Oz stood at the front of the line. He was by far the biggest of us, and yet somehow the meekest. Maslow had already taken from him. Now he stood off to the side, broad shoulders slumped, head bowed, looking like a scolded child in Superman pajamas.

  Darby stepped up next, and Maslow clasped his hand in a stiff shake. The gesture seemed innocuous until the color bleached from Darby’s dark skin. His glossed lips strained a smile as Maslow beamed.

  “Pleasure doing business with you, darling,” the wraith cooed.

  “Always,” Darby gritted before he pulled free. Shouldering his shower tote, he strutted toward the bouncers’ barricade with his head held high, albeit a little wobbly.

  The hounds parted for his exit, then remerged into the impenetrable barrier as Maslow advanced toward the twins.

  Colt stepped out to meet him, cowboy hat tipped askew, wearing nothing but boxers and boots. Before Maslow could extend his hand, Colt seized it, locking him in a white-knuckled grip. The tendons in his forearm pulsed with the effort.

  Maslow smirked, clearly entertained by the challenge even as he siphoned Colt’s strength and energy simultaneously. The drain showed in the tightening lines of Colt’s jaw, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he yanked the wraith in close, voice ragged but eyes flashing green fire.

  “Take a li’l more, boss. Cal had a bad night.”

  Beside him, Callum started to protest, but Maslow moved faster. He slipped free of Colt’s weakening hold and turned, bypassing a handshake to grasp Callum’s shoulder.

  “Mmm. You’re right.” Maslow nodded as if weighing the taste of him, then leaned in, bumping Callum with his swollen belly. “Never the popular twin. Must be hard, sharing the spotlight with an attention whore.”

  Colt’s jaw flexed hard enough I could have sworn I heard the grind of his teeth.

  “You about done?” he growled.

  “Of course,” Maslow assured him as Callum began to slump. He backed away, and Colt stepped into the space he left, checking his twin over with a worried pinch to his brow.

  “I-I’m all right,” Callum whispered as Colt placed a kiss on his forehead.

  Then it was Elliot’s turn.

  Directly beside me, the wraith squared himself with the sulky goth. Elliot’s red eyes snapped up, smudged with leftover eyeliner from last night’s show. He didn’t move or speak, just glowered with a fury that could have melted ice.

  Maslow’s hand hovered in the air between them while he decided where to touch. “No fight today, hmm?” the wraith mused. “Just gonna let me take it?” His hand shot out and collared Elliot’s throat, driving out an abrupt, choked sound. “That’s a shame. Wrath tastes best when it’s fresh.”

  “Hey!” Oz shouted, stirring from his slouch. He started forward, only to be seized by one of the bouncers. For all the blond man’s muscle, he was no match for two hellhounds armed with bladed weapons and threatening glares. The protest died on Oz’s tongue, and he averted his gaze again.

  Elliot set his jaw, and the lines of his face hardened, but he didn’t so much as twitch to his own defense while Maslow pulled the power from him. It was so close, and knowing I was next made me want to run. Then I felt guilty because I should have wanted to stay and help. Instead, I did nothing but watch until Maslow released Elliot and turned my way.

  Stepping close, he curled his hand around the side of my head, plump fingers raking through my hair. “Baby boy, this is what I’ve wanted for you,” he said. “So vivacious. Simply…” His tongue drew a wet line across his lips. “Brimming with lust.”

  Did he wonder where I got it? What had changed?

  I felt his touch then, like the prick of a needle, preparing to draw.

  “There’s so much,” he practically moaned. His eyes closed as he savored my energy, readying to take what should have been mine.

  “You don’t mind sharing, do you?” His eyes had closed, but he cracked one open as he asked. Fixed his gaze on me. Waited for an answer.

  In my mind, I wasn’t replying to him at all. I was making a statement. Telling him what I wished I could have every day for the past eight weeks.

  “No, Mazzy,” I gritted out.

  And he took.

  He finished in seconds and left me dizzy. Aching. Empty.

  Nobody said a word.

  I balled my fingers into fists when what I wanted to do was stick them in my mouth. To take them down my throat and suck and try to find the comfort only Beck provided. His hands gave me relief. His desire dulled the gnaw of hunger. And I had nothing that compared.

  The wraith tugged on his cummerbund, adjusting it to accommodate the ever-growing bulge in his gut. “It’s gonna be a good day, boys,” he crowed. “I’ve got a feeling.”

  Quiet persisted as he walked down the hall, then descended the stairs with the bouncers in tow. Beside me, Elliot rubbed a gloved hand across his neck as Oz came over to investigate. The twins were engrossed in each other; Callum leaned against Colt’s shoulder, looking readier to return to bed than to start the workday.

  In the pause, the bathroom door swung inward and Darby strode out, wearing a string bikini and a floppy straw sunhat. Fishing a towel from his tote, he wound it around his waist and secured it with a loose knot.

  He didn’t need to say anything; the sight alone was enough to command the attention of everyone in the hall.

  “Everybody, get your shit,” he said. “We’re going to the pool.”

  Elliot groaned and shuffled toward his room, while Oz cracked a grin before darting off. The twins exchanged a quick high five, then slipped away. I stood there, baffled, because unless Darby had flooded the bathroom, there was no pool on the premises, and everyone knew we weren’t allowed to leave the club.

  When I continued to linger, Darby came over with his tote pinned under one arm. “What’s eating you, Cherry?”

  “We don’t have anywhere to swim.”

  Darby smirked. “We may not have anywhere to swim, but Vaughn Ashford does.”

  I recognized the name as one signed on the cards and flower deliveries that showed up at the club weekly. He was one of Darby’s sugar daddies, and a regular in VIP. I met him once, a handsome middle-aged Black man who’d boasted about owning the Crowndell Casino Hotel, which he had informed me was about a mile down the Strip.

  “I have a standing invitation,” Darby continued. “And I’m bringing you boys along. Call it a morale booster.”

  A smile found its way onto my lips. My ventures into the Dollhouse parking lot had left me wanting more. More freedom. More distance. More… fun. And I trusted Darby to provide.

  “What should I wear?” I looked down at my leggings and tank top. “I don’t have⁠—”

  “Stop right there.” Darby raised his hand. “You’ve got me, my extensive wardrobe, and my impeccable sense of fashion. You have been blessed, child.” Grabbing me by the shoulders, he wheeled me toward his bedroom. “Let’s go try some things on.”

  Ten minutes later, someone had knocked on Darby’s door three times, and I had lost myself in a pile of bikini tops and bottoms. I couldn’t imagine how the stretchy strings and triangles would cover my cock, which was the problem I arrived at while standing with my hand cupped over myself behind the privacy curtain Darby had hung.

  “I don’t think it fits!” I called out.

  There was no mirror, but I could feel well enough to know I was exposed. And uncomfortable. And wondering if I should have checked with Elliot or the twins instead for clothing options.

  “Nonsense,” Darby replied. “They’re super adjustable. Elastic is the closest humans have come to real magic. Let me have a look.”

  My face burned as I stepped into view, still shielding my genitals.

  Darby rose from his seat on the bed. He wore no more than me, but he made it look flawless. Everything was smooth and taut over his rich brown skin, and he moved like he owned his body. Maybe that was my issue, because I’d been told from the start that the wraith owned me. Mind, soul, and body.

  “It’s criminal how hot you are,” Darby said, and my cheeks flamed again. “If I didn’t like you, I’d hate you on principle.” He lifted one of the strings running over my shoulder and snapped it against my collarbone. “And you should keep the suit. We both know green is your color.”

  He walked around me, examining everything on display and my shy, unmoving hands.

  I swallowed. “It’s nice, but I… I don’t know where to put my… everything.”

  He was in front of me again, looking up through his white lashes and grinning.

  “Well, honey, you’ve gotta tuck.” He nodded toward my crotch, then moved tentative fingers closer to mine. “Do you mind if I…”

  When I blanched, he giggled.

  “Hold still.”

  Darby pushed my hands away, then reached into the bikini bottoms. The waistband stretched, and I gasped as he grabbed my cock and balls and palmed them. He spared them a glance, and his smile stretched.

  “I have yet to meet an incubus who didn’t have a pretty dick,” he said. “You lot are Satan’s favorites, I swear.”

  With a steadying grip on my hip, he maneuvered my junk until it was tucked back and pressed snugly against my taint.

  To my surprise, everything stayed put as Darby withdrew. He patted my side before stepping back to survey his handiwork. I couldn’t see what he’d done, but I felt secure. In more ways than one.

  “Does Becky like it?” he asked.

  I had to replay our conversation to deduce who and what he meant.

  “My dick?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Beck and I had done a lot over the past several days, and I certainly got my share of enjoyment out of his cock. Couldn’t get enough of it, in fact. My lips and tongue tingled at the memory of holding him, warming him, drinking him down. I felt connected to him like that, and his touches were always so gentle. He spoke softly while caressing my face and body until it seemed like I was floating. It was the same sense of weightlessness I experienced in my silks. And I wasn’t sure I’d ever stop marveling at how another person could give me that.

  But it didn’t really answer Darby’s question, so I shrugged.

  “I think so?”

  “Mmhmm.” He bobbed his head, then took my hand and led me toward his vanity table.

  His room wasn’t much bigger than mine, but it was far more crowded. Plush toys and other gifts from his fans littered every available surface, and his wardrobe had expanded far beyond the basic metal rack and dresser Maslow provided. Clothes upon clothes spilled out of drawers and formed towering stacks on the floor. Everything was folded and sorted in a way that I was sure made sense to Darby, but it looked like a minefield to me.

  Squeezing between pillars of garments, I spotted my reflection at last.

  The swimsuit shimmered emerald, its plunging neckline designed to flatter curves I didn’t have. Instead, it clung to my flat chest and bared the pale skin stretching down past my waist to where my genitals were thoroughly obscured.

  “Well?” Darby stood slightly back so I had full command of the mirror. “What do we think?”

  I turned to one side then the other, noticing the way my hair draped over my shoulders and how the tight bottoms curved along the cleft of my ass. My work at the Dollhouse had accustomed me to skimpy clothing, but this was different. Something about the shapes and the lines the bikini drew on my body…

  “I look like a girl,” I said in a wavering voice.

  Darby came closer and rested his hands on my waist. As he looked around me at our shared reflection, he smiled. “The best of us can be both.”

  I examined myself again, this time skimming my hands down my chest. What would Beck say if he saw me like this? The bra-like top and panties were reminiscent of lingerie, and that thought made goosebumps prickle my skin.

  Darby had moved away and called to me over his shoulder. “Don’t worry; nothing’s changed. You’re still a very pretty man with a very pretty dick.”

  I faced him just in time to catch the folded towel he tossed my way.

  “Grab a hair tie and some shoes.” He directed me toward a mountain of footwear in the corner.

  Another knock rattled the door. Darby stomped over and yanked it open to reveal Colt leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.

  “You know better than to rush me while I’m working, asshole,” Darby sassed. “I add five minutes every time you pester.”

  Colt snorted, having traded his boxers from earlier for a pair of swim trunks. The hat and boots remained, and a towel was looped around his neck.

  “The White Sheet Speedway is ready for racers.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of his and Callum’s bedroom.

  “The what?” I asked but went unheard as Colt continued.

  “Y’all in, or are we going without you?”

  Darby adjusted his hat where the wide brim curved over his horns. “You can’t leave me, Colt; it’s my name on the guest list.”

  “Ain’t no guest list at a pool,” Colt retorted. He looked past Darby to where I was stuffing my feet into a pair of flip-flops, then gave a wolf whistle. “Hot damn, Cherry. That bikini’s hanging on tighter than my last nerve.”

  “And it looks fabulous,” Darby said. “Now, let’s go. Time’s wasting.”

  Colt dipped into the hall, and Darby shooed me out afterward. I felt awkward and anxious and all kinds of confused, mostly about how we were getting out of here and what the “White Sheet Speedway” had to do with it.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  Zephyr

  When I saw the rope of knotted bed linens trailing out of Colt and Callum’s bedroom window, everything made sense. I also saw the bars, removed from their window in a grid, leaned against the wall like a door they took off anytime it got in their way. Today was clearly not the first time they’d used this escape route, but it was new to me.

  Shimmying down the long cotton rope took every ounce of courage I possessed. Not because of the height. Of everyone, I should have been the most adept at climbing a strip of fabric. But Maslow’s withdrawal had left my grip weak, and if Oz hadn’t been on the ground below, promising to catch me, I might have stayed behind.

  Thankfully, this side of the Dollhouse faced away from traffic, or the sight might have prompted someone to call the police. It looked like a jailbreak, and the six of us made for the strangest inmates scuttling along in brightly colored beachwear and sandals.

  I lagged with my head on a swivel. It was the parking lot, then so much farther. Every step ahead felt like another breakout. Another escape. And it came with equal parts elation and anxiety.

  It was always bright outside the Dollhouse. I’d seen it through my bedroom window, the sun setting the sky ablaze and bouncing off the pavement in shimmering waves. But out here?

  Out here it was blinding.

  I’d told Beck the world felt bigger once I finally stepped into it. It stretched far beyond the static image I’d stared at day after day. It was no longer just a picture behind glass, but something real, vast, and more incredible than the tales told by my nightly customers.

  The Dollhouse had always been the center of my universe, but out here, it was just one star in a sprawling galaxy. Towers of glass and steel rose like they were trying to claw their way free of the earth. LED screens pulsed with jackpot numbers, celebrity chefs, and a magician balanced on the back of a tiger.

  It should’ve been gaudy.

  It was gaudy. But it was also spectacular.

  People swarmed the sidewalks like ants, pointing this way and that and laughing into their phones. Showgirls shook tall sprays of tail feathers, walking arm in arm past tourists snapping photos. Music bled from everywhere, and the air smelled like hot concrete and sweat.

  A Ferris wheel spun lazily in the distance, and for a second I forgot where I was. I felt disconnected, like I was watching a movie starring someone who wasn’t me. Not one of Maslow’s dolls, not a walking, talking sex toy, not a man glimpsing heaven for the first time.

  While I marveled, the other guys rushed ahead, laughing and chatting with casual enthusiasm. Only Elliot didn’t hurry, trudging along with his hands in his hoodie pocket and his head ducked. He was also the only one not in swimwear, having donned instead his typical black garb and a beanie hat.

  My heart rattled, and I was practically panting despite the steady pace. I tried in vain to settle so I wasn’t oddly gasping when I came into stride with Elliot.

  “Do they, uh… Does this happen often?” I asked, tugging at the towel wrapped around my torso.

  His red eyes narrowed against the sun’s glare as he looked ahead. “Just when Mazzy’s out. He has a standing engagement at the Basilica. Once every couple of months. Last one was before you got here.”

  “What if he gets back?” I asked Elliot. “Before we do?”

  “He won’t,” came the clipped reply. “Darb has this down to an art. Bus schedules, walk time, and how to turn like a hot dog on a roller grill to lock in that perfect tan.”

  The unexpected bit of humor stunned me along with the fleeting quirk of his lips. So, he was enjoying this too. It was equally unexpected to see Elliot enjoying anything, but especially a pool. He fit in at the club, all black, red, and broody, but in the Nevada desert, he stood out like a shadow in broad daylight. A lone storm cloud in otherwise clear skies.

  “What about you?” I asked. “Are you gonna lay out or something?”

  He extended one arm, indicating the tattoos that covered him from wrists to shoulders and spanned the entirety of his back. “This skin was not made for sun,” he said, then tipped his chin toward me. “Yours either. Hope you put on sunscreen.”

  I grimaced. “Oh… yeah.”

  And good luck explaining a burn to my boss when I supposedly hadn’t stepped foot outside in the past two months. I’d ask Darby for some when we got to our destination. He must have some in that bulky beach bag.

  For now, though, I focused on the immediate.