Chapter Twenty Lucifer
Chapter Twenty
Lucifer
I hate events like this. The lie of human civility. By my hand, half the people in this ballroom could collapse as they choke on the excess drinks they consume, and it would do nothing to tarnish their image of me. So long as I behave as they expect.
I am the monster they made me, after all.
I sip my whisky, not bothering to hide my disinterest as one of the foundation’s many donors drones on about the generous donation she gave. It’s gauche, really.
The celestial chandeliers cast a starlit glow over the guests. The clink of fine china and the constant hum of conversation mixed with the venue music fills my ears. Every wealthy human donor in this room believes they can buy my favor. Purchase their way out of Hell. A fake escape from their own guilt. From their fear of me.
Funny that it’s not me who sends them there.
My attention wanders, and my eyes find Charlotte easily. She’s standing on the far side of the ballroom, conversing with another one of the donors, and thanks to the bit of magic Sophie and Xzander worked this evening, she truly is the most beautiful woman in the room.
My brother stands beside her, along with whoever the poor soul is that’s currently on his arm. Suddenly, Azmodeus leans over and whispers something that’s no doubt salacious into Charlotte’s ear, and she smiles coyly.
A flash of rage sparks in me.
I may have my doubts as to whether Azmodeus orchestrated whatever this little situation is between Charlotte and me, or the media chaos of Paris Starr’s murder, but, like it or not, Charlotte is mine , and I won’t hesitate to destroy him and half this godforsaken city if Azmodeus doesn’t swiftly remove his hand from her—
“She’s lovely, you know.”
The voice comes from behind me, interrupting my train of thought.
I turn to find my sister grinning at me.
“Your human, I mean.” She nods toward Charlotte.
I quickly wave away the donors as I turn toward her. “Greed.”
She preens a little at the old name, the pride she takes in it a welcome offering to me, before she steps closer, placing a hand on my arm. “Come now, Lucifer, you know I’ve always preferred when you call me by my childhood nickname. It makes us feel more like a real family.”
A real family? I nearly scoff.
Neither of us has ever known such a thing.
I glance over my sister’s voluptuous form. In an emerald-green dress that leaves little to the imagination and barely covers her generous tits, she’s come a long way from the neglected cherub she used to be, and she wears her confidence tonight beautifully.
“Mimi doesn’t exactly suit you these days.” I take another sip of my drink.
“Perhaps you’re right. Too diminutive.” She waves a hand. “Fine. Mammon, then.” She takes my arm in hers, and I allow her to turn us so that Charlotte is in our line of sight once more.
Mammon signals to one of the waiters carrying a tray of canapés.
The waiter hops to and quickly extends the silver tray toward her. She snatches the last prosciutto-wrapped date from the plate and pops it into her mouth, making a delighted, unapologetic noise before brazenly licking her fingers.
“Fetch more of those,” she orders the waiter.
Mammon delights in everything, her lifestyle an homage to her true purpose.
It’s why, despite dipping her plump fingers into a little of everything, from our brothers’ businesses to the fossil fuel industry, she’s made such a name for herself with her lifestyle branding. More is better, after all. As the only female among us, the masses both adore and hate her. She and her plus-size figure are a regular media controversy. Because what she sells is an excess of commercial hedonism wrapped in a fantasy of treat-yourself self-love. All of which she’s convinced her many followers is necessary, of course.
“Z outdid himself this time, truly,” she says of her twin, licking her lips before she turns her attention back toward Charlotte and me. “So, tell me, brother, is it true? Are you really in love with that little snack of a human?” Her gaze flits over Charlotte appreciatively. “She’s adorable. I might have had her for myself if you hadn’t already called dibsies.”
“We’re madly in love,” I say flatly.
“Are you?” Mammon bats her long lashes at me as she smirks wickedly.
I look away, trying to mask my annoyance with this particular line of questioning. “You know better than to believe everything you read in the papers, Mimi.”
“Do I?” Her eyes widen, all faked innocence, before she shrugs. “I’d rather hoped it was true, honestly.”
My attention turns back toward Charlotte then, lingering on her momentarily. I don’t know exactly what it is about my fiancée that continues to draw me to her, but I intend to make it my business to know.
I’ll see the darker parts of her eventually. Given time.
“Fame is a blank check these days,” Mammon says from beside me, following my gaze as a devious little smile rounds her face. “One she’ll want to cash sooner or later.”
I intend to tell my sister that blank check or not, Charlotte belongs to me, but then my fiancée throws back her head, laughing uproariously at one of Azmodeus’s jokes in a way that lights up the whole room, and the thought is lost to me.
Something inside my chest constricts, and whatever it is, I don’t like it.
Suddenly I find I want to torture my brother, exactly as I did his employee this evening.
Slowly.
“If you’ll excuse me.” I break free from my sister’s clutches and stride across the room.
Charlotte holds a near-empty glass of champagne in her hand. Her third, if I’ve been counting correctly, which I have. Enough to make her loose lipped and vulnerable, yet not drunk exactly, though at first, she doesn’t look toward me.
Her eyes find mine moments before I reach her, as if she can sense my approach.
My hand falls to her lower back, and I pull her in to my side swiftly, reveling in the way she softens against me. It’s enough to make any man grin, even me, at the thought of all the wicked things she’ll allow me to do to her this evening.
She’s practically begging for it.
“Brother,” I say, letting a hint of hellfire spark in my eyes as I cast a scathing look toward Azmodeus.
A less-than-subtle warning.
The atmosphere in the group goes cold. Message received.
No one touches what belongs to me.
“If you gentlemen would excuse me, I need to borrow my future bride for a moment,” I say tersely.
“Of course.” Azmodeus inclines his head toward Charlotte, as he and his partner for this evening disappear into the party’s thrall along with the others.
I quickly lead Charlotte away with me.
When we’re finally out of earshot, I release her, and she turns to me, swaying a little, as I give her a cold look. “What kind of game do you think you’re playing tonight, darling?”
She lifts a brow. “Game?” She steps closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I’m playing a role. Exactly like you told me.”
“And apparently, that role includes batting your pretty little lashes and giving come-fuck-me eyes to my brother?”
She sputters, gaping at me. “I was doing what you said. Smiling for the cameras, remember?” She watches my expression, and suddenly her eyes grow wide, like she’s seeing a whole new side of me she wasn’t aware existed. “Wait. Are you ... jealous, Lucifer?”
I scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. You simply need to sell this believably.”
She crosses her arms. “And what exactly did you have in mind, sir ?”
She says it with such disrespect I have half a mind to put her over my knee right then and there. Exhibitionism isn’t beyond me.
My voice drops low. “What I expect, little dove, is a tad more effort on your part.”
“A little more effort ?” Her voice goes shrill on the last word. Enough to draw attention. She notices the faces looking at us, smiling at the media personnel present as if everything is fine before she steps closer, muttering through her teeth, “I’ve been fake laughing at your brother’s crude jokes all night, and you expect a little more effort?”
She fakes a grin as a nearby photographer passes, but the fury in her eyes is clear.
I don’t know why the fact that she doesn’t actually enjoy Azmodeus’s humor pleases me, but it sates my wounded pride all the same. I grip her by the back of the neck, drawing her to me. “Yes, I do. If you intend to continue with our little arrangement.”
She huffs, shaking her head. “And what do you expect me to do? Follow you around like some lovesick puppy?” She gives me a dazed, tipsy look.
The idea holds more appeal than she intends it to.
“Careful.”
“Or what?”
I lower my voice. “We may be in a crowded room, but you’re throwing matches at a gas tank, darling. You could get burned easily.”
She pulls back slightly, hurt in her eyes. “That’s all I’ll ever be to you, isn’t it? A pawn for you to use?”
I blink. I have no idea where the sentiment comes from, but still, she steps close, placing both hands on my chest like she means to embrace me. The alcohol she’s had makes her brazen as she whispers, “You may be able to force me to be compliant, but that doesn’t mean you’ve earned my respect. Sir. ”
She tears herself away from me with a haughty little huff, gliding toward the dessert table as several members of the press eye me suspiciously.
I curse under my breath.
“Trouble in paradise?” Greed asks, appearing at my side once more.
I stride past her toward the bar. “Fuck off, sister.”
Paradise would require she actually care for me.
I order another drink before Astaroth finds me.
“Do you need me to get her under control?” he mutters into my ear. “I could make her behave easily.”
I see the glint of one of his blades flash.
“No.” I shake my head, my eyes darting to Charlotte once more as I sip my drink. “No, leave her to me.” I glance toward Astaroth. He cleans up quickly. “How’s our friend?”
“All squared away.” Astaroth nods. “He’ll send a strong message come morning.”
“Good.” I watch as Charlotte disappears into the party. “Good.”