After a long moment, Zephyr spoke again.

  “I fell,” he said quietly. “I think that’s how I died.”

  My arms tightened around him. “Yeah, baby. I think so.”

  I knew so.

  I’d found the article—an old newspaper clipping dated a few years after the poster. Julien Montclair had fallen during practice. He’d gotten tangled in the rigging, alone in the tent, and by the time anyone found him, it was too late. He strangled to death at just twenty-four.

  It was a truth I’d been fretting over how to deliver, so I was relieved he realized it for himself.

  When Zephyr told me he didn’t know why he deserved this strange afterlife, I’d lacked the words to explain.

  The notion that eternity was the reward or punishment for earthly actions was a decidedly human notion. In reality, Heaven and Hell swapped souls like sports teams traded players. It was a game. A gamble of unfathomable odds, and it had nothing to do with right, wrong, or reason.

  Zephyr didn’t move. He kept his eyes on the poster, expression soft but distant, like he was watching something far off unfold. Maybe he was.

  He touched Julien’s face on the page, then the woman beside him. “She was my mother.”

  I nodded slowly. “Her name was Delphine.”

  He leaned into my chest, and I rested my chin on the crown of his head.

  “I wonder if they missed me,” he whispered.

  “Of course they did,” I replied. “And I think they loved you so much it stuck to your soul.”

  He gave a tearful laugh, then wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I wish I could remember more. I wish I could see them. Hear them.”

  “We’ll find what we can,” I promised. “Other posters, reviews, news articles, anything. We’ll put the pieces together.”

  He’d gone quiet again, but this silence wasn’t sad. It felt like the air after a storm. Heavy, yes, but clearer somehow.

  Zephyr’s hand rested on the corner of the poster. “I don’t know what to do with it,” he said at last.

  “I think we should hang it,” I offered. “It was made to be seen, and I’d like to display it. If that’s all right with you.”

  “That sounds nice,” he said, his voice steadying.

  I gave his waist a squeeze before lifting him off my lap so we could both stand. From the lower desk drawer, I pulled out the frame I’d bought for this exact purpose. I slid the poster inside with care, smoothing the edges until it sat perfectly.

  “I already picked a spot,” I told him.

  Zephyr followed as I crossed to the far wall, the one set aglow by the morning sun pouring through the exterior window. Light streaked across the space, leaving it warm and golden. That spotlight belonged to them.

  I nodded at the wall. “Would you like to do the honors?”

  Zephyr gingerly took the frame from my hands. He found the nail I’d already sunk in the drywall, adjusted the angle twice, then stepped back and squinted.

  “How’s that?” he asked.

  “Perfect.”

  He’d come close enough that I could slide my arms around and hug him against me. When I kissed his temple, he exhaled slowly.

  “So… Julien?” I asked.

  Zephyr shook his head. His gaze lingered on the image. “He was, and they were. But I’m here and now. Zephyr feels right.”

  I smiled against his hair. “Zephyr it is.”

  We stayed like that for a breath or two, but it was too much to hope the world could stay quiet forever. Not when I’d just finished marveling at the lack of opportunities for boredom in this busy place.

  A knock at the door brought an end to the moment of peace, then Colette barged in, unbidden.

  “We have guests,” she announced.

  I stepped back, releasing Zephyr as I turned to face her. “It’s the middle of the day,” I replied. “Tell them to come back when we’re open.”

  The words left my mouth, and I heard them echo, just like Maslow’s bouncers had said when I turned up so many days ago, arms full of flowers and nerves, asking if I could see Zephyr for a minute.

  I arched a brow. “Did they bring gifts or something?”

  Colette’s posture shifted, more rigid than usual, and she scanned the office as though trouble might be hiding under the furniture.

  “I fear it’s only bad tidings from this lot.”

  That got my full attention. “Who is it?”

  Colette frowned. “Angels.”

  “The Rossettis?” Zephyr looked from her to me.

  Of course. I’d warned him about them, and he’d met a few of their brood. We both consulted Colette, who confirmed with a grim nod.

  Zephyr glanced at me. “Do you want me to stay?”

  I shook my head. “I can handle it. Why don’t you go ask Darby what the hell he bought for twelve hundred dollars from Uniformly Naughty?”

  He blinked. “I might already know, actually. It’s a… schoolgirl thing?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, eyes closed. “Ask him.”

  Zephyr gave me one last look—half worry, half amusement—then he and Colette slipped out. The door closed behind them.

  Five minutes later, our guests walked in.

  They declined to sit, which wasn’t a great sign, and it left the three of us loitering near the desk like strangers at a funeral, exchanging frowns and fleeting glances.

  Or maybe that was just Stefano and me.

  Big sister Antonella wasn’t having any trouble making eye contact. She’d locked onto me the second she stepped inside, and her stare hadn’t let up since.

  “Lucas,” she began, cramming so much disdain into the two syllables of my name. “It’s so very good to see you.”

  With their wings out, the angels did nothing if not take up space. They were already imposing with their matching silver hair and porcelain skin, but the feathered appendages on their backs easily doubled their size. Not to mention it made the siblings a veritable wall of light and judgment across from me.

  I wasn’t sure why I’d invited them in. It would have been worse to turn them away, asking for trouble I didn’t want but had gotten regardless. The whole situation made me uneasy while I considered my reply to Antonella’s greeting.

  “I liked it better when you were keeping to your own,” Antonella said, apparently needing no encouragement to get down to business. “Staying in your lane, as it were. And not stepping on my toes.” She crossed her arms over the jacket of her ivory pantsuit, making the gold embroidered cuffs seem to glimmer. “What’s your interest in the Fairmont property?”

  “My only interest was getting Maslow out the door,” I said coolly. “So I opened him a window across town.”

  Her pale eyes narrowed. “You blocked my bid.”

  That made me pause. “That was you?”

  She hummed in confirmation. “And you’re going to wish it wasn’t, unless you intend to make it up to me.”

  “Come again?” I glanced from her to Stefano, who proved content to hold his silence. Grumbling, I addressed Antonella again. “What exactly do I have to make up?”

  “You interfered in the expansion of my empire and in the distribution of my supply,” Antonella said. “The demon energy—we were getting it from the wraith. I don’t suppose you have a method for extracting it?”

  “Sorry, no,” I said, not at all minding the sharp edge carved into my smile. “I’m keeping my business inside these walls.”

  She scoffed. “Lording over a band of strippers? That’s your move?”

  “It’s not a move,” I retorted. “Maslow hired me to get his foot in the door on Fairmont. And you’re hardly in a position to cast aspersions considering you hired him too.”

  She bristled and turned aside. “That was different.”

  “I fail to see how.”

  “It’s different,” she said tightly. “Because you have what you want, and I do not. So how are we going to rectify this situation?”

  I shrugged. “We’re not.”

  She tilted her head, causing her hoops earrings to sway. “Then you’re determined to stand in my way?”

  I met her stare, steady. “I’m right where I’m supposed to be. On my side of the street. In my lane. What are you doing?”

  Her red lips curled faintly. “Reaching, Lucas.”

  Once, I’d reached too. Got my hand slapped for it. It was the worst pain I’d ever felt, and it certainly didn’t wound me to watch the same thing happen to her.

  At her side, Stefano still hadn’t said a damn word.

  “What about you?” I asked him, irritation prickling up the back of my neck. “Do you have anything to add, or are you just here to hold down the floor?”

  Stefano’s brow furrowed. “Perhaps we can find a solution that works for everyone. Maslow was taking more energy than we needed. Surely your… employees would rather give a bit than have something…” His tongue flicked out in a nervous lick of his lips. “Everything taken.”

  I stared at him for a long beat, working my jaw. I knew a threat when I heard one, but it stung a bit worse coming from him.

  He didn’t meet my gaze.

  Of course he didn’t.

  So I faced his sister instead.

  “Go back to your casino, Antonella,” I said. “Nurse your withdrawals. You won’t be getting anything else from me or my boys.”

  She looked like she might press the issue, but Stefano shifted beside her, and that movement seemed to break whatever hold she had on the moment. With one last look, unreadable and icy, she turned.

  Stefano followed.

  Their wings skimmed the doorframe as they left, feathers catching the light with a shimmer that didn’t belong in this world—certainly not in my office. Then the door closed behind them, and they were gone.

  Silence followed, thick and suffocating. I crossed the room and locked the door out of sheer spite, then leaned back against it and drew a long, labored breath.

  Let them come knocking again.

  Let them threaten and talk.

  But the second they touched what was mine, there would be nothing left to talk about.

  COMING NEXT TO THE STAGE…

  SINFUL NIGHTS & NEON LIGHTS

  Heart Over Heels

  DARBY

  Sensory deprivation was not my favorite kink.

  If I had to make a list or menu of my services, blindfolds and hoods would not be on it. I liked to see and hear what I was getting myself into, or who was getting into me. But it had been a good night. I was full of food, tipsy from wine, and relaxed enough to bend a few personal rules.

  In the backseat of the Lincoln Town Car, Graham Callahan threw his arm around my shoulders, dousing me in the heavy oud scent of his cologne. My nose wrinkled, but otherwise I maintained the pleasant expression that was practically engraved in my face. Soft lines, sweet looks, or sultry ones when needed. Everything a sugar daddy could want in one petite package.

  I couldn’t see Graham’s expression, though. I’d been rendered blind after he insisted on me donning a satin sleep mask while en route to our next destination. The piece of fabric was secured only by a strip of elastic, so I could have removed it, but I’d decided to play along.

  Graham was excited, bragging about the “fun surprise” he had lined up for us.

  I’d be the judge of how “fun” it really was.

  For now, it was novel enough just being out. Since Club Daddy Lucas Beckett took over the Dollhouse and let my fellow dancers and me off our leash, I had been making the most of it. I spent my days in the company of Las Vegas’s most powerful men, and my nights serving drinks, sass, and ass to the VIP customers of the Devil’s Dollhouse.

  Graham was typically a gentleman. Not one of my favorite clients, but his money was good, and he liked to make a night of it: dinner, drinks, dancing, and eventually the bedroom. He appreciated the whole package. I got to wear nice clothes and keep them on for more than ten minutes, which wasn’t always the case in my line of work.

  Regardless, I hoped the sleep mask would come off soon. Cloth on my eyes was bound to smudge my makeup. And if this surprise wasn’t a good one, I was going to be annoyed.

  The car eased to a stop, and the quiet hum of the engine faded. I heard the door beside me open, admitting sunlight that warmed my skin and slipped under the edges of the mask. Straightening, I smoothed my hands over my thighs as the dry desert heat crept in along with the low murmur of afternoon traffic.

  Graham took my hand in a steady grip. “Come on, Luxe,” he said, his voice thick with anticipation.

  Graham didn’t know my real name. None of my clients did. Real names were for real problems, and this wasn’t real. It was expensive make-believe.

  I followed his lead, stepping out with nothing but faith to guide me. My heel caught the edge of the curb, and I stumbled. Not enough to fall, just enough to spike my pulse. I recovered quickly, masking the slip with a toss of my head and a breath through my nose.

  Graham chuckled and tugged my arm through the loop of his elbow. “You good?”

  “Of course,” I said, slipping back into character.

  Luxe was always good. Great, in fact. That polished persona had taken years to perfect, starting long before I ever walked through the doors of the Dollhouse. Most of the other dancers had been thrown into the job with no training or skills to speak of. Our old boss, Maslow, the wraith, didn’t care. He selected us like candy from a jar, all aesthetics and appetite. He came out with five different flavors of sin, ready for his customers to sample.

  He didn’t realize he’d picked a professional.

  From a Chicago brothel in life to a Sin City strip club in death, I’d been making fantasy into fact for as long as I could remember. In a way, Luxe was more real than I was. He showed up when I couldn’t. He smiled when I didn’t feel like smiling. And right now, he walked with confidence while I cringed behind the blindfold.

  I moved forward with a healthy measure of trepidation. Sidewalk cracks were hazardous for stiletto heels, and the black satin mask that was cool and comfortable in the car had become stifling. My eyelashes raked over it with every blink.

  Graham’s grip tightened around my arm—not painful, just a little too possessive for my taste. I lifted my hand toward the mask, already half over it. My fingertips had barely pinched the edge when Graham stopped me.

  “Not yet,” he said, tone full of promise. “I swear, it’s worth the wait.”

  I sighed and dropped my hand again. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  He laughed and guided me along the sunbaked pavement. We didn’t travel far, but I couldn’t shake the thought of how I must look being marched along Las Vegas Boulevard in broad daylight, tail twitching with agitation I couldn’t entirely contain.

  Then came the steps.

  I heard Graham start up them and hesitated, just long enough to register the incline.

  Great. Stairs. In heels. Blindfolded.

  I pasted on a smile.

  “Little heads-up next time.” I kept my tone playful as I fumbled for some kind of railing. I found it and locked on, trusting the warm metal bar to stand between me and a very unglamorous faceplant.

  Graham didn’t answer, just gave my hand a squeeze and tugged me gently upward. One step, then another. My calves tensed, my balance shifted, and every movement was more complicated than it should’ve been. I felt like a newborn foal finding its footing for the first time.

  But no one watching would’ve known. I kept my posture perfect, my lips curved, and my chin tilted at just the right angle to suggest I was enjoying myself. It was an art form—gliding through awkwardness like it was part of the show. And I was nothing if not an expert performer. At least here, no one was shouting over raucous music or palming my ass while I tried to balance a drink tray.

  The final step brought with it a wash of cool air, and suddenly we were inside. The distant ringing of slot machines and chattering voices informed me our mystery destination was one of the many casinos lining the Vegas Strip.

  If Graham wanted to impress me, he would have to do better than this.

  But of course, getting through the door wasn’t the endgame. Graham was not the kind of man to be wooed by penny slots or low-bid tables. He led me on, venturing deeper into the building. Thankfully, there were no more stairs, but we wound through enough turns and corridors that I started to feel disoriented. I walked halls I couldn’t see, passed machines that shrieked like alarms, and fought to keep my balance while the world spun behind satin.

  Graham was talking, but I’d stopped registering his words. The blindfold was making me twitchy. My senses were too off-kilter, too focused on everything but the fantasy he was trying to build.

  The creak of a door opening ahead brought me to a halt as the unease that had been simmering finally boiled over. This was definitely not fun. It was claustrophobic and exhausting.

  I yanked my arm free of Graham’s grip and reached up to tear the mask off in one smooth motion.

  Sight rushed in like a gasp of fresh air.

  We stood in a wide corridor, lined with plush carpet and softened by the golden glow of wall-mounted sconces. The lighting was low without being dark, and it didn’t take long for my eyes to adjust. I blinked quickly, scanning for any clue as to which den of sin I’d been led into.

  And then it hit me.

  White and gold. Not the signature style of most demonic establishments. We leaned into a different sort of decadence. Dark velvet and black lacquer with pops of lustful red and moody purple. This building was every bit the opposite. Brass gleamed. Ivory glowed. Crystals glinted. And if that wasn’t evidence enough that I was very much out of my element, there were wings on everything.

  Wings flanked the light fixtures. Wings unfurled from the backs of the painted figures lining the corridor. The ceiling was a mural of clouds and clear blue skies, populated by scores of graceful, glorious… angels.

  Suddenly, the blindfold was the least of my problems.