“Dillon and Aaron on standby.”

Pop music blared so loud that Kid could barely hear the intercom voice as he and Kinzer made their way through a smoke-filled bar.

Kid was still chuckling at the sign outside. “This place really called Dick Dongs?”

A dim, orange light illuminated a box of a stage where two late twenty-something guys rubbed their steroid-induced muscled bodies against black poles, posing with the music.

The place was pretty empty, except for a few balding men—well into or beyond their fifties—who were tended to by shirtless gym-rats that looked barely legal.

Kinzer had driven for nearly twenty-four hours without rest until they’d reached Atlanta, where he claimed his friends would be to help him. Kid still thought it was a bunch of nonsense, and now that they were in a strip bar, he was even surer of it.

Kinzer approached the bar. An older guy—his broad chest covered in curly black hair, his love handles nearly nonexistent—set a crate on the floor and stocked beers in a chrome tub of ice. His shirt dangled from his back belt loop.

Kid looked around uneasily. His eyes drifted to the stage. The less-than-enthusiastic steroid-ripped dancers bobbed around and dipped fairly low for wide-eyed frumpies that were slipping bills into their underwear. Kid saw the same look in the dancers’ eyes that he was used to seeing at Jerry’s. Sad, empty, defeated. He imagined that was what he looked like.

Kinzer set his arm on the bar and glanced around.

Kid finally asked the question that had been burning on his mind since they’d arrived.

“I’m sorry. You said these were angels, right?”

As much as Kid didn’t buy Kinzer’s story, he was still curious about how this all worked in his head.

Kinzer nodded. “AKA higherlings.”

“Um…what are they doing here?”

Kinzer smirked. “Seems like God has a pretty fucked-up sense of humor, right?”

The bartender popped up from the beer tub and approached the counter. “Hey, man.”

“Jack on the rocks,” Kinzer said. “And can I change out for some ones?”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a wallet he’d lifted from one of Jerry’s clients, and handed some cash over to the bartender.

Kinzer turned back to Kid. “Better to keep higherlings in places you wouldn’t expect them. These guys are liaisons for the Almighty’s secret organizations on Earth.”

The bartender slid a glass of Jack across the counter and handed Kinzer a wad of ones. Kinzer curled the cash up and slipped it in his back pocket.

Kid rocked his head to the pop beat. He smiled. “This is kinda fun.”

He scanned the pack of trim bodies that pranced around the room in just jeans.

A pretty-faced brunet, his chest pushed forward, his abs sucked in, approached Kinzer.

“Hey, man. Wanna lap dance?” He winked.

Kinzer shook his head. The brunet frowned. His chest sank in. His abs pushed out. He moved along.

“So,” Kid began, “how will I know when I see one of these guys?”

“Don’t sweat it. I got this.”

The song faded out. An awkward silence filled the room, followed by the sound of a toilet flushing. The dancers hopped off the stage.

“Dillon and Aaron on deck.”

The orange stage lights shut off. Two black lights flipped on, illuminating both poles.

At the back of the bar, a door opened. Two glow-in-the-dark thongs, one green and one pink, floated out and approached the stage. As the black light illuminated the physiques they were affixed to, Kid’s mouth dropped.

The guy in the pink thong had a flawless body. Two veins crawled like vines up a deep rift that outlined either side of his belly button, which was so shallow it was nearly flush with his washboard stomach. Kid wondered if the guy’d ever had a carb in his life. Two locks of his blond, spiked hair curled inward like devil horns.

The music started back up.

The pink-thonged stripper grabbed the pole and swayed his torso—embedded with a deep vee, a seeming invitation to savor his package, which was so enormous that it was dangling out of the far-too-small thong. Kid was sure it had to have been nearly a foot and half long.

Narrowed eyes and crinkled temples made the stripper appear to be perpetually wincing, lost in some deep thought, even while he was shaking his ass and wrapping his leg around the pole. Indented around his mouth were two sickle-shaped dimples that were so defined, they were visible even as he stood there, expressionless.

His knees gyrated. His juicy, round ass jiggled. He was hotter than the other two dancers Kid had seen on the stage. More than that, there was something different about him. He appeared to actually be feeling the rhythm, caring about the beat, enjoying what he was doing.

The dancer closed his eyes, massaged one hand down the pole as his ass dipped to the floor. He stroked his other hand across his thick pecs, which protruded so far from his chest that the dip between them had to be several inches deep.

“You like what you see?” Kinzer asked.

“Mmm hmmm.”

Kinzer grinned. “You and every other higherling. Follow me.” Kinzer stepped toward the stage. As he approached the stripper in the green thong, Kid found himself inching toward the other.

“Kid, take a seat. I think it’ll be easier if I talk to him one on one.”

Okay, crazy.

He appreciated Kinzer’s suggestion. It gave him an opportunity to be closer to the other stripper. He made his way to a table between the two poles, so he could keep an eye on both his favorite dancer and favorite hero. Kinzer approached the green-thonged stripper, who was shaking his cheeks in the face of a bone-thin corpse of a man. The corpse eagerly stuffed a dollar bill in a glow-in-the-dark strap around the stripper’s thigh.

Shorter than the other stripper, his muscles were less bulky, less defined. However, it was still a hell of a body. Dark-brown hair waved down either side of his cheeks, fanning out over his shoulders. Tiny hairs speckled across his plump face, indicating a fresh beard. Where the other stripper seemed confident in his place on the stage, this one seemed awkward, out of his element.

The green-thonged stripper finished entertaining the older man and returned to his pole. He climbed and wrapped his legs around it, gripping on with his calves. He threw his body back, arching his torso so his abs pushed forward, tense, rigid.

***

Not gonna make any fucking money tonight, Dedrus thought.

He arched his back.

He’d just finished entertaining one of his regulars, a nasty old man who was very generous with ones but never paid for VIP.

While he’d been working the regular, Dedrus had noticed a young guy in his peripheral vision. Maybe he had some cash.

He’d made his way over to the pole and performed his moneymaker move, hoping it would pay off.

He tossed his head back and threw the guy a seductive glare.

“What the—”

His calves lost their grip. He plummeted to the floor.

“Shit!”

The stripper at the other pole, Treycore, threw him a concerned look.

Dedrus couldn’t believe it.

Kinzer?

Was this a dream? He had plenty of dreams about Kinzer—dreams where his ex-lover returned to him and confessed his love. They’d make up and run off together. Was that why he was there? Dedrus knew better. He remembered the cruel day when he’d expressed his true feelings for Kinzer and he’d been shot down.

Dedrus had endured war and torture. Neither compared to the pain he had felt the day that Kinzer left him. Since their split, Kinzer had made every effort possible to keep his distance from Dedrus. Even when Dedrus tracked him down and sent him letters, he never responded. Maybe Kinzer was just following protocol. They weren’t supposed to fraternize with the other members of the Leader’s Allies, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t shake Kinzer from his thoughts, his life. Kinzer’s image haunted him. He couldn’t feel the stroke of a customer without immediately comparing the dead, empty interaction with the passionate, sensual one he’d had with Kinzer. He couldn’t wake in the morning without wishing that as he rolled over, there would be his beautiful friend and lover, resting peacefully, wanting just another hour of rest. He couldn’t eat a delicious meal without thinking on all the shit that he and Kinzer had eaten together during the war. If only he could have been with Kinzer, he would have eaten that shit for all eternity.

His heart fluttered with excitement. His mind cluttered with confusion. As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, he knew Kinzer wasn’t there to confess his love. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Dedrus, you okay?” Kinzer rested his palms on the stage.

Dedrus shook out of his confusion.

The fall had hurt his back, but he’d be fine. He’d suffered falls from greater heights.

Don’t be obvious. He couldn’t make a scene at the bar. He and Treycore had worked too hard crafting these covers for him to blow them in one night. He pushed his ass in the air and crawled toward Kinzer. As he reached the edge of the stage, he groped his hands along his fuck-me lines, raising his torso until he was face to face with Kinzer. He didn’t say anything. Just stared at him.

“That looked like a pretty serious fall,” Kinzer said.

“Had worse.” He flicked his nipple with his thumb, doing his best to be inconspicuous, although he could only imagine what Treycore was thinking.

Kinzer tucked a dollar in his thigh strap.

“You know why I’m here.”

Dedrus looked around uneasily. He rose on his knees until he was crouching. He twisted his ass toward Kinzer, groping and shaking to the beat.

“Hey,” the regular called from the other side of the stage. “Come back here, Aaron!”

Now is not the fucking time. What is he doing here? What’s happened?

Kinzer’s gaze drifted for a moment. As they returned attention to the dancer, he slid another dollar into Dedrus’s strap. “Janka’s dead.”

Dedrus froze, stopping midstroke.

Janka.

The sound of that name evoked a sting in his chest. It was the name of the higherling that had stolen Kinzer from him so many years earlier. Had it not been for Janka, he would have had Kinzer. They would have been together for all eternity. As much resentment as he still held for Janka, he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by sadness. Janka had been with him since the dawn of creation. They had been friends since before the split between Heaven and Hell. They were childhood friends that had eons of memories together.

“Someone has names,” Kinzer continued.

Dedrus nodded. “I don’t want to be the one to tell Treycore.”

Kinzer threw Treycore a look. Dedrus checked to see how he was reacting.

Treycore would be pissed that Kinzer was violating protocol. Also, being Dedrus’s friend and confidant, he knew how damaged Dedrus had become since Kinzer had left him. He’d tried to force Dedrus to move on, to find new lovers to replace his ache for the fallen, but it never helped.

Treycore stared Kinzer down, but he continued dancing, just like Dedrus. He wrapped a leg around the pole and whirled around.

***

Kid had been eavesdropping on Kinzer’s conversation with the stripper he was calling Dedrus. Who was Janka? And what kind of names were Dedrus and Treycore?

He didn’t question it too much. He was too focused on trying to keep Treycore in sight.

Treycore turned his pink-covered ass toward Kid. He bent backward until he was facing him, his skin tight against his abs, stretching out his shallow belly button. The head of his penis rolled across the bottom ripple in his six-pack.

“Hey, you!” Treycore called out.

Kid looked around to see who the stripper was talking to. Surely, not him.

“You. Come here.”

Kid rose from the chair and approached the stage.

“You got any money?”

Kid shook his head.

“Then scram! I don’t do this shit for free.”

He nodded and snuck over to Kinzer.

By now, Dedrus had pulled down his thong and was twirling his foot-long dick in Kinzer’s face.

Where the fuck do they make all these ginormous cocks?

“Dedrus,” Kinzer said, slipping another bill in the strap. “You’re the only one I can trust right now.”

“Hey!”

A tall man with fat, hanging cheeks, but a fit form, came up beside Kinzer.

Dedrus slid his thong over his dick.

“You gonna just keep putting out ones, or you wanna get a deal for the VIP?”

Dedrus mouthed, “VIP.”

“How much is it?”

“For Aaron here? Two hundred for thirty minutes.”

“For thirty minutes? That’s not a fucking deal!”

The man glanced Kinzer over. “You gonna be stingy, or you want a good show? You’ve seen this one’s dick. Pretty impressive. Now sit on the pot or get off the can.”

Kinzer turned to Dedrus with a shocked glare. “You worth it?”

“Am I ever.”

Kinzer slipped the wallet out of his back pocket and sifted through the billfold. “What can I get for twenty?”

“I’ll give you directions to the nearest McDonald's.”

“Whatever.” Kinzer slipped the wallet back in his pocket.

“Tell you what. Fifty for fifteen minutes.”

“What if I want the other one, too?”

The boss thought for a minute. He glared at Treycore. “That one’s our little show stud. I’ll throw him in for another seventy-five.”

“I’ll take them both for a hundred or walk.” He motioned to Kid. “And my friend comes, too.”

The man held out his hand.

***

The boss pulled a white sheet across a metal rod, exposing a room illuminated by a dim, blue-bulbed lamp on a box. A couch with foam pushing out of its edges was pressed against the chipped and cracked wall—littered with carelessly taped event posters with pictures of well-endowed go-go dancers.

The boss ushered Kid, Kinzer, and Dedrus in. As Treycore approached the doorway, the boss grabbed his bicep and pulled him aside. “Remember, no BJs. I’m not looking to get shut down.”

“Fuck off,” Treycore said, slipping back inside. He grabbed the edge of the sheet and pulled it closed.

Air rushed through the foamy cracks in the cushions as Kid made himself comfortable on the couch.

Dedrus peered out the side of the sheet over the doorway.

Treycore stared at Kinzer, his narrow eyes disapproving, stern.

“This ain’t—” Treycore began.

Dedrus tapped him on the shoulder. “Quiet…wait…and…okay. Go ahead.”

“This ain’t fucking happening!”

“Quieter,” Dedrus insisted.

“Fallen,” Treycore hissed, “you better have a good fucking reason for being here. And what the fuck are you doing with this mortal? He smells like shit!”

Do I smell really bad?

Kid was glad the light was dim, so no one could see him blush.

“Janka’s dead,” Kinzer said. “Someone ratted us out. That means they have names.”

“And you came to us?” Treycore asked, his expression tense. “Why the fuck do you think you’re still alive? They probably have a Tracker keeping an eye on you. For all we know, they didn’t even know about us. Fuck!”

“I didn’t have anyone else to go to. Janka’s my only contact. They clipped me, so I can’t cross realms without an elixir. Dedrus is the only one I knew I could find…or trust.”

“And why the fuck does he know where you are?” Treycore asked, a serious gaze locked on Dedrus.

“I…just—” Dedrus began.

“Huh?” Treycore’s gaze flashed between Dedrus and Kinzer.

“He wrote to me, okay?” Kinzer explained. “He mentioned this place.”

“What the fuck are you? Pen pals? You couldn’t have just called?”

“Totally. Let me just run and grab my cell from Hell! Treycore, I don’t give a shit how pissed you are. I just need you guys to warn the others. We all need to get our asses into hiding.”

“Treycore,” Dedrus said, nudging him. They exchanged knowing glares.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Treycore said. “You want to bring this bullshit in, and I’m telling you that’s a really bad idea. You don’t think it’s a little odd that the Raze would just let him go? Why just kill Janka? It doesn’t make any sense unless they’re using him to get to the rest of us. The Raze thinks that if the wounded, clipped Kinzer comes running for help, dumbasses like you will take him in, and then they’ll hunt the rest of us down.” He shook his head and tossed Kinzer a foul glare. “As far as we know, you’re the rat, and you’re responsible for Janka’s death.”

Who the fuck is Janka? Kid wondered. And are these guys actually drinking the angel/demon Kool-Aid?

Kinzer rushed at Treycore, getting in his face.

Treycore stood firm. They stared each other down. “Be careful,” Kinzer said.

A thick vein curled up Treycore’s bicep as he balled his hand into a fist.

“This is not the time.” Dedrus pushed between them, his biceps swelling as he pushed them apart. “Treycore, do you really think Kinzer would’ve ratted out Janka?”

“I think,” Treycore said, “you need to stop making decisions with your dick.”

Dedrus glanced at Kinzer meekly and looked back to Treycore.

“Please,” Dedrus said.

Treycore folded his arms. His knuckles pressed into his bulbous pecs. The head of his dick dropped from his thong and slid down his thigh.

An erection stirred in Kid’s pants.

“We can’t risk this,” Treycore said. “Not right now.”

“What do you mean?” Kinzer asked. “What is it?”

“He could help,” Dedrus said. “And you know we’ll need any help we can get.”

“What are you talking about?” Kinzer asked.

Kid was asking the same question, but about so many more things.

“If this blows up in our face,” Treycore said to Dedrus, ignoring Kinzer, “it’s on your head.”

“Deal.”

“Okay,” Kinzer said. “Now, someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on?”