She didn’t know which one of them to believe. The lying demon … or the trained killer who seemed the least likely person on the planet to get sentimental—who was nonetheless wearing a tiny dove around his throat and had stopped in the middle of everything to take a picture of a photograph of her.

“That’s what you were going to ask,” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Down in the parlor, right after you came back while we were having dinner. You were going to ask Adrian to take a picture of us, weren’t you.”

“Yeah.”

“Can angels be photographed?”

“You wanna see?”

He took the phone from her and realigned the shooter so that the fuzzy dark shadows that were the two of them came into vague focus.

“Brace yourself for the flash,” he said. “Three, two, one…”

The bright light blinded her and made her blink, but when her eyesight returned and she looked onto the little screen, there they were, their heads close together, him looking at her, not the camera’s eye, her gaze focused myopically straight ahead.

And there, around both of their heads, like some kind of benediction, were the halos.

“You can trust me, Sissy. I’m at war with the bitch, not in love with her.”

She thought back to when he’d been down in Hell, tortured by those demons, violated by the masses. How could anybody love or be attracted to someone who could do that to them? Jim was a lot of things, but he didn’t strike her as a masochist on that kind of scale.

God, she didn’t know who to believe.

But she did like the picture of the two of them together. She really … liked the way they looked. If it weren’t for those damn halos, she could almost believe they were just a normal couple.

“Can I keep this?”

“Yeah, you can have my phone.”

Cradling it to her heart, she scootched down and put her head on the pillow. “When will you be back.”

“After I put that cunt in her place.”

Well, at least he showed no signs of looking forward to seeing the demon; that was for sure. And the sex the pair of them had just had? Nothing to sneeze at.

“Be safe,” she said.

“Always.”

She heard him walk for the door—but then he turned and came right back, capturing her face in his hands.

“I’m going to take care of you.” His voice had the strangest tone to it. “I swear on my mother’s soul. I’m going to make things right.”

And then he kissed her and left, closing the door behind himself quietly before striding down the hall. It was a while before she figured out what had been behind that odd inflection, and she shivered.

It was fear.

Jim Heron was terrified, for some reason.

Chapter Twenty-seven

“May I help you.”

Not a question. And the attitude was more along the lines of, What are you doing here?

As Jim stopped on the shiny marble floor of the Freidmont Hotel’s lobby, he looked across at Mr. Officious, who was manning the front desk. The guy was wearing a discreet black suit with a gold name tag, a bright white shirt, and a black tie—like he was the maître d’ of a funeral home.

“The service entrance is around the back,” was the tack on.

Annnnnd this was why it was better to be invisi.

“I’m here to see a guest,” Jim muttered, and went to head for the elevators.

“Excuse me,” the man said as he busybodied his way out from behind the counter.

Jim put his palm out and whammied the little prick into silence. Then with a quick spin and a metaphysical shove, he sent the suit back to his station.

Jim took the elevators, not the stairs.

For one, it was because a set of those ornate doors opened on cue like the damn thing knew he needed a lift. Har-har. And two, the closer he got to the demon, the more worked up he was becoming, and that limited his powers to the likes of the parlor trick he’d pulled on the front-desk guy.

Stepping in, he hit the button marked PH and looked up at the line of numbers over the doors. With a series of discreet dings, the progress up the middle of the old building was slow and steady.

His temper rose as well.

There were mirrors all over the inside of the elevator, and he avoided looking at himself. He didn’t want to think about anything other than giving Devina a very clear message—and the sight of his face with the stubble and the exhaustion was too much a reminder of how close to the bone he was.

Shifting his eyes even higher, so he was looking at the ornate wood carvings on the ceiling, he muttered, “Nigel, you’d better come through for me.”

With one final ding, things bumped to a halt and the doors opened soundlessly. The hallway beyond was done in the same somber gold-and-maroon stuff as the lobby, the carpet all swirls, the walls striped, the fixtures crystal.

He could give a shit.

Down at the far end, he curled up a fist and banged on the door loudly.

With a click, the thing unlocked and opened on its own. The room beyond with its sleek furniture, built-in bar and view over the river was lit by candles that flickered. R & B bumped through hidden speakers and some kind of sultry, just-out-of-the-bath scent was thick in the air.

And there she was.

The demon was sitting in a chair completely naked, her legs pulling a Sharon Stone as she lounged back and felt up her own breasts.

“Miss me,” she drawled.

He kicked the door shut. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Waiting for you to come over here and give me a proper hello. Preferably with some penetration.” One of her hands drifted down between her legs. “I’m waiting.”

“You need to back the fuck off from Sissy.”

The demon exhaled a curse. “Her again. Look, Jim, there’s no reason to pretend. It’s not like Adrian’s here. Or that little idiot girl.”

He stalked over to the evil, but didn’t get too close. “You don’t want to push me on this. Sissy is off-limits.”

Devina closed her knees. Then crossed her legs. “Is she. Since when do you set the rules.”

“You want to come at me, fine. But leave her alone.”

The demon burst up to her feet and paraded over to the bar, her sky-high red pumps clipping across the marble, going silent on the area rugs.

“You are a real asshole, Jim.” She made work out of pouring clear liquid from a silver shaker into a martini glass. The olive she tossed in was army green. “You think I’m evil? What do you call a man who’s unfaithful right in front of his lover’s face, huh?”

He laughed with a hard edge. “Like you and I are fucking dating.”

“We are in a relationship.”

“You’re insane. I mean, like, really—you are frickin’ crazy.”

Devina went quiet and wasted some time taking a long sip off the knife-edge-sharp rim of the glass. Her glittering black eyes stayed on him the whole time.

“I had other plans for us tonight,” she murmured, “but I guess we’re going to have to do this the hard way.”

“If you’re talking about sex, that ain’t happening.”

“You’ve said that before.” Her tone was bored as she put her glass down and came around the bar. “I just want you to know that this is all your fault.”

“Excuse me? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“This is all on you.” Over at the silk-covered sofa, she bent down and started rifling through a big-ass black handbag. “Ah, yes, here it is.”

When she turned around to him, she was holding up … a Mercedes hood ornament and a kitchen knife.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded.

“You don’t recognize this?” She put the circle with its three-part division forward. “It’s from my car.”

“So go give it to your mechanic. Why do I care?”

“You are seriously underwhelming right now, you know that.” She went back over to the bar and put the thing into an ashtray. “Don’t you remember the other night?”

“Sorry. I’ve been busy trying to forget every second I’ve spent in your presence.”

She closed her eyes as if her chest hurt. But then she seemed to refocus. “You and I had one of our tiffs and I got a little aggressive with my car.”

“You tried to mow me over.”

“Yes, I did. And as it so happens, you were kind enough to leave me a little souvenir.”

Warning bells started ringing in his head as he put two and two together and came up with a whole lot of fuck-him.

But it was too late.

“And this has proved to be really handy already.”

Before he could react in any kind of proactive way, she poured some alcohol on top of the silver metal piece and spit a ball of flame at it.

Instantly, he was on fire. Even as his skin remained intact, he felt the burning down to his bones, the pain incapacitating him and sending him down onto the fake Oriental.

“You see, Jim, I’m not the one who made Sissy a part of this. The Creator did. So it’s not my fault and it’s nothing you can change.”

Writhing into a tight ball, he found no relief and so he straightened out, trying to ease the agony. In the end, all he could do was grit his teeth and try not to scream, especially as she came over, those two blood-colored stillies stopping right next to his face.

Kneeling down, she brushed some of her long hair back and put the ashtray on the floor next to him.

If he could only reach—

“Oh, no,” she said, pulling the fire out of range. “No, this is my toy. Just as you are.”

Like the sick bitch she was, she started to finger herself as she watched him suffer, going so far as to lie out beside him, her perfect breasts heaving, her body undulating as she masturbated on the rug while he grunted and cursed in pain. And then just before she orgasmed, she grabbed for his dick, stroking at him like that was going to turn him on or some shit. Weakened by the agony, dizzy from the pain, he couldn’t make his arms and legs coordinated enough to get her off him.

As she came, she said his name at the top of her lungs—almost like she was pissing on a post and hoping Sissy would magically hear her.

And then there was a moment of her just easing on back and staring at him like he was dessert. Whatever, he was about to pass out as she put her arm over her face like she couldn’t believe how fucking good that had been.

Shit, it was his only chance, and he jerked in the direction of the ashtray.

“Not for you,” she said with a smile. “No, no, that’s mine.”

Puckering her lips, she leaned down to the flames … and blew them out on a oner.

The relief was instantaneous, the burning draining out of his body the second there was nothing but a tendril of smoke over the Mercedes emblem. Except damage had been done. Even though his skin wasn’t hanging in ribbons off of him, he was burn-victim out of it, his limbs jerking spastically, his vision going in and out of focus.

“Oh, Jim, I love you.”

The tone in her delusional fucking voice was as if he’d just given her a set of pearls and a mink coat—as opposed to having gone third-degree as she YouPorn’d herself.

He was dimly aware as she sat up and fluffed her hair back into place. “So this thing gives me a lot of control over you. It’s how I made it into your bed at your house, you know. Such a shame the way that turned out—although I’m not sure I could have kept the lie up as you fucked Sissy’s body. Anywho…” She picked up the ashtray and then looked around. “This is going to take care of everything.”

Stretching an arm out, she pulled a Kleenex free of a box on the coffee table.

“I know better than to think you’re going to stand still for this, so I’m just going to take a little precaution here.” Bringing the tissue to her mouth, she spoke into the thing, then blew across the fibers once, twice … three times. “There we go.”

The instant she covered the hood ornament with the Kleenex, a huge weight settled over him, immobilizing his already weak body, keeping him down on the floor—even though ostensibly there was nothing on him.

Devina put the ashtray on the coffee table and looked down at him. “Where’s your phone, Jim?”

There was no way of answering the question, as he couldn’t open his mouth or use his tongue. The only thing he seemed capable of doing was breathing—that and having a pulse.

“I’ll just have to pat you down.”

She straddled him in those high heels and bent over him, her full breasts swaying as she ran her hands down his entire body—not just around the pockets of the jeans he’d changed into.

“No phone, damn it. But this … I think it’s best that I take your little knife. Just in case.”

With a flourish, she unsheathed his crystal dagger from where he’d tucked it into the small of his back. Bringing the weapon up to his face, she smiled like a shark.

“Were you planning on using this against me? Shit, I should have kept my bra and panties on and you could have cut them off me. That would have been hot.”

All he could do was blink, but the hatred curling in his gut must have shown, because she pulled that bullcrap pout routine of hers. “Oh, come on, Jim—we have to keep things spicy in the bedroom. It makes couples closer. I read about it in an article that was forwarded around Facebook.”

Jesus fucking Christ, the bitch was—

“Okay, so no phone—any chance you left it with your girl? Because that would be so damned convenient, you have no idea.”