Chapter Eleven #3
He monitored a demon’s use of his magic and weighed that against the power of the soul that was retrieved. When a demon negotiated a deal well, they were rewarded with Earth-walking privileges, the only freedom they could ever hope for.
But if Skye started making soul bargains herself, redirecting the Devil’s magic from the bargain and into a separate gem that she could then use later on Remi, and she got caught—the Devil wouldn’t care that she was doing it to get Remi’s soul. He’d only see her deception and thievery.
Then again, the bargain wasn’t solidifying, no matter how hard she was working in the physical realm to keep the tour going, and if she didn’t get Remi’s soul, the Devil would have her wings anyway.
She inhaled slowly and blew out a breath. It might be the only option she had left. “I’d need to find a lead, though,” she said. “But running this tour is a full-time job, and I can’t sift away from Remi for too long or risk the bargain negating for good.”
“You leave that to me,” Zara said. “I’ll find a lead for you.”
“Why? Why would you do more work than you have to? Risk the Devil’s wrath?”
Zara tapped the sticky lollipop to Skye’s nose and smiled. “Because I can’t let you have all the fun.” Flames engulfed her as she sifted away.
Skye felt hopeful for about thirty seconds until she spotted three-fourths of her band shuffling to the tour bus.
“Where are you going?” she asked, hopping out of the trailer and walking toward them.
“Remi needed to use the dressing room,” Liam said. “We’re going to bed until Zara’s medicine kicks in.”
Ollie lurched forward, a hand pressed to his mouth. Liam grabbed his shoulder until he could stand straight again.
“Okay,” Skye said. “Get some rest. I promise you’ll feel better in time for the show. Don’t worry.”
West smiled faintly. “Thanks, Skye.”
They marched off, and Skye cringed as she heard the sound of heaving behind her.
They shouldn’t be up and moving. They were perfectly fine in the dressing room. Remi had no right to kick them out of there.
Skye strode backstage and yanked open the door to the dressing room. It didn’t budge.
“Remi!” she screamed and pounded on the door. “Open the fuck up.”
There was giggling and murmuring from the other side, then the knob jiggled as it was unlocked, and Remi opened the door.
He was shirtless, and his jeans were hanging open at the zipper.
She dragged her eyes up his torso, along the inked patterns on his ribs, pecs, and neck.
Another giggle came from over his shoulder, and Skye ripped her eyes away from Remi’s bare chest to take in the topless woman and naked man, who were waiting for him on the couch.
“What. The. Fuck,” Skye demanded. “You kicked your sick bandmates out so you could get laid?”
“My sick bandmates need rest. They need to sleep somewhere quiet without the crew shouting and the stage rigs crashing. They need beds, Skye,” Remi said, then he smirked. “I, however, do not need a bed for what I’m doing.”
“You can’t do that. I didn’t approve—”
Remi disappeared from view for a second as he leaned over to grab something on the other side of the door and then thrust a bunch of paperwork into Skye’s hands.
She flipped through the pages. About a week and a half ago, she’d made it a rule that anyone the band wanted to sleep with had to sign a non-disclosure agreement and provide a form of ID. They all voted and agreed that it was a good idea.
It’d been super weird how everyone Remi wanted to sleep with since she’d made the rule had decided to refuse the simple request.
“NDAs and a copy of their driver’s licenses,” Remi said, grabbing the edge of the doorframe. “I got the forms from the lawyer myself so there was no one whispering that I had crabs.”
Skye sucked on her top teeth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you still can’t do anything with them. I didn’t approve of their paperwork, and you and your dick aren’t going to mess shit up for my band—”
“It’s not your band,” Remi said, his deep voice vibrating with rage. “It’s my band. And me and my dick are going to do whatever the fuck we want.”
“No, you fucking aren’t!”
“What are you going to do about it?” He pressed his naked chest against her. The heat of his anger radiated from his skin. Skye felt a little sick. A little hungry. A little dizzy.
Maybe she was getting the flu too.
She glanced under Remi’s arm at the naked people on the couch. They both had their eyebrows raised in challenge.
“He’s got crabs and chlamydia!” she yelled over his shoulder.
“And she’s a pathological liar who is obsessed with me,” Remi yelled back and slammed the door in her face.
There was more inane giggling from the other side, and then kissing and sucking noises replaced it. Skye couldn’t get her feet to move. She just stood there, seething, her rage rooting her in place.
“I want to swallow your come, Remi.”
The smell of smoke pierced Skye’s perception. She looked down at the paperwork in her hands. The edges were burnt from her flames.
Oh, he was going to fucking pay for this. She was going to make sure he fucking paid for it.