My Funny Demon Valentine (Hell Bent #1)

Chapter 4

4

T h ere Are N o N ice Guys i n H ell

S he saw through the curse. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“How? What did she say?” Belial’s expression was intense, but it was hard to take him seriously at the moment. He currently stood in front of the stove in their new kitchen wearing an apron, spatula in hand, flipping pancakes. A bottle of pure Quebecois maple syrup and a block of butter waited by the already-cooked stack nearby.

Asmodeus shrugged. “She told me she was attracted to me.”

Bel still looked dubious, not that Ash blamed him. He’d felt exactly the same way. “What did she say?”

“She said I was the ‘hottest guy’”—he made little finger quotes—“she’d ever seen. She said she was so attracted to me, she ‘couldn’t keep it in her pants.’”

Bel burst out laughing. The fucker threw his head back and roared with laughter.

Ash cocked a brow, crossing his arms and leaning a shoulder against the wall, waiting for Bel’s little episode to pass. His casual act was all bullshit, though. He was trying to be cool about it, but in truth, he was climbing the walls, dying to get close to Eva again.

A week had passed since they’d met, and he’d spent every second of it waiting for them to get settled enough that it was safe to call her. They’d finished the wards last night. It was time. Finally.

“Damn!” Bel wheezed through dying chuckles. “She must really have seen you, then. But how?”

That was the million-dollar question. His brothers could only see him because they weren’t attracted to him, thank god. It was only potential sexual partners that looked at him like a piece of old drywall.

Except Eva hadn’t. Eva was attracted to him.

Oh, the things he wanted to do to her... He’d been up every night for the last week imagining it in detail. It wasn’t like he’d been celibate since he’d been cursed—he was a demon, thank you very much—but his sexual partners hadn’t exactly been passionate participants. In fact, his sex life was so stark and dissatisfying, he was surprised there wasn’t a special corner of Hell reserved for torturing people with his exact circumstance.

Then again, maybe there was. It wasn’t like he knew everything that went on in the Nine Rings where the souls of the damned were kept.

“It could be a trap,” Bel said. “I hate to go there, but it has to be said.”

“I know.”

“It’s the most logical explanation.” Bel flipped a pancake, focused on his breakfast endeavors. There was just something wrong with seeing a guy that enormous hunched over a stove, and yet it was his favorite place to be. “Trick us by sending the gargoyles—make us think that was their first, feeble effort so we let our guard down. But then this sweet little piece of ass creeps in on the side and lures you away.”

“Trust me, I’ve thought of all that.”

In the last week, they’d come across two more gargoyles before they’d finally nailed down a place to live and put the wards up, making them untraceable while they were within them. The Sheolic sigils drawn in blood all over the whitewashed walls sure looked macabre, but if they kept them hidden, they were worth it.

Their grungy four-bedroom apartment was in a rundown area several blocks from the hipper neighborhoods, so they hadn’t had much trouble bribing the landlord to ignore the paperwork.

They had plenty of cash—it was easy to exchange their wealth into Earth currencies at the underworld Blood Market—but they’d chosen to hunker down in this dump instead of choosing a more predictable option. Like, say, the swankiest house they could find with a ten-car garage and swimming pool. No one would believe four demons of the Order of Thrones would settle for such squalid living conditions.

“You admit it could be a trap.” Bel flipped another pancake. “Are you sure you should call her?”

Asmodeus cocked a brow. How to explain the lengths he was willing to go to have sex with a woman who was actually attracted to him? He decided there was no way to convey his desperation without embarrassing himself. “What do you think?”

Bel scooped a pancake up, tossed it on the plate, and then shot a glance at Ash. He snorted at whatever look he saw there. “Yeah, I get it. I’d probably do the same.” He waved the spatula. “Go on, get out of here. Be home by midnight or you’re grounded.”

“What?”

“Kidding, jackass. Been waiting for you to make some mom joke since you caught me in my apron, but since you didn’t, I had to make one myself.”

“Well, it was terrible. Almost as terrible as seeing you in that apron.”

“Get out of my sight before I spank you with this spatula.”

Ash headed down the hall to his bedroom, calling out, “Save me some pancakes.”

In truth, he didn’t give a shit about pancakes, but he pretended to solely because he wanted to encourage Belial’s culinary passions. It was a weird and gross feeling.

“When are you going to learn to cook your own damn meals?” Bel called back. “That’s what I want to know.”

“You love cooking.”

“Not for you, asshole.”

Ash snorted, closing the door behind him. That was a load of crap, and they both knew it. Demons didn’t need to eat unless they wanted to indulge for enjoyment’s sake, and as far as Ash was concerned, there was nothing enjoyable about cooking. If eating meant cooking first, he’d happily go without. Especially because, thanks to his curse, food tasted like nothing. He only ate to appease Belial when he wanted them to eat together like a nice little fucking family.

Ash scooped up his shiny new cell phone from the upside-down milk crate that was his nightstand and flopped on his back onto the rock-hard mattress on the floor that was his bed.

His room was a shithole—their whole flat was. The window was small and ugly, the hardwood flooring needed replacing twenty years ago, and none of the walls were straight. Besides the milk crate and his bed, there was only enough room for a dresser and a small desk jammed into the far corner. At least there was fresh paint on the walls, though they’d gone and ruined that with the wards.

Ignoring his drab surroundings, he searched his memory for the number he’d been given at the nightclub and typed it into his phone. Then, he hovered his thumb over the green “call” button, feeling indecisive.

Yeah, he wanted to get laid, and he hadn’t come close to forgetting the sultry Eva and the way she’d responded to his kiss, but he’d also been killing gargoyles and trying to lay low all week, and he really didn’t need any more complications. His idiot brothers were enough.

Meph was unhinged, Raum was a broody motherfucker, and though Bel managed to keep in line most of the time, he had serious anger-management issues that could blow up at the drop of a hat.

Ash seemed to be the only one of his brothers that could talk Bel down from the edge and keep his own emotions in check. That meant he often ended up taking charge, not that he wanted to, and he’d kind of fallen into a pattern of being the reliable, dependable guy who didn’t do stupid shit and was always there to bail out his brothers when they inevitably did.

Fuck that , he decided. He wasn’t going to be that guy. In Hell, there were no such things as nice guys. Nice guys were dead guys. And Ash wasn’t fucking nice. He was just bored and boring because he’d been cursed, and his job sucked, and he was sick to death of doing the same damn thing day after day, year after year, millennium after millennium.

His thumb smacked that call button like an act of defiance to his old, mediocre existence, and he held the phone up to his ear and dared Eva not to answer it.

She wasn’t going to get away from him again. Not until he’d had his fill of her.

Eva scooped honey from the jar into her mug and stirred diligently while Thelonious wound around her legs, making sure he covered every inch of her pants in cat hair.

“You need to use self-control, Skye. You’ve got to make him wait.”

Her best friend sprawled on the couch across the room and sighed dramatically. “But he was so hot, Eva.”

“The jerks always are.”

“I thought for sure he’d call, and damn it, he gave me, like, three orgasms first. How could I refuse? It’s not my fault I love sex.”

She scooped more honey into Skye’s cup and stirred that in too. “I don’t blame you. Women have needs too. I’m just saying, men are predictable. If you want him to stick around, you’ve got to make him work for it. If he’s in it just to get laid, he’ll give up, and you’ll be glad you didn’t waste your time.”

Skye sighed again. “I’ve never been good at restraint.”

Poor Skye was the most impulsive person Eva knew, and she had a sex drive to rival any man’s. And she was beautiful too, to top it off, with olive skin and sleek, dark hair.

The problem was, she had terrible taste in men and was also searching for real love. Not a great combination.

“I think you need to learn how to look but not touch,” Eva suggested. “Every time you see a guy you like, you go wild. You should try just... enjoying him a little, without screwing his brains out on the first date.”

“You know what? You’re right.” Skye jerked upright on the sofa. “I’m swearing off men.”

Eva snorted and kept stirring the tea. “Yeah, for how long? Until next week?”

“Shut up! No. For six months.”

Eva’s brows climbed her forehead. “That’ll be a new record for you.”

“You don’t think I can do it?” Skye got that glint in her eyes that meant she was determined. And when she really made up her mind to do something, she damn well did it. It was one of the things Eva loved about her.

“Six months, no men,” she declared. “I will sign a contract in blood if that’s what it takes to make you believe me.”

“I believe you, but it might be fun to—”

Eva’s phone rang, buzzing around on the kitchen counter beside the kettle. Her ringtone was Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony because that infamous “dun dun dun dunnn ” was a pretty accurate representation of how she felt every time she got a phone call. Seriously, who called anyone anymore? It was way too personal.

She glanced at the screen and saw a number she didn’t recognize. Even worse.

“Who is it?”

“Dunno.”

“Answer it, dummy.”

Eva made a face at Skye but answered the call. “Hello?”

“Eva?”

“Who is this?”

“Ash. We met at the club last week.”

She froze, dropping the spoon she hadn’t realized she was holding. It clattered as it hit the countertop, and her heart pounded. What should she do? Should she hang up? Change her phone number? Flee the country?

She remembered her mom’s plan: go out with him, drill him with questions, see if he seemed suspicious. A week had gone by, and she still hadn’t decided whether she’d hallucinated or not, nor had she stopped obsessing about it. As the days passed, that night felt more and more surreal, until even her DJ set felt like a dream. Until this moment, she’d started to doubt Ash was even real.

“Are you still there?”

“Uh, hey, yeah, sorry.” The palm gripping the phone was suddenly clammy with sweat. Skye was frowning at her from the sofa.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay. I meant to call earlier, but I’ve been... held up.”

“Oh, um, I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry I had to leave you outside the club like that.”

“It’s okay. Did you...” What, was she going to ask him if he’d turned red, sprouted horns, and decapitated a monster? “Did anything happen?”

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

Okay, that was cryptic. But if he really had done those things, he wasn’t likely to tell her about it, was he? “Oh, good. Cool.”

“I didn’t call sooner because I had some shit I needed to sort out. Like I said, I’m new here. We were looking for a safe place to hi— live. But we found one.”

“Oh, I’m glad.”

“Yeah. Listen, do you still want to show me that jazz club? Now that I’m more settled, I’ve been thinking I’d like to get out to see some music.”

Bat Wings wanted to meet at Bootleg. Slits Throats of Gargoyles wanted to get out to see some music. “Um...”

“If you don’t want to, it’s fine. Maybe you could tell me the name of the bar so I can go by myself.”

“You’d just go by yourself?”

“Sure. Or is that abnormal behavior?”

“Uh...” Damn, she’d forgotten how weird he was.

She remembered her mom’s advice yet again. Bootleg was always packed and everyone there knew her by name from working at the bar and jamming on stage. She would be safe, surrounded by people she trusted. What better place to take Ash for questioning to figure out if she’d lost her mind?

“Let’s do it,” she decided. “The bar’s called Bootleg. The jam is Thursday night. Meet me there at ten.”

She hung up a moment later and met Skye’s stare. “Um, who was that?”

Eva winced. She wasn’t ready to tell Skye about Ash until she figured out whether he was a wet dream come to life or a winged, horned beast man.

“I... met a guy last week.”

Predictably, Skye’s eyes lit up. “Who is he? Where did you—”

“It’s still new,” she said quickly. “If the date goes well, then I’ll tell you all about him. How’s that?”

Skye stuck her lower lip out. “Fine.”

“Are you working at Bootleg this Thursday?” Please say no, please say no.

“No, but now I wish I was. I want to meet him.”

It was time for a subject change. Scooping up their mugs, Eva deftly avoided Thelonious and then sank onto the couch beside Skye. She passed her friend her tea, set her own on the end table, and picked up her laptop and headphones from the coffee table.

“Enough about men. I want your opinion on the new track I wrote for my set.” She snapped her headphones over Skye’s ears and hit play on the track, taking it as a good sign when Skye’s eyes closed and her head bobbed.

“This is good!” she yelled, palms pushing the headphones tighter to her head, grinning broadly.

Eva laughed. “No need to shout, but thanks.”

“What!”

“I said no need to shout!”

“I can’t hear you over the music! It’s really good, Eva!”

Eva chuckled and sipped her tea.