Lethal Blow: (Succubus Hitwoman Book 2) by Eliza Hendrix (love books to read TXT) 📕

Drax stares at me the way he does when he’s trying to figure out if I’m drunk, high, or both.

“It’s been a week, Alex.”

Tucking my thumb inside my jeans, I pull at them.

“Oh, shit,” I say. “That’s why these things feel loose on me. I haven’t eaten in a week.”

“Where were you?” Drax asks.

Shaking my head, I move toward the fridge. The moment I open it, Red bubbles inside of me, begging to be released. Why is it empty? Drax knows better than to not have alcohol available for me.

“You need a clear head,” he says before I can turn around and glare at him.

I squeeze the fridge’s handle so hard it snaps off and Rachel lets out a gasp.

“I will be clear,” I say through clenched teeth, “once I get something in me.”

Rachel points at a pile of junk food next to Drax. “We got chips.”

Mr. Mushroom barks, jumps on the bed, and shoves his head in one of the half-eaten bags. Riskus grabs one of the unopened bags, opens his mouth nearly as wide as his body, and eats the whole thing in one gulp.

“Hey!” I shout.

Riskus freezes with a bag of chips hanging out of his mouth and Mr. Mushroom flattens his ears and cowers next to Drax.

“What the hell are you doing feeding my dog this shit?” I snap.

Rachel shrugs. “I got him kibble,” she says, pointing at an ugly folded bag that looks like it’s been sitting in storage for years. “But he won’t eat it.”

“No shit,” I say. “I only feed him premium.”

“It says premium on the bag,” Rachel says.

“Rachel, half the writing on that bag is in Chinese. I’ve never even heard of the brand. It’s probably full of cat meat or some shit.”

“Whoa,” Rachel says. “What are you, a racist?”

“Racist?” I sneer. “Cut the sensitivity bullshit, kid. Just because it’s a stereotype doesn’t mean it isn’t true or that I mean it as an insult. Do your research and you’ll see that cat meat is a thing in some parts of China.”

She turns to Drax, but he knows better than to get involved in an argument with me.

“I’m heading out for a drink. When I get back, I expect answers.”

“All right, all right,” Drax says, sticking an arm up in the air. “There’s vodka under the bed.”

I glower at him until I feel like my eyes are about to seal themselves shut. “Why are you only telling me this now?”

“Why do you think, Alex? A lot is going on, and all you want to do is get drunk. When are you going to get over what happened? This isn’t healthy. You’re diminishing yourself and putting everyone’s lives at risk by fucking with your powers.” The muscles in his jaw pop out and his eyes go red. I’ve seen Drax’s eyes go red twice—both of which occurred during a life-or-death situation. With his incisor teeth bared at me, he lets out a hissing breath. “I was hoping that maybe for once, you’d realize how serious things were and you’d agree to be sober for a bit.”

Drax’s right about everything, but I don’t want to hear it. Especially not right now.

Scoffing, I reach under the bed and pull out the new bottle of Grey Goose. “At least you didn’t go cheap on this.”

The redness in his eyes shimmers as I crack the bottle open and bring it to my lips. But it isn’t his eyes that cause me to hesitate—it’s Rachel’s. From my peripheral, I can sense her watching me the way she might have her father when he threw fits of rage.

It makes me feel like a complete fuckup.

Sighing, I twist the cap back on and toss the bottle on the bed beside Drax. His face lights up, almost as if he’s witnessed some miraculous event. I may not be a mind reader, but the confused look on his face translates to, Did I seriously talk you out of drinking for the first time in months?

Ignoring him, I dig my fingernails into my palms. “Okay. Spill. What the fuck happened over there? Is this about Zerachu being someone else?”

I’m surprised I remember what Devania told me, seeing as I almost never care enough about other people’s problems to retain information. In any other situation, I may not have given a shit, but Devania specifically told me that Rachel was in danger.

While I might not want to give a shit about the kid, she’s now my responsibility and after everything I put her through, I owe her my protection at the very least.

Rachel pulls out a wooden chair tucked underneath a cheap computer desk and sits down. Leaning the weight of her body on an armrest, she focuses her attention on the carpet, her red brows almost touching over the bridge of her nose.

“Something’s wrong with her, Alexis,” she says. “I thought the Great Witch was supposed to be some powerful witch who protects people.”

“She is,” I say.

“Well, she didn’t protect anyone. She ripped the book right out of my hands and the talisman off my neck.”

Zerachu would never do that. The woman has spent centuries working toward maintaining peace in the Underworld. She may be cold and unapologetic at times, but she isn’t evil.

“She wouldn’t do that,” I say.

Rachel offers me a shrug. “Maybe she was cursed or something.”

It’s almost impossible to believe that Zerachu might be cursed. She’s one of the most—if not the most—powerful witches alive. She might offer fortune-telling for fun, but everyone knows that witch controls the Dark Hall. None of this makes any sense.

Sighing, I sit at the edge of the bed and Mr. Mushroom lunges at me like he hasn’t seen me in months. The second I look at him, his ears go flat and he