“Morning to you, too,” I muttered, rubbing my face. My phantom wings twitched—a cruel little reminder of what I’d lost. “What ungodly hour is it?”
Shana’s grin showed sharp, white teeth. “You forget where you are, angel-pants. Every hour is ungodly. Now move it. You’re late.”
Right. Hell.
My quarters, though technically in the “barracks,” were larger than most. I was in a two-room suite with an actual queen-sized bed, not a slab of stone. The kind of space usually reserved for top-tier demonesses. Which meant someone important had been bumped to make room for me. I still didn’t know who, and no one was talking. I’d have gladly traded with them for a little peace and a lot less side-eye.
I sighed and sat up. “Do you ever miss Heaven?”
Shana snorted. “Sweetheart, I never made it that far north. I worked my way up through the Hellbound HuCow organization until I made demoness status.” She clanked her skull mug on my nightstand, treating me to a second round of clanging. “Get up. You’re on duty at the HHB auditions.”
“Wait a minute—there’s an HHC?” It hit me suddenly: if there was an organization for the men, why not one for the women? I’d never seen it—not that I ever saw any women unless they were in management.
A laugh bubbled up, causing Shana to choke on her coffee. “You thought only men went to hell? That’s hysterical, kid. There might be hope for your righteous ass after all. Now move it—we’ve got bulls to wrangle.”
Max’s face flashed across my mind before I could stop it—the warm smile, the way his eyes had softened when he’d looked at me, the electric jolt that had shot up my arm when we’d touched. My stomach fluttered treacherously. Just the memory sent shivers down my arms and tightened my nipples. Fantastic. I was one erotic daydream away from drooling on myself.
“Stop daydreaming, princess. Whatever heavenly hunk or sexy mortal you’re picturing, forget about it,” Shana warned, tugging open my wardrobe. “You’re on shift, not in heat. Put this on.”
She tossed me a fitted black leather corset with red ribbons, a matching red skirt slit nearly to my hoo-ha, and leather boots that laced up to mid-thigh.
“Is this… regulation?” I asked with a strangled voice.
“Relax. You should see what the HuBulls are required to wear. Besides, down here it’s practically a uniform. You’re lucky Lucy likes you—she gave you the demoness deluxe line. New demonesses wear pasties.”
I briefly contemplated how Lucy’s taste often bordered on criminal, then started dressing.
By the time we reached the main corridor of Hell’s Headquarters, the air buzzed with energy. The auditorium loomed ahead like a gothic concert hall crossed with a strip club. Red lights pulsed along the stage, and a massive screen overhead flashed:
HELLBOUND HuBULL GAMES – ROUND ONE: AUDITIONS
Rows of demonesses filled the seats, all curves and curiosity, whispering and laughing like this was their personal entertainment hour. It probably was.
Shana leaned close as we entered the judges’ section. “Word is Lucy’s running the music herself this time. Do you know what that means?”
“Complete chaos?”
“Exactly.”
Lucy appeared onstage in a blaze of black silk, microphone in hand, and hips swaying.
“Welcome, my darlings!” she purred. “Our opening event today is simple. The contestants will perform tomychoice of music. Impress us, and you will earn back your dick, along with some new upgrades for the remainder of the competition. Our winner will keep it permanently and join the HHB team. Fail,and you go back to whatever meaningless drudgery Hell HR assigned you. Everyone clear?”
The crowd erupted with cheers. The excitement was so tangible that I had goosebumps.
I took my seat beside Shana, heart pounding. The first contestant stepped onto the stage—tall, naked, and nervous, and very,verysmooth in the dangly-bits department.
My eyes widened. “They really weren’t kidding about the Ken-doll thing.”
“Smooth as glass, honey,” Shana snickered. “Think of what they save on waxing.”
Lucy snapped her fingers. Music blared through the speakers—a bass-heavy remix ofSuper Freak.The poor man looked like he wanted to die again, but he started moving, hips rolling with a mix of desperation and questionable rhythm.
The audience howled with laughter and catcalls. Demonesses fanned themselves; a few even threw some glow-in-the-dark beads onto the stage.
The next contestant fared a little better, actually making eye contact and flexing like he’d done this before. I had to admit—it was mesmerizing in a ridiculous, train-wreck kind of way.
Then the third contestant walked out, and my heart skipped.
