That thing wasn’t me. That hulking, gray-skinned brute with its curling black horns and lashing tail, its cloven hooves and clawed hands. I had cut myself off from that devilish visage long ago. It was a suit that never fit, a skin I’d outgrown but couldn’t quite shed.

  “Eleven!” Zephyr blurted, his voice sharp with panic as he flinched back from both Maslow and me. “Ten in the car and one in… th-the bathroom.”

  “The bathroom?” Maslow laughed. “A crime of convenience, then.”

  My anger vanished as I absorbed the fear in Zephyr’s eyes. He’d glimpsed a part of me I barely remembered, and it frightened him.

  It frightened me too.

  Across the desk, Maslow was practically purring. “Thank you for your honesty, baby boy,” he told Zephyr. “You can go. We’ll catch up later.”

  Zephyr stood, a little shaky, but I stretched out my arm to block his exit.

  “Stay,” I said, then cursed the way I sounded like a dog trainer myself.

  He hesitated, visibly torn, and the guilt of realization churned in my gut.

  I left him like this. I allowed this.

  In the silence, Maslow growled. “Don’t go forcing my boy to choose his master. I don’t think you’ll like what he decides.”

  I whirled toward the wraith. “Does he have a choice? I don’t see it.”

  Maslow’s lips took on a wicked curve. “Of course, you’d recognize a deal.”

  “A shitty one,” I retorted. “What does he owe you?”

  “Gratitude,” Maslow replied, going for innocent and missing by a mile.

  So I corrected him. “Servitude.”

  I knew this game. Maslow was trafficking demons straight out of Hell, trading a life topside for indentured work in this club—and the next.

  Not if I could help it.

  Zephyr settled back into his seat, seemingly less making a choice and more not trusting his legs to hold him. He’d barely sat down when Maslow targeted him with another pointed finger.

  “Don’t get sentimental because he makes your dick hard.” The wraith’s finger was pointed at Zephyr, but his scorn was for me. “He’s livestock. They all are. I move them in, house them, feed them, and they get to stay as long as I see fit.”

  My blood boiled, and my glamor threatened to fail again. I was smaller in this human body. I looked weaker, but the primal part of me wanted to remind Maslow who was the lesser being in this room.

  “It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” the wraith continued. “Like I said, there’s a line of sinners queued through all seven layers of Hades waiting for the opportunity I give. They love it here.”

  “Do they?” I edged closer to his desk until I was pressed against it, looming over where he sat like a bloated king sunk deep in his throne. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks more like a cage. Are you sure they’re not just playing along because they don’t have a way out?”

  Can’t leave the club, Zephyr told me. No farther than the parking lot.

  I could open the door. Hell, I’d been opening the damn door for Zephyr for weeks, and I wanted nothing more than to kick it wide and leave it that way. Steal him away from this place. Give him the world that looked so much grander through his eyes.

  Maslow still hadn’t tallied the cost of my transgressions, but that was fine because I had the feeling he was about to add a couple of zeros for my next request.

  “Tell you what.” I tapped my money clip against the desk. “While you’re tallying up my tab, why don’t you also figure out what it’ll cost to let Zephyr walk out of here with me—for the day?”

  Behind me, Zephyr sucked a sharp breath while the wraith frowned like he didn’t understand the question. I thought it was pretty fucking clear.

  “Just today?” Maslow asked.

  “And tonight,” I added. “I’ll bring him back tomorrow.”

  I stepped back and watched the wheels turn. He said he wanted more than money from me, but there wasn’t a thing in Hell or on Earth that couldn’t be given a price tag.

  “Let’s see,” the wraith mused. He pulled a ledger book out of his desk drawer along with a pen, then he started scribbling notes. “How many fucks do you think you could fit in twenty-four hours?”

  “Just give me a number,” I growled.

  Maslow paused in his writing and glanced at me without raising his head. “You know, Fairmont might be worth twenty-four hours. Hell, you could have my little spider for the weekend. Rub your dick raw in his tight ass. I bet he feels like a dream.” The words oozed out, slimy enough to make me cringe.

  I slid over, positioning my body between the wraith and where Zephyr sat. Becoming a shield between my incubus and Maslow’s verbal barbs. I wanted to protect him. Needed to.

  “You’re serious?” Maslow stared at me a moment more, then pushed back to open the desk drawer and rummage again while muttering, “I’m gonna need my calculator for this.”

  Keys tapped, and the total climbed. After a few seconds, he spun the adding machine toward me. It was a lot of zeros, all right.

  “Twenty grand,” Maslow announced the number on the digital display. “That’s on top of the ten you racked up in your limo. And my bathroom.”

  I thought I heard another hiccupped breath from Zephyr, but I carried on past it, plucking a check from my money clip and smoothing it on the desk.

  “Done,” I declared.

  The pen Maslow had been writing with lay on top of his ledger book, and I snatched it, using it to fill out the check for a staggering thirty thousand dollars.

  How many singles’ cruises could I get for that?

  While Maslow watched, his beady eyes bulged. “Damn, Beckett, how deep are your pockets?”

  After scrawling my signature on the bottom corner, I pocketed my money clip, then shoved the check toward Maslow and sent the pen skittering along behind. “Are we done here?”

  I didn’t wait for his confirmation to turn toward Zephyr, who sat huddled and trembling. I wanted to take him in my arms and carry him out of here, but not with the wraith looking on. So instead, I offered my hand to help him stand.

  Maslow lurched from his desk chair. “Now, now, don’t rush off. For that kind of expense, you deserve a receipt. One you can sign.”

  He turned the ledger toward me, and I scanned the words written.

  10 Limo Orgasms

  1 Bathroom Fuck

  24-Hour Incubus Rental

  $30,000

  It should have been comedic, but all I felt was blinding fury. Maslow had turned a “receipt” into a contract with his name penned at the top and a space at the bottom for mine. It would settle my debt, but it also ensured I would have Zephyr back at the designated time. Savvy of him, because I was already scheming how to wrest my incubus from his clutches for good.

  I read the note again, then asked Maslow, “My word’s not enough for you?”

  He nudged the pen toward me. “Twenty-four hours, Mister Beckett. I won’t bother with the fine print because I don’t give a shit what you do to him as long as he’s back before the club opens tomorrow night.”

  Nothing about this had gone according to plan. I had answers, but I hated them. Just like I hated putting my name on the half-assed contract that turned Zephyr into Cinderella, due to be returned before the clock struck midnight. Or tomorrow afternoon about two.

  In the end, I signed the damned thing and threw the pen down before turning to Zephyr.

  “Let’s go.”

  I rushed him toward the door, but not quickly enough to miss Maslow’s parting words.

  “Maybe you can rent him out on the Strip!” the wraith called out. “Might turn a profit on the whole thing!”

  The demon in me rebelled once more, but I kept it contained. I held myself together because Maslow didn’t deserve the satisfaction of watching me unravel. He’d already seen through me too easily.

  Thundering down the spiral staircase, I ushered Zephyr toward the front door. No need to slink or hide this time, though I wasn’t quite ready to hold my head high. I’d just bought a man. Rented him like a sports car I was taking out for a joyride. And I’d played directly into Maslow’s hands.

  If this was a game, he was winning—for now.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  Zephyr

  “Are you comfortable in that?” Beck gestured to my clothes and near-bare feet.

  While the asphalt burned my soles, I felt cold everywhere else. Sweating, shivering, and completely unmoored, I didn’t know where to go or what to say to the man who’d just paid thirty thousand dollars for a single day of my time.

  “I’m… comfortable,” I managed.

  Earlier this week, I’d taken my first real step beyond the Strip-side borders of the Devil’s Dollhouse. It had been a good day, and I’d let myself think, maybe too much, about the next time I might get away. I hadn’t expected it to come so soon. And I definitely hadn’t expected it to be with Beck.

  Even more than that, I hadn’t expected to be summoned to Maslow’s office, humiliated, then sold off for a jaw-dropping sum.

  No, not sold. I still belonged to the Dollhouse, and my soul was still bound to the wraith.

  I owed a debt of gratitude, which would be paid in servitude.

  Maslow didn’t answer for how long, but he had implied. As long as he saw fit, which was either forever or not long enough because I would never willingly return to Hell.

  Beck stood stiffly, and I imagined if he’d been in his demon form, his tail would be thrashing. His eyes were bright gold in the daylight, glinting as they darted around.

  The limo was parked a short distance away, conspicuous as the only car in the lot, and accompanied by Beck’s associate, Colette. She pushed away from her post beside the Lincoln’s hood and started toward us.

  “What are you gonna do to me?” I asked Beck while we still had the benefit of privacy.

  He blinked, perturbed, but his gaze softened when it met mine. “I have no fucking clue. Maybe get lunch?” He turned toward the hellhound fast approaching. “Coll, what sounds good to eat? Somewhere with a vegetarian menu.”

  He remembered.

  It was a silly thing, but it felt important.

  I smiled faintly, and my full-body tremors began to subside. I didn’t truly believe Beck would take Maslow’s suggestion and sell me on the Strip, but that office had been thick with truths and threats, and now I felt more exposed than ever. Vulnerable in a way I hadn’t expected.

  “Botanique is open,” Colette read from her phone where she must have searched for restaurants. “They have plenty of meatless options.”

  Her focus shifted from the cell to me, and her red lips curved in a smile. “Bonjour, mon petit! Off for an adventure?”

  There was that language again. Like music. A song I knew from long ago.

  “He’s off until this time tomorrow,” Beck said.

  Colette’s brows lifted. “And then?”

  I waited for Beck’s eyes to find mine again, but they went instead to the club’s entrance. “Then I have to bring him back.”

  “Mmm,” Colette hummed. “So, he’s spending all that time with you?” She gave me a wink. “That’s not a date; it’s a test of endurance.”

  Beck frowned while my heart thumped a little harder.

  Was it a date?

  My feet were starting to burn through my aerial boots, and I shuffled side to side.

  Beck noticed, and his brow furrowed. “Well, I hardly expect you to endure all day in bare feet. Shoes first. Then lunch.”

  I shifted once more, flexing my toes and watching the polish sparkle, when suddenly Beck’s arms were around me. I yelped in surprise as he scooped me into a cradle carry against his chest.

  “Ooh la la,” Colette sang while following us toward the limo.

  The thump of my heart became a stampede, and I hugged onto Beck’s neck, smelling where his cologne was strongest in the hollow of his throat. The gentle crush of his grip was a promise of security, and I relaxed into it.

  Trust the silk. That was something I’d learned… in a former life. Let yourself be held, supported, and trust.

  Was this a date?

  Was it trust?

  The splendor of Las Vegas spread out around us, but I couldn’t look away from Beck’s shimmering golden eyes. The streaks of silver in his hair caught the light like veins of precious ore, threading through him as though he’d been forged from molten metal.

  He pressed a kiss to my forehead, then his lips stayed close as he whispered, “I know you’re hungry, Beauty. I’ll take care of that too. One appetite at a time.”

  At the car, he set me down, then opened the door.

  The sight of this powerful man—this higher demon—who had just gone to war with Maslow on my behalf, signed a check for a ridiculous sum with no intentions beyond taking me to lunch, and carried me across the parking lot so I didn’t burn my toes, made it impossible not to pose the nagging question.

  “Beck?” I perched on the edge of the limo’s bench seat and peered up at him. “Is this a date?”

  Bracing one hand on the roof and the other on top of the door, Beck leaned into a frame of daylight. Every other feature paled in comparison to his smile. “I think it might be,” he said. “If that’s all right with you.”

  “Yeah…” The word squeaked out of me. “That’s all right.”

  Beck swung into the car, and we sat side by side. I pinned my hands between my knees to keep them from wandering, but Beck had no such reservations. He tucked my hair behind my ear, then draped his arm across my shoulders to pull me close.

  My cheeks burned hotter than the gravel-studded lot as we took off.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Beck

  Lunch came after a pit stop for shoes—blindingly white trainers with arch support—and now we were strolling down Las Vegas Boulevard with Zephyr in wide-eyed awe.

  His red hair dusted his shoulders with each buoyant step as he marveled over every billboard, fountain, and tourist trap like they were treasures. As though he weren’t the most stunning thing on display.

  Sunlight bounced off glass towers and chrome signage, casting panes of bright and dark across the pavement, and when I paused to really see it, everything seemed softer somehow. The Strip had transformed from a carnival of excess to the place I used to love. I couldn’t remember the last time the city had felt this appealing, like something I might still want.

  Like something I hadn’t already used up.

  I’d stripped down to just my button-up, then rolled up the sleeves in a futile attempt to outmatch the desert heat. Zephyr had done the same with his cropped sweatshirt, the sleeves scrunched to his elbows as he pranced along in skintight leggings that clung to every curve. He worked a piña colada-flavored lollipop around his mouth, the one he’d picked up when we stopped for bottled water.

  The water was long gone, but the sucker remained. It clicked against his teeth, making it impossible not to stare at the way his lips moved around the stick.

  I wasn’t the only person who noticed him. Most people hurried past, dipping into casinos or street-side shops, too focused on their own business to care. But a few slowed. A few looked. We made an odd pair, and I felt the sudden, stupid urge to reach for his hand.

  But I didn’t. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I was afraid. Afraid of looking foolish. Of being outmaneuvered by this stunning, unreadable creature. Or worse, of not being worthy of the affection he wore so openly on his face.

  He was so young and full of wonder, and I was… changed. Different from the way I’d been before Hell spat me out.

  “You’re new in town.” My statement signaled the end of a long stint of silence.

  Zephyr’s gaze drifted toward an advertisement for the Museum of Illusions ahead on the left. “Um, yeah.”

  “How long?” I asked.

  He plucked the sucker from his mouth and held it out, glossy and gleaming in the sun. “Couple of months.”

  “Months?” I echoed. “And before that?”

  “Hell.” The lollipop slid back between his lips, and I swallowed hard.

  Judging by his succinct answers, my choice of topic for small talk was poor. But Colette had dominated the lunch hour, sharing madcap tales about everything from her revolutionary days to romps in what was now known as the Wild West.

  Seeing them together brought a strange sort of comfort. Colette was my closest and most constant companion. Our arrangement was unusual for a demon and his hellhound; Hell operated on a hierarchy I’d never fully bought into. Given my prideful inclinations, it would’ve been easy to look down on her. But any trace of superiority vanished the first time she saved my life.

  Zephyr, for his part, was fascinated by her. So captivated, in fact, that I’d felt a twinge of jealousy. That, more than anything, was what drove me to whisk him away—for a little while, at least. I wanted him to myself.

  I didn’t know much about him yet. And maybe this line of questioning wasn’t the best way to get there, but now that I’d started, it felt too awkward to stop.

  “What about before that?” I tried. “When you were alive?”

  He scrubbed his hand down his arm and mumbled so quietly it was a struggle to hear him over the bustle of traffic. “I don’t remember.”

  Ruling out his past left only the present to discuss, and I didn’t care to hear about his nights spent entertaining other men. My visits to the Dollhouse met more than just my physical desires. They soothed something possessive in me too. If I was there, watching, waiting to take Zephyr to the limo and have him to myself the way I did now, then no one else could. It was a small assurance, but one I’d come to rely on. I didn’t want the illusion of exclusivity tainted by tales of his other lovers and fans.

  Fortunately, Zephyr didn’t leave me to come up with another icebreaker.

  “Were you ever alive?” He tipped his head toward me.