Chapter Forty-One Lucifer
Chapter Forty-One
Lucifer
I stalk the rest of the way to the Met Gala, my long strides eating up the pavement now that Charlotte no longer trails me. I’m unable to bring myself to look back as Astaroth forces her into the limo. Though I want to. I could look at her for an eternity and never tire of it.
I regret nothing.
Punishing those who ever dared hurt her. It comes naturally.
And even if she hates me come sunrise, letting her go would only make me weak.
Already, loving her has made me soft. Irreparably damaged me.
But I will burn this city to the fucking ground before I ever let her go or allow any of her kind to go unpunished for what they stood by and allowed their brethren to do to her.
The flash of the cameras increases, going wild as I draw near the waiting crowd. I make my way onto the red carpet, muscling past a small circle of journalists huddled together at the foot of the stairs as I make my way toward Greed. My sister looks particularly wild and indulgent tonight, wearing a couture Givenchy that makes her appear nude save for hundreds of crystals, a too-tight corset, and a pair of massive faux angel wings that are meant to be a statement piece, though that thought only makes me want to throttle her even more.
My hand is at her throat, the crowd gasping as I lift her off her feet.
Mimi struggles to breathe. Her round face goes from cream to pink.
“I warned you,” I hiss, my voice particularly serpentine. “I warned you to stay away from her.” Abruptly, I release her, casting her aside like the celestial trash that she is, down onto the red carpet.
The crowd gasps again as she hits the steps hard, hard enough to crack the concrete beneath. As soon as she lifts her head toward me, she laughs wickedly. “Don’t worry, brother.” Mammon grins, her white-toothed smile turning nasty. “The bitch is loyal to you, you know. I quite enjoy her, actually.”
I step toward Mammon, fully intending to take her on for another round. My immortal sister is more than capable of handling herself, but one of her bodyguards steps in. A massive demon who goes by the name Javon, at least when we’re topside, who’s wearing the body of a large, muscled Black man. “The humans,” he hisses to me. “They’re watching, sir.”
He means for it to appease me.
To acknowledge the fact that even among my siblings, I’m king.
But unfortunately, it inspires the opposite.
“Let them watch.” I turn my gaze toward the crowd.
The onlookers. The journalists. The paparazzi. Every one of them who bore witness to Charlotte’s suffering and refused to lift a finger to save her. Her and every other innocent like her.
“Is this the best humanity has to offer?” I shout, causing the onlookers to stir a little. “Here for the show, aren’t you? The spectacle?” I call to the now-silent crowd.
A few of them start to look a bit uneasy.
Though not as uneasy as they’ll be once I’m through with them.
Once I’ve made them feel every bit of pain they chose to put her through. Every bit of self-hate I now know she felt as they all stood by, silent and disengaged, as her father, a man many of them would call a leader, used my Father’s good name in order to control her, hurt her.
And for what?
Because they didn’t care enough to risk themselves?
To call out hypocrisy when they saw it?
They’ll regret the day they ever turned a blind eye. To her and every other innocent.
But despite their cowardice, still, they don’t run. Don’t turn their back and flee from me.
Exactly like I showed my Father with Eve.
They’re vicious creatures. More ruthless to one another than I could ever be to them.
“Well, if it’s a show you want,” I say, gesturing toward the red carpet like I’m the ringmaster of this whole bloody circus they’ve created, “it’s a show you’ll get.” I cast one last malicious glare down at my sister before there’s a stir in the crowd suddenly.
And that’s the moment I realize I’ve miscalculated.
I came here tonight with the intention of striking first.
Making them pay for what they did to her.
But I forgot one key thing.
Humanity will always be more wicked than me.
Lest they start to fight for their own salvation.
“Lucifer, down!” Mammon shouts from where she now crouches on the red carpet, where Belphegor and several of our other siblings have come to bear witness to the climax of our little game.
I don’t bother to question her. I drop to the floor, covering my head and ears.
Just as a bomb goes off inside the Met building.