Mammon (Devilry #2)

20. Beelzebub

TWENTY

BEELZEBUB

Luc’s stare drills a hole in the side of my head.

I sigh dramatically, turning to him. “You’re not being subtle, you know? Out with it.”

Luc shrugs, taking a bite—because he really is a fucking lunatic—of his ice cream. We’re walking side-by-side down the abandoned streets of Juniper Ridge. I’m not one to go out without Gore and Levi is practically tethered to Luc’s side, but we’ve both found ourselves without our better halves. Gore’s still recovering from a marathon of fucking last night and Mammon needed Levi to do something for him. While I was reluctant to venture too far away from Gore, Luc needed some outside time. Something about the sun and snow and their health benefits.

Whatever .

He’s currently munching on his second cone of ice cream, silently judging me. I haven’t touched mine because I’m too twisted up inside to find my appetite. After I throw him another glare, he relents. “Fine. You seem a bit sad for someone whose dream came true.”

I raise an eyebrow. “How do you know my dream came true?”

“Really?” He snorts, shaking his head. “Bel, I’ve literally heard you say the words, ‘my dream is to have Mammon fuck the life out of Gore and I.’”

I narrow my eyes. “Touche.”

“It’s not like it’s a secret. Gore’s been running around the house screaming about the prowess of Mammon’s mighty cock. His words, not mine.” He nudges his shoulder against mine. “But I have a feeling you’re holding something back.”

Damn Luc and his perceptiveness. He’s the only one of us who’s even remotely sane and he uses that to his advantage far too often. “Fine, but you have to promise not to tell anybody.”

“I’m going to tell Levi,” he says bluntly, not even bothering to lie. Fucking good Samaritan over here. When I gape at him, he shrugs. “It’s not as if anything I say doesn’t get back to Gore.”

I admit defeat. “You have a point.” He leads us over to a bench at the edge of the sidewalk and we both sit. “If you must know, I have my doubts about this whole Mammon thing.”

“Really?” His eyebrows rise to his hairline. “I would have thought you’d be all over it.”

“And I was,” I insist, picking at the crust of my cone, “but when he hurt Gore…”

He nods in understanding. “That changed things for you, didn’t it?”

It changed more than I can even describe. While Mammon says he’s sorry and while it appears like he actually means it, I still have my worries. He treats us like treasures when we’re in bed together and he’s never rude or unnecessarily mean, but he’s not letting us in. I thought that once we shared such an important moment together after the hangings that things would be different, but they’re not. They’re better, sure, but it still feels like he’s holding something back.

“Have you talked to him about it?” Luc asks. “Maybe a simple conversion is all that’s needed?”

I snort. “Have you tried having a simple conversation with Mammon?” I shake my head at his ridiculousness. “Besides, when have any of us ever been the poster people for healthy relationships?”

“Hey!” he whines, clutching tightly at his cone. “Levi and I?—”

“Have matching suicide scars? Built your relationship off of Stockholm Syndrome? Like fucking next to dead bodies?”

He pales and drops his head. “Okay, okay. You have a point, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. How do you expect to change things if you don’t say anything?”

I really don’t know. That’s what has me frustrated. I can’t shake the feeling that Mammon is only half-sincere; that he wants to be there for us and that he wants to open up but just can’t. I’m growing tired of always being the one to push, always being the one to get shit done, always being the one to chase. I love Gore with every part of me and I love Mammon like he’s my second skin, but for once, I want to be able to just…relax.

Luc senses my conflict, the war in my head, and places his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Bel. Maybe I’m wrong and he just needs time. He’s been really stressed lately and everyone can tell.”

“Has he said anything to you about it?” I question, feeling a sudden bout of jealousy. “What has he said to you?”

He raises his hands defensively. “Nothing, but, come on, you’re telling me that he’s perfectly okay?”

No, I can’t say that. He’s always working, always in his office, and barely sleeping. There’s been times when I wake up in the middle of the night, reach for his warm body, and find nothing there. He carries a tense weight on his shoulders, making him look like he’s perpetually on guard. He hasn’t even been attending family dinners and movie nights.

“But does that mean I should cut him some slack?” I question. “Things get hard for everyone.”

Luc chuckles. “Um, Bel, I think this particular situation might require some grace. How many people try to take over an entire island?”

I understand that, but what’s it all for? Were our lives really that bad before he went rogue and killed Master? I don’t understand the point of all this because he won’t fucking tell us. I know I’m being stubborn, but I’m not just going to roll over. Somebody needs to protect Gore, and I… Well, it doesn’t matter what I need because that always comes second.

“Why don’t we head back home?” I suggest, tossing my dripping cone into the trash beside me. “Gore must be awake by now and wondering where I am.”

Luc nods, getting up with me. “Okay. Let me just?—”

But his words are cut off when he projectile-vomits on my face.

I want to gasp, but it’s all over on my lips. I wipe it off hastily, irritation and worry flaring in my gut. “What the fuck— Luc!”

When he collapses onto the ground, I fall with him. I’m on my knees, horror-stricken as all color drains from his face. I roll him onto his side so he doesn’t choke on his own vomit, but when he starts to convulse, I panic. I don’t have a phone—I don’t even know how to use one—and I can do nothing but watch him wheeze and twitch.

“What do I do?” I scream, whipping my head in each direction, trying to see if there’s someone who can help. “Luc? Luc!”

When his eyes start to flutter shut, something in me snaps back to attention. Luc’s bigger than I am, but it’s like a mom lifting a car off of her baby. Tucking my arms under his body, I heft him against my chest. I run as best as I can to the car, getting vomit and other bodily fluids on me, but I don’t stop.

Leaning him against the car, I dig through his pockets for the keys and unlock the doors. I should be gentle, but I’m too freaked out to worry about how he hits his head on the window when I practically throw him into the car. I run to the other side, hopping into the driver’s seat and?—

Shit! I don’t know how to fucking drive!

I send a prayer to whatever cosmic source is listening and turn on the ignition.

Luc won’t die on my watch.