“Because Roarke isn’t just after the boy’s soul. The boy is the key. A ritual. The sun. The blood of the innocent. You know how it ends.”
Johnny didn’t flinch at the name. Roarke. The devil had many names, but that one tasted like ash on the tongue.
Roarke smiled wider. “Or what? You’ll damn me? I am damnation, Rider. You are my fire. My tool. My—"
And for once, that was exactly the way Johnny wanted it.