Had I heard him right? HuBulls?
“What the fuck is a Hellbound HuBull?”
“Language earns demerits when management hears it,” Steve warned. “Otherwise—hell’s a free-speech zone.”
“Wait. You can’t swear in hell?” For some reason, that struck me as funny, and I cackled.
“Sure, laugh it up, funny boy. Ruin your chance to live like a god in hell. What do I care?”
Steve turned to walk away as if he were done with me.
“No! Wait!” I grabbed his arm before he could abandon me completely, shuddering at the skin-to-skin contact. Steve might look like somebody’s deadbeat uncle, but he was the only familiar face in hell. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
Steve huffed. “Look, kid. I know it’s your first day, and this is probably a lot. So here are the basics. Once you arrive in hell, everything fun is taken from you. Your fancy lifestyle, women, cars, clothes, alcohol, expensive shoes—even that gym you’re so fond of.”
That sounded awful. No wonder Steve was overweight and filthy. Was that my future?
I blurted, “Is that what happened to you?”
Steve’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh.” I fumbled. “Um, never mind. What is this HuBulls thing you were talking about?”
“I’m getting there, kid. When I say the boss ladies take away everything fun, I meaneverything.”
Steve looked down and zeroed in on my crotch.
What the fuck. Panic licked up my spine.
“They took my dick?” My hand shot to where my cock should have been. But it was gone. No twig and berries. No sausage and meatballs. Smooth as a baby’s bottom.
“Some of the guys started calling it the Ken-doll look, and it caught on. Think about it—sex is fun. Therefore, in hell, you can’t do it. Not even with yourself.”
My hand rubbed over the newly slick skin. Smooth as a politician’s lie.
“You Ken-dolled me?”
“Standard policy until training’s done.”
All at once, I felt overheated and nauseated. What kind of place takes your dick? The realization that I might actually be in hell slammed hard. Black spots clouded my vision, and Steve’svoice echoed as though from a tunnel. Was this my existence now? A sexless drudgery with no hope of happiness?
Someone clamped a hand on the back of my neck and forced me to sit, pushing my head between my knees. “Breathe, kid.”
Taking a deep breath of slightly sulfur-filled air, I tried to quell the rising panic. “I need my dick.”
A raw, bold statement—but true.
“Then it’s your lucky day,” Steve repeated cheerfully. “If you make the HHB—the Hellbound HuBulls—you’ll not only get to keep your junk, but it will be magically modified to be bigger and better than ever.”
“My dick was already big,” I said, not boasting—just a fact.
“Yeah,” Steve snorted. “Just as big as anyone else’s at the moment. That’s why you need to make HHB. You’ve already used your prowess to sleep your way to the top of the law firm back on Earth. Think of that as practice for the main event. This contest is a big deal down here, kid.”
I nodded, not entirely sure what I was agreeing to. But the idea of being Ken-dolled for the rest of my eternal days wasn’t appealing. Whatever this HHB business was, I needed to be part of it.
“So, let’s talk about the logistics of hell. Demonesses run the place,” Steve began.
“Demonesses? Girl demons? What about Lucifer?” I asked.
