Free Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) by Keri Lake

for that silence.
    His mother turned tricks and was, what she considered, a lucky bitch to land a high-ranking demon in the underworld. Not a prince, like the boy’s father, but one who would surely give them the much-needed cash to keep the heat on for one more month.
    At just fourteen years old, the boy knew more than he should’ve for a kid.
    Sweet quiet finally came, in the thick of heavy breaths and that scent he’d come to loathe—the distinct smell of sex. The boy only hoped the man would leave like most, after an hour’s sleep, or sometime in the morning.
    Eyes clamped shut, he whispered prayers in his Demonic tongue, hoping for sleep.
    After what seemed like only minutes later, a shake to his shoulder jolted him awake. He opened his eyes, the blur of the clock’s face slowly coming into view.
    “Logan,” his mother whispered, “wake up.”
    The boy groaned and turned to see his mother standing over him, a smile on her face. He puzzled the new expression. His mother never smiled. Never paid him much attention. Never called him anything but ‘bastard’ and, yet, he’d awakened to his name. He looked past her to the man, who sat, still naked, at the end of the bed.
    “Logan, he asked to spend some time with you.” His mother bit her lip.
    Comprehension still escaped the boy. “What?”
    “He’s willing to throw in an extra hundred bucks if he can spend a few minutes with you.” She stroked his head. “It’s all right, darling. I promise he won’t hurt you.”
    Darling? Logan shook his head. “No. No, I won’t.”
    The familiar harshness in her eyes returned. “You know we need this. We need the money. You need to eat, don’t you?”
    “I’ll work extra hours at the station.”
    She pursed her lips. “You don’t have time. Remember, it was you who decided to go back to school. The only child in the world who’d choose school over money.”
    “I’m no child.”
    “Then, prove yourself a man. Do what you have to do to care for your home. For your mother.”
    Logan’s eyes burned red. “No.” His tone remained flat and unyielding.
    Cold cinched his wrist followed by a click.
    As he tugged on the cuff linking his arm to the radiator, his mother locked his other wrist before he had the chance to fight her off.
    “No! Don’t do this! Don’t do this!”
    A wicked smile danced across her face and she stood up from the bed. Her silhouette faded to darkness as she left the room, closing the door behind her.
    Logan’s teeth ground together so hard his skull ached. His hands trembled as he opened the case.
    Dusted bones, mixed with diamonds, twinkled like white sand—the way all mothers who’d birthed sons of a prince were honored. Crushed diamonds represented her soul. Ordinarily the mothers of Wrath demons were buried in ornate sarcophaguses in Wrath’s private tomb.
    Wrath had wanted nothing to do with Logan’s mother.
    To toss the bones would be a disgrace, though. Besides that, the box fueled his anger and served as a reminder for why, even as he lay strung up like an old fucking ragdoll, nothing would make him go back to where he’d been.
    The black cat curled onto his legs, nuzzling them—Logan hadn’t even seen it approach. He closed the box and shoved it back under the bed. After swatting the feline off, he hefted himself onto the bed until he sat on the edge, and lifted one leg up after another.
    Like a fucking invalid.
    Goddamn, it felt gross.

CHAPTER 7
    Calla pulled her long hair back from her face, tying it away with a rubber band. Energy coursed through her body, the way it did before every fight.
    She craved the sensation—welcomed the distraction that would keep her from drowning in the pain of missing Jake.
    No time for that now.
    Ayden entered her room carrying a black duffle bag, which she tossed on the bed. “If you’re coming along, best to suit you up for the fight.” She unzipped the bag and dumped the weapons.
    Guns, daggers, a chakra, throwing stars,