“He built a sex room,” I blurted. “And he wants me to use it. Tonight.”
I’d never thought quiet could be deafening, but it was. The lack of sound filled my ears, making my head feel like it was swelling with silence.
“A sex room?” Oz echoed.
I found the big man’s face in the mirror, but I couldn’tdiscern his expression. It might have been intrigue, or maybe he was as baffled as I was.
“Like a dungeon,” I explained, not only blushing now, but sweating too. Darby would have to powder my nose again, for sure. “There’s a bed, and furniture… toys…”
“Aw, shit.” Colt slapped his thigh, making a crisp sound when his palm collided with his leather chaps. “I know where I’m going tonight.”
Darby waved his hairbrush at the hornless cowboy in warning. “Colt…”
Colt raised his hands in surrender, but I didn’t miss the way he bounced his brows at Callum, who shook his head.
Down the wall, Elliot ashed his cigarette into a melamine dish piled with spent butts. “Real thoughtful guy, Mazzy,” he grunted.
“El, put that shit out.” Darby referenced the cigarette. “You light up in here again, and I’ll use the ash to highlight your cheekbones—permanently.”
Elliot’s nose crinkled. He stuck out his tongue, then dabbed the cherry of the cigarette onto it with an audible hiss. Then he flicked the snuffed cig into the ashtray.
“Gross,” Darby grumbled, then frowned. “Kinda hot? Mostly gross.”
Satisfied with my hair, he tossed the brush into his makeup bag, then crossed his arms across the corset that cinched his slim waist.
“You don’t have to use it, you know,” he said, and I was puzzled until he clarified. “The room. Mazzy can’t force you.”
It should have been a comfort coming from someone who knew our boss better than I did, but whether Maslowcouldforce me to sell my body to feed both our appetites wasn’t the point.
“Even if he does, it’s better than the alternative,” I said.
“Which is?” Darby prompted.
“Going back to Hell.”
It was like I’d spoken a curse. A breath hissed out of one of the twins, and Oz visibly flinched.
“Ain’t nobody going back to Hell,” Colt said, sounding more serious than I thought possible. Beside him, Callum had paled with his lower lip nipped between his teeth.
Darby appeared similarly flustered by my statement, and he gave an all-over shake that made the frills at his neckline rustle. “Did Mazzy tell you that?” he asked.
“No.” But I felt it. That threat loomed over our every encounter. The unspoken “or else.”
Or else I’ll put you back where I found you, dumped on an infernal doorstep or traded away to another, crueler demon. Those were plentiful on the lower plane. Towering beings with horns used to gore and spear and tails that struck like whips. The cracking sound was etched into my memory, along with a palpable sense of fear. I was more afraid there than I’d ever been here, and I would do anything—or anyone—not to be sent back.
Despite it being our greatest commonality, Hell was not something we discussed. Maybe the others got that nastiness out of the way years ago, before I showed up. Conversations around here were solely about the club. No one mentioned human lives or deaths, and we certainly didn’t acknowledge the dark, painful place that came between our pasts and the present.
We wouldn’t be talking about it today either. That much was obvious when Darby bobbed his head and said simply, “That’s good, at least.”
Stepping around the side of the chair, he shooed me to standing. “Up with you. We can’t be the only beautifulpeople in this club.” I’d barely vacated the seat before he patted it and waved Oz over. “You’re next, Ozzy.”
Oz took my spot, and Darby dropped the chair as low as it would go, bringing himself to head-level with the much larger man.
“I told Zeph he looks like a supervillain with the red and green,” Darby said.
“Poison Ivy for sure,” Oz agreed.
Darby ticked his finger. “That’s the one. And who are you tonight, Mister Marvel? Standard Clark Kent special?”
