black SUV, boots crunching glass as Red and three other men fanned out behind me like wolves with guns.
"Top floor, apartment 12C," Red said quietly.
I nodded and took the lead as my hand brushed the Glock at my thigh, comforted by its weight. Every step up the stairs sounded like a drumbeat in my chest, I wasn't nervous. I am the fear itself.
Outside the door, I lifted a hand and knocked once. Nothing, no response.
I knocked again. "Open the door, darling. I am not known for patience."
Still nothing, this guy is testing my patience.
Red started to pull out a lock pick, but I raised my leg and slammed my heel into the door, the wood cracked and shattered, the door swinging in with a scream. Inside, a man stumbled back, wide-eyed, like a deer caught mid-prayer.
He had a laptop open, wires everywhere, and at least five pictures of me in my Lucifer mode, although my face wasn't exactly visible, but I knew it was me, dark coats, blurry shots… I mean, unless you know me, you can't tell it's me in the picture.
"Holy shit…" he started.
"I wouldn't use the word 'holy' right now," I said, walking in and the others followed, guns raised.
"Who the fuck are you?" the man shouted which only confirmed to me that my face was indeed barely visible and even him couldn't recognize me.
I smiled coldly, pulling out my Glock with practice ease. "You can call me Lucifer."
The name froze the blood in his face, and he immediately dropped to his knees like the floor had yanked him… The name 'Lucifer' is no joke, everyone is terrified by the name and the tales around it, they just haven't matched the name to a face, and they won't.
"Please, I didn't know! I didn't know…"
I stopped right in front of him and pressed the cold barrel to his forehead. "You were poking around my shipments, sniffing through shadows that were never meant to see daylight."
He sobbed. "They paid me, I needed the money… my sister, she's sick…"
I slapped him across the face with the gun, not hard enough to knock him out, just enough to shut him up.
"You can cry about your sick sister when you are dead," I hissed.
He whimpered, blood trickling from his lip.
My heart was stone; I wasn't the woman who made cupcakes. I wasn't the girlfriend who smiles in Sebastián's arms. I was Lucifer, the ghost story told in back alleys. The faceless king of a syndicate no one knew was ruled by a queen.
I crouched so I was eye level with him. "I'm going to ask you once, and just once," I said, my voice sharp like a blade's edge.
"Who the fuck sent you?"