The Liberator
Dante Walker - 2
by
Victoria Scott
For Mom, who showed me the magic books possess.
And for Dad, who taught me perseverance.
“And throw them into the fiery furnace.
In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
I was once a collector. I worked for the devil himself. If you sinned when I was around, I’m the piper you would’ve paid. But then I met a girl. She was everything I wasn’t—kind, honest, virtuous. And in the end, though it was my job to drag her soul to hell, I sacrificed everything to save her from demons like me.
Today, they say I’m born again. That I have a second chance as a liberator. But let me tell you something…I’m no angel. Never have been, never will be. I’m just bad, baby. Maybe because of the way I was raised, or maybe it’s good old-fashioned genetics.
Or maybe it’s because deep down, I like the way being bad feels. Pow!
“Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.”
1 
I Ain’t No Angel
Real men don’t cross their legs.
In an emergency situation, like if you need to adjust your junk, a dude can place ankle to knee. But that’s it. There shouldn’t be any danglage. I shouldn’t see one leg lying limply over the other, and I definitely—definitely—shouldn’t see you bounce your dangling foot.
The guy in front of me is breaking this Man Rule. And about a dozen others.
He’s wearing black-framed glasses I’m sure he doesn’t need and a Burberry scarf that’s as phony as he is. Even worse, he’s sipping champagne from a friggin’ crystal flute.
And he’s talking to my girl, Charlie.
And making her laugh.
Music from the party throbs and echoes off the basement walls. I’m not sure how I got here, and I’m certain I don’t know how Charlie ended up on the other side of the room with Guy In Touch With His Emotions. Raising a bottle to my lips, I watch as the guy uncrosses his long legs and recrosses them.
His tampon must be killing him.
I know perfectly well why this dude is moving in on Charlie. She’s completely beautiful. But I can’t complain. I’m the one who did this to her.
A month ago, I was given an assignment from Boss Man, aka, Lord of the Underworld, to collect Charlie’s soul. Like the champ I am, I pulled out all the stops to complete the job. Why wouldn’t I? I was a collector from hell, after all, and there was a huge promotion on the line. So I offered Charlie something she couldn’t refuse, something in exchange for her soul—beauty.
My past is working out real well for me right about now.
A girl struts by slowly, drinking in my appearance. I know, fancy face. I’m effin’ hot. But you’re blocking my view.
I raise a hand and flick my wrist, dismissing Ogling Girl. She rolls her eyes and clicks away in Payless heels.
When my eyes return to Charlie, they nearly pop from my head. Feminine Man has his arm around the back of her chair and is leaning in way too close. I take a moment to see how Charlie reacts. She isn’t leaning into him, but she’s not leaning away, either.
Time to break this crap up.
I try to stand but immediately stumble back into my chair. Oh, man, I think, I’m plowed. Steadying myself, I try again to stand. This time I’m successful. A guy near me holds his hand out, and I slap him a high five.
Then I cross the distance between Charlie and me. She looks up, and her mouth curves up in a cautious smile.
“Hey,” D-bag says. He looks at me like I’m the one interrupting.
“Oh, hey,” I say. “Did you want me to come back when you’re done with my girlfriend?”
“Dante,” Charlie says, sensing I’m about to blow.
I place my hand on her shoulder and give her a gentle squeeze, but my eyes never leave his face.
The dude looks at Charlie, then up at me. “Relax. We weren’t doing anything.” His words are innocent, but there’s an arrogant tilt to his chin that I want to crush.
“Of course you weren’t,” I say. “Why don’t you get yourself something to drink?” I nod toward the other side of the room. “Over there.”
The guy stands up and steps in close, the smell of his cologne burning my nose. He nudges those black-rimmed glasses, and I consider jacking them, since I’m having a hard time seeing straight.
D-bag looks down at Charlie and smiles wide. “Hope I run into you again, Charlie,” he says. “We have a lot in common.”
I rub my jaw to keep from breaking his. The old demon in me wants to crack his skull for even looking at Charlie, but I know it’d cause a fight between me and her, and I won’t risk that. Nothing is worth hurting her again.
Charlie stands and twines her arm around mine. Her lips brush my ear, and goose bumps rise on my skin. “Careful, Dante. I’m not your property.” She pulls back and smiles, though I can tell she’s still a little peeved. Her head falls to one side. “Besides, you can’t kill them all.”
I turn my head, looking into her blue eyes. They’re bright and alert and unlike my own, which I’m sure are bloodshot as hell. “I can try.” I cup her cheeks and pull her mouth close.
She kisses me for a moment, then jerks backward. Her hand covers her lips. “You’ve been smoking.”
“Yeah, so?”
“I thought you were going to stop.” She wraps her arms around herself, and my heart tugs at the distance between us.
“Why would I stop?” I ask. “I’m already dead. It’s not like it’s going to hurt me.”
“But you’re an angel now,” she retorts.
“Please,” I say, but the gold cuff around my ankle reminds me she’s right. Big Guy, aka Lord of the Heavens, gave me another chance after I died saving Charlie from hell’s collectors. He said I could be useful as a liberator on Team Heaven, but he’s wrong there, ’cause I ain’t no angel.
I grab a bottle of tequila from the table and take a swig as a bunch of drunk chicks bump into me. At once, tequila races down my throat and the front of my shirt. I pull the bottle away and brush off my dark red jacket.
“Damn it,” I snarl.
Charlie shakes her head. She’s disappointed I didn’t turn into Golden Boy following my rebirth as an angel. But I can’t help it, because deep down, I’m still a demon.
She pushes the jacket off my shoulders and folds it over her arm. The look in her eyes crushes me. It says that even though I’m not behaving like an angel, she accepts me anyway. “We should get out of here,” she says.
“Why? Because of that guy?”
“No, because…”
“Because you think I’m drunk.” I nod like I’ve nailed it. “Girl, I’m stone cold sober.”
Charlie laughs and shakes her head. Then she reaches into my jacket pocket for the keys to Elizabeth Taylor, my candy apple–red Escalade. She jiggles them in front of my face. “Come on, I’m driving.”
I pull her close and breathe warm air onto her neck. “You saying you want to take me home?”
She leans into me. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Then by all means,” I bellow. “Take me home and have your way with me.”
Charlie shushes me as people stop and stare. I flip them off nice and hard and allow my girl to drag me outside.
“Get in,” she says, pointing to Elizabeth Taylor.
I bow like she’s my queen and I her simple servant. Then I climb into the passenger seat and blast Rob Zombie as Charlie drives toward her grandmother’s house. I glance over when I notice her going for the Skittles in her pocket, and sigh with pleasure that some things never change. For the first time, I wonder if there’s a story behind those way-too-hard, way-too-brightly-colored candies.