Chapter Twenty-Eight Lucifer
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lucifer
The theater is empty. Dark too. Save for the single spotlight that illuminates my brother and the actress he’s currently running lines with on stage. I hate this section of this city. Broadway. Times Square. It reeks with the scent of human filth and the unrefined taste of the tourism industry.
“I love you,” Azmodeus says, reading his line. “God forgive me, but I do.”
The actress places a dramatic hand on his cheek. “Then God forgive us both, Lance.”
Abruptly, the lights come up, and I clap slowly as I make my way down the center aisle, breaking their scene. “Lovely. Nauseatingly lovely.”
The actress shrieks, covering her bare breasts with her hands before she flees center stage.
Azmodeus curses, raking a hand through his hair before he gestures after her. “Now look what you’ve done. She was going to blow me.”
I scoff. “Naked Camelot . That’s a new low even for you.”
Azmodeus rolls his eyes. “What do you want, Lucifer?”
“Peace, quiet, and a private plane to Majorca, but we can’t all have what we want now, can we?” I reach the stage, pausing in front of it as I nod to the script in his hand. “I didn’t think these were the kind of lines you like to do.”
Azmodeus snorts. “Who says they’re mutually exclusive?” He sniffs, swiping away a bit of powder left on his nose as he smirks at me.
My brother is the consummate party boy.
The lusty playboy with an unforgiving twist.
“She’s a bit bashful for you,” I say flatly, nodding backstage to where the actress fled.
“She’s gone now.” Azmodeus waves a hand. He doesn’t appear to be too disappointed in that. My brother has lovers aplenty. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”
“Paris Starr,” I say, placing my hands in my pockets and rounding the front of stage right to climb its stairs. “We both know we have to discuss it eventually.”
Azmodeus retrieves his shirt from where it’s been cast onto the floor, shrugging at me, though he doesn’t bother to dress. Az wouldn’t know shame if it bit him.
Though humans are oddly ... prudish when it comes to nudity.
“What’s there to say? You’ve already decided it was me, considering how you flayed one of my employees before the launch party last night.” He glances toward me, lifting a brow. “The East River? Really, Luce? You couldn’t have dumped him somewhere more invigorating?”
“I needed to get your attention. I would have thought you’d be pleased.”
Azmodeus picks up the script his Broadway actress cast aside and places it on the nearby stool in the middle of the stage. “Who says I wasn’t?” He smirks at me. “Antoine was a decent fuck—all my employees are—but he double-crossed me. I may enjoy polyamory among my lovers, but in business, I find monogamy suits me better.”
“As you should.” I nod.
His gaze flicks over me. “So, if you know Antoine had gone rogue, what brings you here, exactly?”
I cut to the chase. “The Handler.”
Azmodeus’s face goes from surprised to amused within seconds, like I’ve said something hilariously funny. “Right,” he says. “I should’ve known.”
“Something tells me you know something I don’t, brother.”
Az shakes his head. “Now you’re just kissing up. Trying to get on my good side. It may work with Beelzebub, and even Belphegor, but me?” He saunters toward me, poking a single finger against my chest. “That kind of flattery is below me. I know what you’ve been up to lately. Fucking around with your little human.” He smiles appreciatively, turning away and calling over his shoulder as he walks off stage left. “I can feel the sexual frustration from Fifth Avenue all the way down to 57th Street.”
I growl, following him toward the dressing rooms.
“No frustration. Only pleasure,” I say, once I locate him again.
Azmodeus flops down into a makeup chair, the soft lighting of the boudoir mirror casting shadows over his handsome features in a way that would have his followers salivating for days.
He’s the media’s favorite heartthrob. Nearly as handsome as me, and unapologetically queer in a way the media eats up these days. Men. Women. Nonbinary. Trans. It doesn’t matter.
My brother isn’t choosy.
“Except for the fact that she hasn’t given you what you truly want, has she?” He sneers. “The affection you’ve always longed for. Not very good for your pride, is she?”
I have Azmodeus by the throat and halfway out of his chair before he can so much as blink. My voice drops to an inhuman register. “Speak ill of Charlotte again, and I won’t hesitate to drag you back down into the bowels with me.” Hellfire blazes in my eyes. I can feel it.
“Okay, okay.” Az chuckles as if this is all in good fun. “Jeez, Luce.”
Abruptly, I release him, and once he’s back in his chair, Azmodeus grins wickedly. “Easy, brother. You wouldn’t want me to think she’s got you pussy-whipped, would you?” He brushes off his shoulders, smirking at me.
Another snarl. Another warning.
“Touchy-touchy today, aren’t you?” Az’s eyes narrow. “Is that why you’re here? To ask if I can work a bit of my lust-lovin’ mojo and make her fall in love with you?” He shakes his head. “You know better than anyone it doesn’t work like that. Lust’s my thing. Not love. I find they’re best kept separate.” He turns away from me, adjusting his hair in the dressing room mirror.
“And your clubs? Are they best kept separate?” I ask tersely.
Azmodeus’s expression turns dark. “What are you saying?”
He looks at me in the mirror’s reflection.
“I’m saying you’re going to help me find the Handler, or there will be hell to pay.”
Azmodeus shakes his head. “You should know by now that threat doesn’t work on me. After all, I helped you build it.”
I nod, capitulating to that minor truth. “Just as I helped you build your many clubs.”
They’re one of my brother’s key sources of power in this city.
His lust-fueled lifeline. Now that we’re topside.
Azmodeus snarls. “If you’re threatening me, don’t be a coy little bitch about it.”
“Then allow me to spell it out for you.” I lean down, placing a hand on the back of his chair as I meet his gaze in the mirror. “You will locate the Handler for me, or else you’ll find the NYPD suddenly has a newfound interest in cracking down on your glorified prostitution rings.”
“They’re virgin auctions,” Azmodeus growls defensively, instant fury in his eyes, as if the mere suggestion of anything otherwise sullies their sanctity. The words have no doubt been rehearsed many times before, both with his lawyers and his media team. “There’s a difference. We auction off the participants’ time, never their bodies. All consensual.”
“Naturally.” I sneer.
I don’t care what the fuck my brother does in his free time, so long as he’s there when I need him to be.
“And what do I get out of all this?” Azmodeus twists toward me. “You can’t expect me to work for free.”
“Why, my undying gratitude, of course,” I say flatly.
Azmodeus scoffs, turning away as he reaches for some eyeliner, and I recognize that I need to play my ace. The one Bel gave me.
“And my place on the throne, when I leave.”
My brother goes still, those lust-filled eyes watching me.
I don’t bother to tell him I have no intention of leaving this city.
Lying comes naturally to me.
And Azmodeus desires far more than the copious amounts of sex he receives. He’s nearly as complicated as I am. If a bit horny ...
“ Baa! ” he says, jumping suddenly as he slams his fist down on the dressing room table. “I really had you going there for a minute. You can’t have expected for me to actually fall for that, did you? I already know you have no intention of leaving.”
I grumble. “Belphegor already got to you, I see.”
“He always did prefer me to you.”
My lips draw flat. “Fine. An undetermined favor, then.”
“An undetermined favor?” Az’s eyes light as he considers it for a moment. “Done,” he says, his voice echoing as the celestial contract seals between us. “This little human of yours has really gotten under your skin, hasn’t she?” He lifts a brow.
“You have no idea,” I admit.
He can’t possibly understand what Charlotte means to me or what I’d be willing to risk in order to keep her safe.
Not because I care for her, but because I need her to stay with me.
Until Gabriel’s return, at least.