Hell in a Handbasket

by Mila Young

  Poor guy. Antonio’s clearly in a mood today.

  Not wanting to be his next victim, I hurry into the crowd, my gaze sweeping around for Dorian. He brought me here tonight, and I have no doubt he’s been ordered to watch over me.

  Instead, my attention settles on five tall, gorgeous men dressed in traditional Hawaiian grass skirts and nothing else, all clinking their whiskey sours together. It feels like I’m looking at five versions of Jason Momoa—all broad chests, rippling muscles, tan skin, and long curly hair. Am I drooling? I might be drooling.

  From looking at them, I can’t for the life of me work out what they are. Well, except for ungodly handsome.

  “Captivating, aren’t they?” a familiar voice comes from over my shoulder, and I look at Charlotte as she steps alongside me with her notebook in hand to take orders.

  “Are they dragon shifters?” I ask, unable to look away from them. “Maybe mermen. That would make sense.”

  “Dolphins,” Charlotte whispers in my ear. “The randiest shifters on the planet. Are you telling me you haven’t heard of Man Swell?”

  I blink at her, still trying to process what she just told me about them being dolphin shifters. “The male stripper group that tours around the country?”

  She smirks wickedly and nods.

  “Wow. So they’re doing a show here tonight? It explains why three-quarters of the clientele here are female.”

  Charlotte laughs at me, her hand on my shoulder, and presses in closer. “Purgatory is a place where people experience desires and fantasies. And whenever Man Swell is in town, they offer special one-on-one sessions with the ladies. They’ve been booked out for months.”

  My mouth drops open, and I stare at her, stunned. “‘One-on-one’ like a private dance? Or…”

  “All the way, baby.” She chuckles and looks at me like I’m the most naive person in the world. “One thing you should know about dolphin shifters is that they can go all night. It’s like they have natural Viagra in their system.”

  I glance back at the five of them. No wonder they’re so happy—they’re man whores!

  “Excuse me, can we place an order?” a girl calls from my right.

  “Back to the grind.” Charlotte winks and swats my behind. “Off you go.”

  I paste on my brightest customer-service smile and turn to greet the girl. “Of course, what would you like?”

  After that, the next several hours fly by. I work nonstop until my legs feel like jelly and threaten to give out at any second. During my shift, I couldn’t resist keeping watch of the Man Swell guys as they came and went from the Red Rooms with different women. I lost count of how many passed me.

  Don't ask me why, but it fascinates me. I don't blame the women, but part of me wonders how many of them are in relationships and have partners waiting for them at home.

  I like to think that I'm an open-minded kind of person, but cheating of any kind is where I draw the line.

  Collecting three Screwdriver cocktails from the bar, along with a cheeky grin from Antonio, I saunter across the room to the back corner where several young women sit around a small table. “Ladies, your drinks.”

  By their flushed cheeks and the bed-hair on the one brunette, I'm going to say this is an after-sex drink where they exchange notes. I place the cocktails in front of them and turn away, smirking. Why the hell not have fun if hot men are offering themselves?

  Strong hands latch around my waist, and suddenly I’m flying backward into the dark corner of the club. My stomach lurches into my throat, remembering the handsy werewolf who pushed his luck with me last time. Whipping around, I shove against my assailant, my pen raised as a weapon, ready to stab. Until my gaze lands on Dorian’s handsome face.

  “What the hell?” I gasp. “I almost made you a shish kebab.”

  His gaze narrows, studying me with a look of indulgence. Shadows darken half of his face and make his green eyes shine with mischief and danger as they roam over me. It reminds me that Dorian may be the most civil of the three demons, but he’s just as deadly. I shouldn’t take his kindness as weakness.

  Despite knowing all that, I can’t help the tingles fluttering at the base of my stomach. They burst into full-blown butterflies, beating their wings. A single look and I’m putty in his presence. What has become of me?

  I clear my throat. “I’m trying to work, you know.”

  “I see the way you look at those men,” he replies, glancing toward the Red Rooms. His lip curls. “Dolphins.”

  I relax into a huge smile. “Oh, wait... You’re jealous of Man Swell?”

  “Of fish dancers?” He’s laughing hysterically, placing one hand on his stomach. “Absolutely not.”

  “You know what they say about jealousy,” I murmur, studying the way he looks me up and down like he’s unsure if he should drag me into a back room this very moment.

  “And what’s that?” he finally answers, mocking me with his tone.

  “You most envy those who have what you desire.” I shrug and offer him a wide grin.

  He lashes out and grabs my wrist, hauling me closer to him. I stumble into his chest, my hand snapping to press against the hard plane of his body, while my pen slips from my grasp and tumbles onto the floor.

  “Little girl, you have no idea what you’re talking about, but I can show you what’s really happening in those rooms if you’ve got a marine fetish.”

  My hackles bristle, and I rip my arm out of his grip. “Eww, why do you have to say it like that? Now it’ll be creepy when I think of them.”

  “Good. But tell me—as you fantasize about them, are they dancing just for you? Maybe waving a flipper at you?” He can’t stop laughing. My irritation grows.

  “Well, all these women can’t be wrong,” I snap. “They must be doing something right in there.”

  "I can guarantee you, if I offered myself to these females, I’d make a million dollars in a week."

  “Well then, what’s stopping you?”

  He smiles broadly, showing off perfectly white, straight teeth. “You.”

  I hesitate. I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but I brush it off. “Sure, you keep telling yourself that. Now, I have a job to get back to.”

  Turning away from him, I crouch down, collect my pen, and march away, just as his large palm lands with a loud clap across my ass.

  I flinch and throw him an evil glare from over my shoulder.

  “Go, have a flipping good time,” he says, still chuckling to himself.

  What a dick. He can try to hide it all he wants, but it’s obvious he’s jealous of all the attention Man Swell is getting tonight. It’s bruising that precious incubus ego of his.

  At the bar, Antonio is rushing around and barking orders at poor Sting. When I approach, Charlotte hops up on a stool next to me. She pushes her blonde, soft curls over her shoulders and breathes heavily. It’s definitely a busy night, and she’s been working her tail off.

  She watches Sting glare at Antonio every time he turns his back.

  “What’s the deal between those two?” I ask Charlotte as Antonio focuses on the violet cocktail he’s creating in a hurricane glass. He places his hand over the top of the drink, and in seconds, a small trail of air bubbles rises to the surface. There’s something hypnotic about watching him put spells on his cocktails. They all have various short-term effects on people, he once told me.

  She glances over, her blue eyes framed by heavy eyeliner. “They’re lovers. You didn’t know?”

  I shake my head. But now that she’s mentioned it, I guess I can see it. They do bicker like a couple more than anything else.

  She leans in closer to me. “They are always like this. Fiery at work but even hotter in bed.”

  “You’ve seen them?” I gasp, picturing them in the Red Room. Then my thoughts fly to Cain catching me spying on Charlotte having sex with her vampire master. My cheeks instantly heat up, and I thank the dim lights in this place.

  “No, no. Antonio br
ags all the time about it.” She lifts her head as he approaches and places two long glasses with something orange inside in front of us.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Relax, Ms. I-Don’t-Drink-Alcohol-at-Work. It’s just juice.”

  With that, I gulp the sweet drink down, sating my growing thirst.

  “So how did you meet Viktor?” I ask and then immediately regret my words, as I’m not sure if this is a normal thing to ask someone of her master, so I quickly add, “But you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I mean, I didn’t really get a choice in meeting the three demons in my life.”

  “Take a deep breath,” she assures me, placing a hand on mine. “Ask me anything. I have no secrets. I met Viktor at a BDSM club I used to work at. It was his first time visiting the place, and he didn’t even make it beyond reception before he swept me off my feet. He then left, saying he no longer needed to enter the establishment, which made me swoon. The man is everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Tall, dark hair, and so fucking handsome I still pinch myself that he chose me. And in the sack, he is a god. Well, I mean… you kinda saw that." Her smile is infectious, and I’m burning up with embarrassment, suddenly feeling feverish and sweaty.

  “Do you mind if I ask... I mean, do you want him to turn you?”

  She shakes her head. “We’ve both talked about it extensively, and I’m not ready. He accepts my decision, but I can tell he intends to eventually.”

  There’s a slight waver in her voice, and I don’t push the matter further. Don’t want to touch on a sour topic.

  “How did you know he was the one for you?” I ask, not sure if that’s a loaded question considering she is dating a master vampire. For all I know, he forced her into the union using his glamor.

  She chuckles to herself before turning in her chair to face me. “Don’t laugh, but I knew he was mine when he bought me the most incredible gift.” Her voice softens, her mouth breaking into a wide grin.

  “What was it?” I ask curiously and fiddle with Cain’s wing necklace around my neck.

  “A unicorn goat.”

  I stiffen. “Come again?”

  She laughs at me, setting a hand on my crossed knee. “Not a real unicorn, silly. He only has one horn, and it’s curled toward the center of his head, so to me he looks like a unicorn. But he’s adorable.”

  “Sounds cute.” I blink at her, trying to decipher why exactly a goat is the perfect gift.

  “I know what you’re thinking. But I grew up on a farm and had a pet goat that I loved. When I lost him, I was devastated, and well, Viktor remembered my story.” She shrugs.

  “I completely get it. It’s the small things that guys do, right?”

  “Yes.” She takes a sip from her juice, then whispers seductively, “What about you and your three demons?”

  This time, I’m the one laughing. From the outside, I’m sure it looks like a woman’s wet dream. Three gorgeous and wealthy demons? Sure, it sounds good on the surface. Yeah, I live with them and, as much as I hate to admit it, have kissed all of them—more than kissed—but they’re crazy. Deadly. And oh, so sexy. The thought has me blushing like mad.

  Instead of speaking about the obvious, for some reason, I say, “I kind of owe them, I guess. They did save me from a dragon.”

  Her eyes bulge. “What?”

  Checking over my shoulder, I note that the club is a lot quieter than earlier, and no one seems to be screaming out for a drink yet. Even Antonio and Sting are calm, chatting in the corner, so I turn back to Charlotte. Then I give her a summarized rendition of what went down with Sir Surchion, the escape, and even finding my own little pet.

  Charlotte’s mouth hangs open. “And you’re okay? I have a fantastic psychiatrist you can talk to if you want… that kind of thing can really affect you.” She’s holding my hand, genuinely concerned, and it touches something deep inside me. She reminds me a lot of Joseline, who has the biggest heart, and that makes me miss her even more.

  “Thank you,” I say to Charlotte. “I think my biggest worry is that he’ll come back for me.”

  She straightens in her seat. “He wouldn’t dare. Not when you have three deadly demons protecting you.”

  “Charlotte, your baby boo is here!” Antonio calls out. Almost in unison, we swivel to follow in the direction he points, and my sights settle on Viktor.

  Her master vampire.

  The man is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, and he’s wearing an actual cape like Dracula. Is that a thing vamp masters do? Despite him catching several women’s attention, he only has eyes for Charlotte. She’s on her feet and rushing over to him. I can’t help but admire how much she loves him, how she runs to him, how he picks her up and off her feet before they kiss.

  Like everyone else in the club, I watch as he carries her across the dark room and down the hall directly towards one of the Red Rooms. Well, someone is getting lucky tonight. I sure hope there’s a free spot with all the Man Swell bookings.

  I hop off my stool and do the rounds to collect empty glasses and take orders, seeing as I’m on the floor alone for a bit. It’s only when I swing toward the back corner that I spot Cain, sitting alone, reclined in a seat in a black dress shirt gaping open at his throat.

  My heart leaps in my chest, and I’m already rushing over to him, smiling. Images of us together in his study has heat flaring over my body. After seeing Charlotte with her charming prince, I’m eager to catch up with Cain.

  When I get there, he doesn’t get up to greet me. He just sits back, staring out across the room.

  I blink at him, suddenly feeling foolish. “When did you get here? I didn’t see you come in.”

  Finally, he glances up at me. There’s no smile on his face. I burn on the inside. After what we shared, this is how he treats me?

  “I have a business meeting,” he says coldly. “Bring us two whiskeys, top shelf, neat.”

  My mouth drops open with words that never come. With hurt that stings like barbed wire. I somehow believed Cain, the original sin demon himself, might show me a sliver of what Viktor, Count Dracula, showed Charlotte.

  Feeling stupid, I whip around just as an older man arrives and takes a seat across from Cain, both ignoring me.

  Clenching my hands into balls, I march back to the bar, seething. My pulse bangs in my ears. This bullshit of claiming me and making me feel like he cares one minute only to then shove me aside the next is just downright cruel.

  I give Cain’s whiskey order to Sting. “And please, can you deliver it? I can’t go back there,” I murmur.

  He glances over to Cain, who’s sitting forward in his seat in deep conversation with whoever that old man is. “You sure you wouldn’t prefer to do it?”

  “One hundred percent certain.” I slide onto a stool. Seeing there is no one else at the bar, I might just order a cocktail after all.

  Strong hands slide around my waist, and the warmest breath washes over my shoulder and cheek.

  “Don’t pay Cain any attention,” Dorian whispers. “He’s in a pissy mood today.”

  I flinch and turn toward Dorian as he flops down onto the stool next to me, adjusting his tailored jacket. It sits open, framing broad shoulders. Everything about him captivates me, from the way his deep red button-up shirt curves over his strong chest to his spectacular eyes.

  “You mean like every day,” I say.

  He chuckles and takes my hands in his. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “What happened?” I ask, my mind spinning off in so many directions that all my thoughts knot into one massive tangle.

  “Elias and I went to visit Sir Surchion’s store and warehouse a few days ago to see where he had stashed our relics.”

  “And?” I sit on the edge of my seat.

  “The whole place had been burned to ashes. He’d torched it. Nothing was salvageable. And even with all our resources, we’ve had no luck finding where he’s disappeared to.”

  “Oh crap.” That reaction seems extreme. I ch
ew on my lower lip for a moment, then ask, “Does this mean he’s gone for good?”

  I hold my breath, hoping that’s the case.

  “We suspect he’s looking for a new nest, hiding out before he flees.”

  “You think he’s going to run for it?”

  He nods solemnly. “And nothing will stop Cain from tearing down the whole living plane to find those relics.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Cain

  Leaning against the bookshelf in my office, Dorian stares at the paper I’d taken off Aria the other night. I have no idea how it came to be in her possession, but one thing’s for certain, we finally know her surname.

  “Cross,” Dorian says, mimicking my thoughts back to me. “Not a distinct last name, is it?”

  I sit at my desk, staring at my closed laptop and the scattered papers before me. It’s hard not to imagine Aria spread across it completely naked with me thrusting into her wildly. Ever since that night, it’s been near impossible to be in here and get any work done. I thought that after indulging myself, I’d be able to clear my head and move on, but it’s seemed to have the opposite effect. I only want her more.

  “Cain,” Dorian calls as he questions my silence.

  I quickly try to recover. He’d mentioned her name, hadn’t he? “‘Cross’ is old in origin,” I say, hoping it’s enough to follow the conversation where he’d left it. “Seventh century Old Norse, if I recall.”

  One of his brows arches, telling me he knows me too well to have missed my blunder. But lucky for me, he doesn’t comment on it. “We can see if it leads to anything. Maybe a powerful supernatural ancestry?”

  “I’ve already called contacts and searched records. Mother and father were both human. Father died eighteen years ago, and the mother has been deemed mentally unstable and put into a state facility.”