The Demon’s Queen (A Deal With A Demon)

Seven missed messages. On my personal phone, the one I most certainly don’t give out to anyone but a select few friends. It’s not a number I recognize, which all but confirms my suspicion that one of my clients has decided to ignore the rules of our arrangement and try to go around Pope to get to me. Again. Pope goes above and beyond to vet the people they send my way, but despite them being damn near prophetic when it comes to bad apples, sometimes people slip through.

I stare at my notifications, exhaustion seeming to increase the force of gravity against my bones. I already know what I’ll hear when I check the voicemail, but I make myself do it anyways.

“Ginger, why did you cancel on me? I⁠—”

Fuck. It’s Tanner. He’s been one of mine for years now and has shown every evidence of being a relatively nice guy, if on the selfish side. He likes only the lightest of the girlfriend experience, preferring to play like we’re sneaking away together. Not one of my favorites—even though I know Pope would lecture me for getting attached enough to have favorites—but he’s consistent and he tips absurdly well.

I delete the voicemail and click on the next one.

“Ginger, what the fuck? Answer the fucking phone. I swear to god⁠—”

Delete.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Please⁠—”

Delete.

I delete the last four without listening. I’ve heard enough. I type out a quick message to Pope.

Tanner Lockeye has become an issue. He found my personal number and is making a nuisance of himself.

Pope

Another one? That’s unlucky, even by your standards.

Can you not make jokes right now? I just lost one of my best-paying clients.

Pope

Sorry, doll. I’ll take care of it. He won’t bother you anymore.

I barely breathe a sigh of relief when another text pops up.

Pope

Assuming this means you’re free tonight. Azazel is on the waitlist if you’re up for it.

Even though I know better, I can’t help the little fizz of excitement reading his name brings me. Azazel is my favorite client. He shouldn’t be, because every sign points to him becoming a problem at some point, but to date, he hasn’t done anything to overstep my very stringent rules. So I ignore the potential future problems because I enjoy my time with him.

And he tips even better than Tanner.

Set it up. Let me know the time and place.

A few minutes later, Pope sends over the information, and I start the process of getting ready. It’s a soothing ritual to set down Eve for the night and drape Ginger around me. It’s a small distinction, but a necessary one. I pin my long blond hair into an updo so that Azazel can run his fingers through and send my pins flying. He likes that a lot. He also likes me in jewel tones, so I pull out a deep-purple dress that clings to my body and doesn’t quite look like it’s offering up my breasts, but it’s a close thing. He’s over six feet, so I pull on my highest heels. For makeup, I keep it subtle and sultry: a light smokey eye and lips a couple of shades darker than my natural pink.

I leave my apartment and take the elevator down to the ground floor. There’s a small corridor here with a doorman ensuring no one comes in without permission. That and a few other security features increased the cost of my rent dramatically, but it’s worth it. I take great pains to ensure my clients aren’t aware of my real name or where I live, because of cases like Tanner, where they get confused about our “relationship.”

The doorman on shift right now is Rahul, an older man with the sweetest smile and warm medium-brown skin. I found out last year that he’s an artist. The way he paints the city is abstract and so lovely, it makes my heart ache. Rahul gifts me with that smile as I step out. “Going to be a late night, Miss Eve?”

“Yes, sir.” I stop next to him as an understated black town car pulls up. “Keep the lights on for me?”

“I always do.” He opens the car door for me. “I’m off at six, but Fred will be on shift after me. He’s a good one, so he’ll take care of you.”

I don’t like Fred nearly as much as Rahul, but I can’t deny that he’s good at his job. “Thank you.” I sink into the back seat. “Have a good night, Rahul.”

“You too, Miss Eve.” He shuts the door, careful not to catch the hem of my dress in the process, and then we’re speeding away from the curb toward the high-end hotel I always meet Azazel at.

His preferences vary, but tonight he requested we have a drink in the hotel bar before going up to the room. I don’t mind in the least. He’s a great conversationalist, and while he very carefully doesn’t share much of his past—no more than I do—he has no end of stories to entertain with. I’m not certain if they’re lies or the truth, but they makes for a pleasant time either way. And I don’t particularly care whether he’s lying; I’m not his girlfriend, for all that I offer a similar experience for the right price.

The hotel bar is crowded for a weekday, but that’s fine. It will give me a chance to people watch before Azazel arrives. I find a high-top table in the corner and arrange my chair so I can see the entirety of the room.

In the fifteen minutes I wait, I pick up more than one person doing their best to covertly slide a wedding ring into their pocket before approaching a prospective one-night stand. There’s a person on the opposite side of the bar who I’m nearly certain shares my profession. They watch me closely before realizing I’m not looking to pick up a new client here, then they lose interest. It’s all deeply entertaining.

Until a familiar man walks through the door—and not the one I’m expecting.

“Shit.”

Tanner cases the room in a single sweep and starts toward me. How the fuck did he know I was here? Finding my phone number is difficult but not impossible. Finding my location? That offers up a number of problems that I don’t have time to deal with, because he’s closing the distance between us. Fast.

I try to catch the bartender’s eye, but he’s busy flirting with an exasperated businessperson who may or may not be interested. No help there. I bypass my phone and go for my Taser. Even if I could get a text off to Pope, it won’t make a difference. I know they have someone in the building because it’s standard practice, but it will take them too long to get here.

Tanner reaches me in seconds. He’s a tall white guy with the kind of good old boy looks that are a generic sort of handsome. Or they are usually. Right now, he’s nearly purple with rage. “You cheating bitch.”

“Tanner.” I keep my voice low and even. De-escalating. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Because you cancelled on me!” He’s yelling, not seeming to care in the least that he’s making a scene. The bartender finally lifts his head and narrows his eyes. Too damn late.

“I have rules. You broke them.” I am not going to apologize for holding the boundaries that keep me safe, but fuck if I like this kind of mess. Azazel will be here any moment, and the last thing I want is to force him to deal with this. “And I’m not your girlfriend, your partner, or your wife. You are my client.”

“Whore!”

I roll my eyes. I can’t help it. “Yes, yes, that’s very original. Please leave before the nice bartender calls the police.” Pope will do worse; they do not like people fucking with those under their protection.

“I’m not leaving without you.” Then the fool lifts his clenched fist to strike me.

I have my Taser halfway to his balls when a hand appears and grabs his wrist. Tanner grunts with the slowed effort, though I can tell by his eyes that he’s waiting for the moment he can try to hit me again. We both look over at the same time to see Azazel standing there as if he appeared out of thin air. Azazel’s got a bored look on his face . . . until you get to his dark eyes. They’re filled with so much rage, I panic and Taser Tanner in the balls just to do something other than embarrass myself by cowering.

His legs give out and he collapses. Except he doesn’t hit the floor, because Azazel still has a hold of his wrist. It leaves him dangling like a toddler throwing a fit. The absurd urge to laugh nearly overwhelms me. This cannot be happening.

I clear my throat. “Azazel. Lovely to see you.” He doesn’t respond, doesn’t so much as glance at me, all his murderous rage narrowed entirely on Tanner. Fuck. If I don’t do something—and fast—he may go straight from protecting me to an assault charge. Or murder, for that matter.

I shove my Taser into my purse and rise to press my hand on Azazel’s chest. “Leave him. He’s not worth it.”

“I think you’d be surprised on how I measure that worth.” But he releases Tanner. Azazel turns smoothly, putting himself between me and the other man, and presses his hand to the center of my back. “Let’s go.”

Relief makes me a little dizzy, but I manage to walk out of the bar with my head held high, ignoring Tanner’s increasing volume of curses behind us. It’s only when we reach the lobby that Azazel hesitates. “I know we had a night arranged, but if you’re too rattled, I completely understand.”

If only he knew. It takes so much more than a mess like this to rattle me. Tanner is proving to be a nightmare, but he’s not the worst I’ve dealt with. I smile up at Azazel, and I don’t even have to fake it. He’s as beautiful as a model: sun-kissed skin, dark eyes, and stylishly cut dark hair. But it’s more than that. He’s courteous, he seems to listen, and he eats my pussy like he never needs to breathe. If the bed play gets a little possessive, that’s a red flag I’m happy to ignore until I can’t do so any longer, because everything else with him is pure pleasure.

“Ginger?”

I laugh a little. “Sorry, just a little off from that encounter. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” I slip my hand into the crook of his arm. “As long as you’re not turned off, I’d love to still spend the night with you, Azazel.”

He’s already turning toward the elevator. “There’s nothing related to you that could turn me off.” But as we step into the elevator and the doors start to close, I catch him watching the space as if expecting a threat to burst through the shrinking gap. Before I can comment on it, he smiles down at me. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you. You always do, and you know it.”

He chuckles. “You can’t blame me for trying to impress you.” He slides his hand down my spine before stopping at the small of my back. Azazel never gropes, never fumbles a single step of the dance we engage in from the moment we meet to the morning when he sees me to the waiting car.

I have the whole mess with Tanner to deal with tomorrow, but I’m not about to let it distract me from the pleasure of Azazel’s company. I press him back against the wall of the elevator as it ascends and stroke my hands down his chest. I stop at the band of his pants, and his hips jerk before he can get himself under control. There’s no lie in the wicked smile I give him. “You never fail to impress me. I highly doubt tonight will be the exception.”

There’s a flash in his dark eyes, there and gone in a moment, and then he sweeps me out of the elevator and down the hall to the hotel room. Once we’re inside, I don’t care about the luxuriousness of the room, because he’s here with me and I can almost feel his hands against my bare skin.

Azazel is a classy motherfucker. He wants me enough that he’s practically ripping my clothes off with his gaze, but he walks to the table and the waiting bottle of wine there. “Let’s have a drink, and then we can talk about what I want from you tonight.”