Where There's Smoke Read Free Page A

head, quickly dismissing that idea. Why fix what wasn’t broken? His way always worked well for him. He had to make Destiny want him so much that she would do anything to have him, including giving up her soul. He had a week—and one day—to do it.
    Oh yeah, he knew exactly what she was—a demon wannabe, and he knew her timeline. Idiot, that’s what she was. The demons always failed to mention the fine print that told the trainees they would burn in Hell until there wasn’t one speck of anything human left inside them—once they made it out of the sales department.
    Most people who gave up their souls only saw and heard what they wanted. Who the hell would think to read the fine print anyway?
    Then the trainees had to get their own contracts for souls while promising other poor saps a better life. The demons were running their own pyramid scam, with Satan at the top raking in souls.
    Yeah right, a better life his ass. Like that would ever happen. Chance made it his job to set the trainees straight.
    He walked behind the bar. After looking around to make sure no one watched, he closed his eyes, and thought about where he wanted to go. Air swirled around him and the ground was no longer beneath his feet. The sensation of traveling through space was an odd feeling, but he’d gotten used to it over the centuries.
    When Chance was on a firm surface again, he opened his eyes. He stood in the middle of the rec room. He supposed people nowadays would call the spacious room a man cave. A bar stretched across one end. An assortment of cattle brands were burned into the surface. The branding irons now hung on the wall. Cowhide-covered stools were lined up in front, ready to invite a tired cowboy to sit and have a drink.
    A scarred, red felt-covered poker table was in one corner, a seating area with overstuffed, black leather furniture in another. Dillon liked beating them at pool, so he made sure the room had a table. Sliding glass doors led to a covered patio. From there, a path wound its way to the stables.
    The ranch had almost five hundred acres, more cattle than he knew what to do with, and some of the finest saddle horses around. The ranch house itself had twelve thousand square feet of living space. More than enough for one, but just right for the four immortals who lived there. It was home. The only real one any of them had ever had.
    Chance glanced around the rec room. Ryder was shooting pool with Dillon, and Hunter was watching TV—the guy was seriously into television, especially Survivor .
    Ryder glanced up, casually asking, “How’d it go?” Ryder was the Romeo of their rag-tag group. He wasn’t as tall as the rest of them, only six feet one inch, but his dark hair and smooth good looks made up for his height. He’d romanced more souls on their way to Hell than Chance could count.
    “I finger-fucked her in the bar,” Chance told him.
    Ryder grimaced. “That had to be hard.”
    Chance was sure his expression was equally pained. “It still is. She’s freakin’ hot. All curvy and soft—and tight.” He drew in a ragged breath. “She’s got a body that would make a dead man come.” And long, thick, black hair that begged him to run his fingers through the silky strands.
    Ahh, but that wasn’t even the half of it. No, there was something in the way she looked at him with those deep green eyes—kind of misty. Bedroom eyes. Yeah, that’s what they were. Chance was afraid he might have met his match with Destiny, but he loved a challenge.
    Dillon, the blond Adonis, sank the eight ball with a loud clunk, drawing Chance back to the present. Dillon returned his cue stick to the rack. He was six feet three inches of raw male power. The guy had six-pack abs that were as hard as concrete, and even though he seemed to take everything in stride, he didn’t mind busting some demon heads together. Or anyone else who got in his way. But right now, Dillon looked concerned.
    “Are you going to be able to save her