So I held him.

  I pressed my face to his neck. I nuzzled his damp skin and sweat-soaked hair, then kissed the shell of his ear, the curve of his jaw, and the tender place behind it.

  “I love you,” I whispered, voice hoarse and reverent. “My beautiful boy.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-NINE

  Zephyr

  I slept in Beck’s bed again, and the next morning, he didn’t kick me out. Quite the opposite, in fact. After what was easily the best sex of my life, we rinsed off and cozied up beneath the covers, then watched the Strip come alive through the window.

  We talked a bit more. About my human life and the fragments of memory that were slowly but surely making me feel whole. We discussed the contract Maslow signed, blind to the fine print. I’d done the same once, desperate to claw my way out of Hell. People paid dearly for the things they wanted. Often more than they meant to.

  We didn’t bring up love again. The subject felt too tender. I didn’t want to touch it yet, but it pulsed between us, steady and alive.

  Near the end of our allotted time, I brought up my return to the club, and the amiable mood of the morning took a dark turn.

  “Absolutely not,” Beck said sternly.

  We stood at odds across the kitchen island. I lingered behind a barstool, gripping the top of its curved iron back, while he hovered near the espresso machine. It whirred and hissed before spewing a stream of dark, foamy brew into the waiting mug. He wore a suit, as always, but he looked relaxed in it. Comfortable with high collars and hard lines. Always so buttoned up.

  He was less relaxed than he had been, though, arms crossed in a defensive pose and his eyes narrowed with his scowl.

  I sighed. “Beck⁠—”

  He shook his head. “I’m not sending you back to Maslow’s—” his frown deepened— “torture chamber. You aren’t safe there. Who knows what he’ll do to you?”

  “I know,” I replied softly.

  I knew it would hurt.

  Maslow would be angry about the poker game. Beck’s interruption had foiled his plans and embarrassed him in front of our heavenly hosts. He’d lost, and he wasn’t the kind of man to fail gracefully. Even with Fairmont Street within his grasp, he wouldn’t forget the insult, and he wouldn’t forgive me for being a part of it. So I would pay for it with a pound of flesh.

  Beck held his stance and left the coffee steaming as he argued back. “Well, I won’t allow it. I made you a deal⁠—”

  “I don’t remember signing anything.”

  His expression tightened, then went soft when he caught the flicker of my smile. I stepped around the island and closed the space between us, slipping my arms under his jacket to press in close. I liked it there, with my face tucked against his shoulder and his arms circling me in return.

  “Cute,” he murmured into my hair, his breath warm. “You’re very cute, but I did make you a promise, and throwing you back into that lion’s den would break every bit of it.”

  “You aren’t throwing me,” I mumbled against him. “I’m asking.”

  I was asking for something that terrified me, trying to be brave while holding on to him like a lifeline. I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want to face Maslow’s wrath, but the choice was mine to make. Even if it didn’t feel like much of a choice at all.

  Beck grabbed my arms and pushed me back a step so he could catch my gaze.

  “Why, Zephyr? We’re so close.”

  “That’s why. Mazzy thinks you want me⁠—”

  “I do want you,” he cut in.

  The statement warmed my insides and bolstered my fragile confidence. “That’s all he thinks,” I said. “And he won’t risk it. If I’m the collateral, he won’t really hurt me.” I hoped. “But if I don’t go back, he’ll be mad, and he might take it out on the other guys.”

  Beck swallowed as though ingesting the information, like he had no choice but to take it in. He had no real reason to care about the other dancers Maslow employed, but he seemed to worry along with me. His plan included them too, though it felt impossible to conceive how it would work out.

  Strings of fate and scales of judgment and actual magic. My brain could hardly contain it all.

  While I marveled, Beck fretted.

  “He’ll starve you.” There was a hint of pain in his voice. “He’ll take all this…” His gaze swept over me, and there was so much love in it. That tender care echoed in the brush of his fingers as he swept my bangs out of my eyes. “I hate seeing you like that.”

  Turning toward his hand, I placed a kiss on his knuckles. “If Mazzy makes me empty, then you’ll just have to fill me up again.” Dipping my head, I looked up at him, then dragged a fang over my lower lip. “You’ll do that for me, won’t you, Daddy?”

  Beck let out a groan and grimaced, and I knew I’d won. “Goddamn it, Zephyr.”

  “We’re so close,” I reminded him. “Soon I’ll be free, and I’ll never be hungry again.”

  He nodded, jaw tight and eyes cut away. “I’ll take you back. On time. Not a minute before.”

  “Thank you.”

  With his gaze aside, he had a clear line of sight to the microwave clock. After a moment’s pause, the tension in his features eased, and his mouth curved with something wicked. “Looks like we’ve got a little time to kill.”

  Sliding his hands under my thighs, he scooped me up and set me on the counter beside the espresso machine. A firm shove at my knees spread them, and he stepped between them quickly enough to steal a gasp from my lips.

  His mouth stayed on mine in a kiss that started sweet, then turned demanding. I broke away and tipped my head back. My giggles echoed off the tile.

  “Careful,” I warned, hanging on to the lapels of his jacket. “Or I’ll forget I have to leave.”

  “Good.” Beck ghosted his lips down the side of my neck. “Forget.”

  He palmed my ass, and I hooked my legs around him in a tight squeeze. For a moment, it was just us—his breath at my ear, my body arching toward his, the whole world narrowed down to heat and need and the ache of wanting more time.

  I let myself forget, but only for a little while.

  The ride back was quiet. Beck drove the limo himself, which made the journey feel more personal. More like he was escorting me into battle, and less like dropping off a package he didn’t want.

  Every time we hit a red light, his grip flexed on the steering wheel, and his jaw clenched tight with things he wasn’t saying. I kept stealing glances at him, studying the way he looked in the daylight. Sharp and dangerous in his tailored suit but rife with concern he couldn’t hide.

  The closer we got to the Dollhouse, the heavier it all felt. Like we were breaking through an invisible barrier. Like a choke chain was tightening around my neck.

  When we pulled up to the entrance, Beck didn’t move. Neither did I.

  “I’ll come for you,” he said finally, his voice low. “No matter what. If something happens⁠—”

  “I’ll be okay,” I interrupted, not quite believing it but needing us both to hear the words. “Just a few more days.”

  His eyes cut to me, dazzling gold in the sun. “Two days. That’s all Maz gave me, and it’s all I’m giving him.”

  I nodded. “Two days.”

  He took my hand, brought it to his mouth, and pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist. The brush of his lips on that tender skin made me blush.

  “Love you,” I murmured, and suddenly we were both a little pink.

  Then I slipped out, tugged my hoodie over my hair, and headed toward the black-stained double doors of the Dollhouse.

  The bouncers stationed at entry monitored my approach. One gave a sharp nod as he stepped aside to usher me in. The other offered a glance that lingered a little too long, like he knew what I was walking into. Dread balled in my throat as I nodded back, then slipped past them and into the shadows of the club.

  Inside, it was as cool and dark as ever.

  The door closed behind me with a heavy thunk, and I squinted into the gloom. At this hour, the main room was usually alive with rehearsal—someone on stage, music looping endlessly, bodies in motion. But instead of the twins two-stepping to “Boot Scootin’ Boogie,” or Elliot hanging off the pole by just his tail, it was vacant.

  Having the space to myself might have tempted me to practice. I felt great, despite the nerves wriggling in my stomach like worms, and I relished the opportunity to climb up in my hoop and repose. But the silence gnawed at me.

  It was never this quiet.

  Something was wrong.

  Weaving between tables and chairs, I searched the sound booth for Darby and peeked around corners for Oz. Nada. Even the dressing room was abandoned, and the emptiness filled me with panic.

  I thought of turning back. Bolt outside and past the bouncers and hope Beck was still in the lot. But this was my world. My problem. My family potentially in danger. I couldn’t run from that.

  Hastening my steps, I headed for the stairs, but a noise from the hall prompted me to alter my course. Not just sound, voices. Specifically, Maslow’s bellowing roar.

  I broke into a sprint, racing toward the ruckus. The hallway had a single destination: the room I’d made a habit of avoiding. It felt strange to run toward it now, not out of fear for myself, but with my heart hammering over what might be happening to someone else.

  I saw it before I arrived: the clutter at the threshold, chaos on pause. All five dancers plus Maslow hovered, some spilling into the hall, others crowded inside.

  The twins stood like sentries on either side of the doorway. Colt had removed his hat and was mopping his brow with a kerchief. His green eyes gleamed with merriment. Callum looked similarly pleased. The corner of his mouth curved upward as he observed the scene.

  Elliot stood further inside with a riding crop balanced against his shoulder like a royal scepter. His tail lashed lazily behind him, betraying his amusement. Beside him, Oz was knee-deep in wreckage—scraps of wood, shattered acrylic, what looked like the splintered frame of a chaise lounge. He didn’t appear hurt, but he looked distinctly overwhelmed, wide-eyed and red-cheeked with his blond locks plastered to his forehead.

  Closest to me stood Darby, fists balled on his hips and chin inclined, radiating righteous indignation in Maslow’s direction. The wraith’s cheeks were puffed out like bellows, and his belly heaved as he unleashed his fury in a throaty tirade. Spittle flew. His rage came in gusts, loud and theatrical, but Darby didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked smug.

  For a moment, I stood there, taking in the scattered bodies, the broken furniture, the tension between fury and farce.

  Nothing was wrong.

  In fact, everything about this felt very right.

  “This was custom made!” Maslow swung his arm toward the wreckage Oz stood amidst. “Do you have any idea how much that bed cost me? Imported! Reinforced! Now it’s kindling!”

  He wheezed through the end of it, chest heaving, sweat beading along his brow. “I’m taking this out of your pay. Deductions for all of you! Off your tips, off your base, off whatever filthy cash you were hoping to keep this week!”

  “You can take it outta my ass,” Colt sniped from the doorway, fanning himself with his hat. “Pretty sure it’s got more cushion than that mattress ever did.”

  Maslow whirled, his cheeks coloring with something darker than rage. “I just might, you horse-humping halfwit.”

  Callum snorted and covered it with a cough. Colt grinned.

  The wraith surveyed the damage once more, then flapped his arms dramatically. “This is a damn nightclub, not a rodeo! You wanna blow off steam? Go do it in the alley like normal degenerates!”

  “You d-don’t let us g-g-go outside,” Callum reminded him.

  Darby gave his hair a flip. “And you don’t pay us either, so you might want to rethink the threat of deductions.”

  Maslow rounded on him with a snarl. “Listen here, you sissy bitch, if I wanted comeback, I’d take it outta your mouth.”

  Darby’s tail snapped through the air, swift and sharp as a cracking whip, but before he could counter, Maslow spotted me.

  The wraith’s eyes narrowed, and his lip curled like he’d caught the scent of something foul. “Well, look who came crawling back.”

  I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. I was frozen in place and choked with giddy relief. The room behind him was wrecked. Upholstery shredded, lights flickering and glinting off the trail of glass and splinters that led directly to Oz, who remained in place beside Elliot like he wasn’t sure if he should run or bow.

  Maslow stepped toward me and extended a single plump finger. “This is your fault.”

  I blinked. “Mine?”

  The wraith’s eyes blazed, and his mouth twisted into a snarl. “Yes, yours. You poisoned this place the second you slithered through the door. Turned my staff against me. You ruined a good thing.”

  He started toward me, but Darby was faster.

  “No,” he said, hands planted on his hips. “This wasn’t Cherry’s fault. Or his idea. It was mine.”

  Maslow’s head whipped toward him. “Yours?”

  “And mine,” Elliot chimed in, slapping the leather tip of the crop against his open palm.

  Oz nodded beside him, broad shoulders straightening by the moment. “Mine too.”

  The twins beamed in tandem.

  “It was m-my idea,” Callum stammered.

  “Yeah, his.” Colt’s emphatic nod toward his brother earned a reproachful snap from Callum’s tail.

  Colt snickered and rubbed the spot with mock offense while Callum rolled his eyes.

  “The vote was unanimous,” Elliot confirmed.

  That settled it.

  Maslow sputtered, his outrage mounting with every word. “You voted? This isn’t some kind of democracy!”

  “No,” Darby repeated. “It’s a nightclub. Not a whorehouse. Not a porn studio. Which means you don’t need this.” He nodded toward the room and the wreckage of whatever sordid fantasy Maslow had planned, then he straightened his shoulders and added, “The boys and I have a few ideas for the space, though. Quality of life improvements. When you’re ready to listen.”

  “There was mention of a pool table,” Elliot offered, twirling the crop like a baton.

  “And a TV!” Oz chimed in. “For movie nights.”

  Maslow looked like he might stroke out then and there. His jaw worked in furious silence while his gaze ricocheted from one dancer to the next. Each of them stood firm, devoid of fear, and he had no idea what to do with it.

  For a long moment, the wraith seethed. Then, with an explosive huff, he threw up his hands and spun on his heel. He stomped toward me, and I backpedaled a step in case he reached for me.

  But he didn’t. He didn’t even look at me. Just barreled past and down the hall until he disappeared from view.

  When a distant door slammed, cheers broke out like fireworks. Colt flung his hat in the air, Callum and Darby shared a high five, and Oz caught Elliot in a sudden hug that made the smaller man squawk in protest.

  Darby turned to me with his arms open like a ringmaster at the end of the show. “Good timing, Cherry. Glad you didn’t miss it.”

  I sputtered a laugh, wet-cheeked and breathless and so full of feeling I thought I might float right off the floor. They’d done this for me. Stood up to Maslow, protected each other, and taken the first step toward something better.

  I’d done something for them too. Their lives were already changing, already improving, and this was just the beginning.

  In two days, things would be unimaginably different. Or just plain unimaginable.

  “This is…” I pressed a hand over my mouth, then let it drop. “I can’t believe…” I looked at my family—my brothers—and drew a shuddering breath. “I have such good news for you guys.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY

  Beck

  Real estate rarely moved fast, but with a demon greasing the wheels, things rolled right along.

  It rankled me to help Maslow purchase another property, especially considering how he’d bragged about his Hellish pipeline. It opened the door for him to carry on building his seedy empire, bringing in new demons to drain and dole out to the angels. My only solace was the suspicion that he would be hard-pressed to develop his new investment considering the dam I was about to put in his income stream.

  With paperwork in hand and Colette on my heels, I showed up at the Dollhouse at midday. The bouncers didn’t blink this time before granting me admittance. Maslow must have warned them I was coming, and he was bound to be gleeful.

  I was too.

  Inside, the dancers were on the stage and around it. Music poured from the speakers in a moody, ethereal tune I thought I recognized. Above the floor, Zephyr was suspended in silk, bent in half with the fabric wound around his waist and one leg.

  I paused, holding my breath as the music reached its peak. He arched back, perpendicular to the floor, then twisted, and the whole thing came unraveled. His body twirled down the silk like a sideways top until the fabric caught around his ankles. Then he dangled with his arms spread wide, hair almost brushing the floor, fearless.

  With an upward curl and a reaching grab, he was upright again and climbing. I could have watched him forever, just as spellbound as the first time I saw him. But Maslow’s voice cut through my trance.

  “Beckett!” he called from the second-floor railing.

  The shout brought an early end to Zephyr’s routine. He descended in a spiral of silk and landed lightly on the stage floor. His smile was blinding in the spotlight, and he looked so healthy it made my heart pound.

  Two days without him had been too long.

  “Come on up!” Maslow beckoned, sounding giddy.

  Reluctantly, I turned and headed toward the stairs to answer the wraith’s summons. I felt Zephyr’s eyes on me and sensed his anticipation adding to my own as I climbed.