Chapter 22 #2
Zephyr stood, a little shaky, but I stretched out my arm to block his exit.
“Stay,” I said, then cursed the way I sounded like a dog trainer myself.
He hesitated, visibly torn, and the guilt of realization churned in my gut.
I left him like this. I allowed this.
In the silence, Maslow growled. “Don’t go forcing my boy to choose his master. I don’t think you’ll like what he decides.”
I whirled toward the wraith. “Does he have a choice? I don’t see it.”
Maslow’s lips took on a wicked curve. “Of course, you’d recognize a deal.”
“A shitty one,” I retorted. “What does he owe you?”
“Gratitude,” Maslow replied, going for innocent and missing by a mile.
So I corrected him. “Servitude.”
I knew this game. Maslow was trafficking demons straight out of Hell, trading a life topside for indentured work in this club—and the next.
Not if I could help it.
Zephyr settled back into his seat, seemingly less making a choice and more not trusting his legs to hold him. He’d barely sat down when Maslow targeted him with another pointed finger.
“Don’t get sentimental because he makes your dick hard.” The wraith’s finger was pointed at Zephyr, but his scorn was for me. “He’s livestock. They all are. I move them in, house them, feed them, and they get to stay as long as I see fit.”
My blood boiled, and my glamor threatened to fail again. I was smaller in this human body. I looked weaker, but the primal part of me wanted to remind Maslow who was the lesser being in this room.
“It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” the wraith continued. “Like I said, there’s a line of sinners queued through all seven layers of Hades waiting for the opportunity I give. They love it here.”
“Do they?” I edged closer to his desk until I was pressed against it, looming over where he sat like a bloated king sunk deep in his throne. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks more like a cage. Are you sure they’re not just playing along because they don’t have a way out?”
Can’t leave the club, Zephyr told me. No farther than the parking lot.
I could open the door. Hell, I’d been opening the damn door for Zephyr for weeks, and I wanted nothing more than to kick it wide and leave it that way. Steal him away from this place. Give him the world that looked so much grander through his eyes.
Maslow still hadn’t tallied the cost of my transgressions, but that was fine because I had the feeling he was about to add a couple of zeros for my next request.
“Tell you what.” I tapped my money clip against the desk. “While you’re tallying up my tab, why don’t you also figure out what it’ll cost to let Zephyr walk out of here with me—for the day?”
Behind me, Zephyr sucked a sharp breath while the wraith frowned like he didn’t understand the question. I thought it was pretty fucking clear.
“Just today?” Maslow asked.
“And tonight,” I added. “I’ll bring him back tomorrow.”
I stepped back and watched the wheels turn. He said he wanted more than money from me, but there wasn’t a thing in Hell or on Earth that couldn’t be given a price tag.
“Let’s see,” the wraith mused. He pulled a ledger book out of his desk drawer along with a pen, then he started scribbling notes. “How many fucks do you think you could fit in twenty-four hours?”
“Just give me a number,” I growled.
Maslow paused in his writing and glanced at me without raising his head.
“You know, Fairmont might be worth twenty-four hours. Hell, you could have my little spider for the weekend. Rub your dick raw in his tight ass. I bet he feels like a dream.” The words oozed out, slimy enough to make me cringe.
I slid over, positioning my body between the wraith and where Zephyr sat. Becoming a shield between my incubus and Maslow’s verbal barbs. I wanted to protect him. Needed to.
“You’re serious?” Maslow stared at me a moment more, then pushed back to open the desk drawer and rummage again while muttering, “I’m gonna need my calculator for this.”
Keys tapped, and the total climbed. After a few seconds, he spun the adding machine toward me. It was a lot of zeros, all right.
“Twenty grand,” Maslow announced the number on the digital display. “That’s on top of the ten you racked up in your limo. And my bathroom.”
I thought I heard another hiccupped breath from Zephyr, but I carried on past it, plucking a check from my money clip and smoothing it on the desk.
“Done,” I declared.
The pen Maslow had been writing with lay on top of his ledger book, and I snatched it, using it to fill out the check for a staggering thirty thousand dollars.
How many singles’ cruises could I get for that?
While Maslow watched, his beady eyes bulged. “Damn, Beckett, how deep are your pockets?”
After scrawling my signature on the bottom corner, I pocketed my money clip, then shoved the check toward Maslow and sent the pen skittering along behind. “Are we done here?”
I didn’t wait for his confirmation to turn toward Zephyr, who sat huddled and trembling. I wanted to take him in my arms and carry him out of here, but not with the wraith looking on. So instead, I offered my hand to help him stand.
Maslow lurched from his desk chair. “Now, now, don’t rush off. For that kind of expense, you deserve a receipt. One you can sign.”
He turned the ledger toward me, and I scanned the words written.
10 Limo Orgasms
1 Bathroom Fuck
24-Hour Incubus Rental
$30,000
It should have been comedic, but all I felt was blinding fury.
Maslow had turned a “receipt” into a contract with his name penned at the top and a space at the bottom for mine.
It would settle my debt, but it also ensured I would have Zephyr back at the designated time.
Savvy of him, because I was already scheming how to wrest my incubus from his clutches for good.
I read the note again, then asked Maslow, “My word’s not enough for you?”
He nudged the pen toward me. “Twenty-four hours, Mister Beckett. I won’t bother with the fine print because I don’t give a shit what you do to him as long as he’s back before the club opens tomorrow night.”
Nothing about this had gone according to plan. I had answers, but I hated them. Just like I hated putting my name on the half-assed contract that turned Zephyr into Cinderella, due to be returned before the clock struck midnight. Or tomorrow afternoon about two.
In the end, I signed the damned thing and threw the pen down before turning to Zephyr.
“Let’s go.”
I rushed him toward the door, but not quickly enough to miss Maslow’s parting words.
“Maybe you can rent him out on the Strip!” the wraith called out. “Might turn a profit on the whole thing!”
The demon in me rebelled once more, but I kept it contained. I held myself together because Maslow didn’t deserve the satisfaction of watching me unravel. He’d already seen through me too easily.
Thundering down the spiral staircase, I ushered Zephyr toward the front door. No need to slink or hide this time, though I wasn’t quite ready to hold my head high. I’d just bought a man. Rented him like a sports car I was taking out for a joyride. And I’d played directly into Maslow’s hands.
If this was a game, he was winning—for now.