The violent ear-smashing riffs of the thrash metal band Evile scream through the cheap speakers, and the tables vibrate against the black painted concrete floor as I cross the empty dance floor. A few greasy metalheads pound their fists in time to the beat. Even rougher than I remember. The cab driver was right. The place has gone downhill.

“We don’t do girly drinks,” the bartender snarls before I even open my mouth. Big, burly, and bald, he looks like the bouncer’s twin brother but with an overabundance of facial hair and an extra few rolls around the gut.

“Good thing I don’t drink girly drinks.” I place my white beaded clutch on the bar. “Vodka straight up.”

He pours. I pay. He pours again. I pay again.

“Is Dave working tonight? Or Stella?” I don’t recognize any of the staff, readily identifiable as denizens of the underground in their black T-shirts with a red devil logo emblazoned across the front.

“Don’t know Dave or Stella. The bar has been under new management for the last year. They mighta got booted out when the place changed hands.”

A scuffle breaks out in the corner, and a tall Goth crashes backward into a table only to be manhandled out the door by one of the bouncers. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. “The atmosphere has certainly changed.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “So, you a good girl lookin’ for a bad boy? Rebelling against your parents? Wanting to walk on the wild side?”

“None of the above.”

“So what’s the story?”

“Story is…she’s with me.” A leather-clad arm slides around my waist, and I look over my shoulder to find myself pressed tight against the Devil himself.

Tall and slim, his black hair slicked against his head, my new friend has the unnaturally pale skin and sharp, cruel features of a comic book villain. His eyes are dark, rimmed in red, and his mouth a thin slash between hollow cheeks. Despite his slender frame, he is surprisingly strong and I cannot pull away.

He presses his lips to my ear and nibbles the shell.

Clearly, there is no wasting time in the new Hellhole. No coy looks, brushed fingers, winks, or bad lines. No flirting over drinks or surreptitious feel-ups on the dance floor. See a girl you want to f**k—grab her. Nibble her ear. I can hardly wait to see what’s next. Is he going to bend me over the stool and have his way with me right here? Will he do for the night’s tickle and tease?

“Name’s Bob,” he murmurs.

Dear Lord. The Devil’s name is Bob. Well, better the Devil you know than the Devil you don’t.

“Hi, Bob.”

“You’ve attracted a lot of attention, Angel. We don’t often get your type in here.”

More nibbles. Maybe I should give him some cheese. Unfortunately, I don’t need nibbles. I need dark and dangerous. I need rough, meaningless sex with a man who doesn’t give a f**k about me and will walk away in the morning without so much as a good-bye. I want to hurt on the outside as much as I hurt on the inside.

“Good attention or bad attention…Bob?” I manage to say this in a sultry, non-laughing voice.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m the only attention you’re gonna get tonight.” He trails his lips down my neck and bites the sensitive area near my shoulder.

Ah, Bob has bite. Nice. A little bite is just what I need.

But nice quickly transitions into uncomfortable when Bob doesn’t stop at a love bite. His teeth dig in harder until pleasure gives way to pain and a frisson of fear shoots through my body.

“Let go.” I try to pull away but Bob tightens his grip.

“This a game for you, Angel? You picked the wrong place to play. We don’t like c**k teases here.”

Suddenly I don’t want to be in Hell. The lights are too dim, the air too smoky, the music too loud. And Bob is a little too extreme, even for me.

I twist in Bob’s grasp, but before I can escape, he yanks my hair, tugging my head sideways to expose the unmarked side of my neck. My pulse takes off down the speedway. God, what a mistake. I should be home in bed, waiting for my kinky friend with benefits to show up with his medical bag full of sanitized sex toys, not offering myself up for feeding time at the zoo.

“Stop.” I stomp my stiletto on his instep and Bob releases me with a howl.

“Fucking bitch.”

My breath leaves me in a rush. Ice floods my veins. Bob’s mouth is still moving but I can’t hear him for the pounding of blood in my ears.

Grabbing my purse off the bar, I edge back toward the rear exit door and give the bartender a beseeching look. He snorts a laugh and walks away muttering, “Good girl just found herself a bad boy.”

Taking another step back, I hold up my hands, palms forward. “Look, Bob…I think we’ve had a misunderstanding.”

“You paid your entrance fee, Angel. It’s my job to make sure you have a good time, unless you got something extra in that fancy purse to buy yourself some time alone.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “You’re the owner?”

He lifts a thin, black eyebrow and smiles.

Is that a yes or a no? I can’t tell and at this moment, I don’t care.

Pulse racing, mouth dry, legs trembling, I glance quickly at the sea of tables, chairs, metalheads, and Goths in front of me. A few of them are looking at us. Surely, they aren’t just going to sit around and watch me get robbed or assaulted. Or maybe that’s what they do for entertainment in Hellhole.