Fiona had shown me all the basics. Of cleaning the bathrooms, of serving the men, of helping Jackson when it got too busy. She worked as an Aphrodite, but when the servers were shorthanded, she stepped in.
I’d quickly realized she was the most lucid of the bunch.
As we sat in her room at the Pit, simple with a black satin blanket and velvet throw pillows, she applied a dark red stain to my lips.
“It’ll get you more tips,” she told me, pressing a white tissue between my lips to get off any excess. “The men will imagine their dicks there.”
I hadn’t said anything back and looked at my reflection. Face contoured, blush heavy and lashes thick and long, shadowing my eyes, and the deep, dark lips.
“The men around here are simple, doll. Look like you wanna fuck ‘em and that’ll guarantee you more tips,” Fiona said and patted my back.
My lips twitched, and I turned to look back at her. The entire time I held back from asking questions.
By eight, the Pit was packed tight with all different range of demons. Most came here to gamble Fiona told me, betting on who was most likely to win the fights. They came here for a quick, good time, in a place where sins were encouraged, and manners were left at the door. And all that somehow required us waitresses to wear short black skirts made of the thinnest material one could possibly find. I hated the outfit, but I couldn’t start being picky. A job was a job. But every time the door opened and the wind blew through, the skirt was always dangerously close to flying up.
The tips made the job; the men did not, Fiona told me.
The buzz of the Pit weighed heavy on my chest, squeezing painfully my pounding, frantic heart as I swerved through the crowded rows of customers.
“I need a rum, pretty lady,” one man said, his hand slipping around my waist as I passed.
“Sure.” I kept walking, his hand vanishing from my side.
I didn’t want to piss off Danny’s customers. They were already shady folks, especially if they hang around here. Women were the bottom of the lows to them. There was no honor worth more than survival. So I let them touch me, just like every other woman in the Pit.
I was the sole survivor of my family and that was why no matter how much shit life threw my way, I would keep surviving. I would keep creating a life for myself.
I smirked at that. Stubbornness was what had saved me for years. My soul didn’t want to give up and I wasn’t letting death take me just yet. It had been months ago when I had been patrolling for Scorpios at a house party in Queens. Hunters of Orion, humans who loathed demons, had jumped me. I hadn’t had a chance to fight against them, but they had taken me and starved me. They paraded me around like a toy in their clubs. They never touched me sexually, but once they found out I had connections to Scorpios—to the Knights—they had focused on getting answers from me.
I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t betray Tensley. So I let them.
They broke the wrong parts of me.
They broke my wings and forgot I had claws.
I’d survive and that’s what I was still doing. Surviving. But I knew now that there was more to life than just surviving.
When Beau had touched me that first night, when I’d fought in the ring, I’d felt alive. The most alive I’d felt in a long time.
If ever.
I wanted that feeling to last.
I learned earlier that day that Fiona had a son at home and this job made the best money to offer him the resemblance of a good life. She’d had him when she was young, nineteen she’d said, and she’d been raising him with her own mother. Her son’s father had been shot in a street fight a few months before she’d given birth. He was four now, and her eyes shone brightly whenever she said his name; Alaric.
I couldn’t imagine taking care of a child. Hell, it was hard enough surviving on my own, let alone having to keep someone else alive too.
My fingers itched with the buzz—the sound of the voices cheering and laughing from inside the concrete building sent a shiver down my spine.
I walked through the crowd, into the dark warmth of sweat and smoke and sex. The closer I got to the bar, the more my body ached. I elbowed my way through the crowd, a few people stopping to watch me in curiosity. When I leaned against the oak bar, the wet mixture of booze touched my skin.
I scanned the crowd, looking for a sign, a clue to have anything to do with Dolores. Any sketchy behavior. I wanted to ask people questions, but I feared I’d give my cover away. I continued to scan, and unconsciously, I realized I was looking for him, for Beau, but didn’t see any trace of the incubus. He did patrol and maybe tonight he was busy with some misbehaving lowlifes.
I sighed but noted the empty tray on the counter and quickly grabbed it. I straightened my posture and weaved my way through the crowds. I searched for any guy with an empty or half-filled glass and approached the first one I saw.
“Another drink?” I asked over the loud crowd.
He gave me a look, but nodded, handing me his drink. “Rum and Diet Coke.”
I smiled at him and continued making my rounds until I had enough to return to the bar.
“Three rum and Diet Cokes, one whisky on the rocks and one water,” I told Jackson as he watched me put the tray on the counter. I smiled at him. “The last guy said he’s on a diet,” I snickered before rolling my eyes playfully.
Drinking Diet Coke instead of regular Coke because you were on a diet was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard. Coke was still Coke, whichever one you drank, it was still a ticket straight to the hospital.
Jackson didn’t say a word and scoffed, turning to make the drinks. Did he ever smile?
“He doesn’t like anyone, babe. Don’t take it personally,” a voice spoke into my ear, and I spun around to see Danny there, his front almost pressed against my back.
When his hand touched the curve of my hip, I stepped away. I could taste the bitterness of his distasteful emotions towards me on my tongue without having to touch him. They were that strong.
I knew not to ask him any of my questions. I didn’t trust him and that put him at the very top of my list of people who might have something to do with Dolores’ disappearance.
“How’s tonight going?”
“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to it,” I told him, voice clipped but not unprofessional. I turned and walked back through the crowd, trying to put distance between us, but I could still feel him behind me. Watching me.
I suppressed another shudder, letting my gaze drift over each individual, for a sign, a clue. Anything.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Danny’s shadow move again, getting closer and closer to me. I handed a drink back to a customer, plastering a fake smile on my lips.
“You looking for Savage?” Danny’s voice asked again from behind me.
My eyes swung to his and he grinned at the sudden eagerness in my eyes. “I thought he wasn’t here tonight.”
“Oh, he is. He just hasn’t come out to play yet. But he’ll be here soon enough, he’s fighting tonight,” he added, and my eyes instantly looked to the railing that overlooked the ring below.
I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant and moved past him, but again, he followed. My nails dug into the palm of my hand, barely restraining myself from clawing his face for not getting the fucking message.
I went to the steel railing and gripped it tightly. I gazed down at the thick crowd of demons thirsting for blood and eyed the empty ring of dirt.
The buzz of strong emotions this place reeked of sunk deeper into my bones and I breathed through my nose. I watched as a fighter, bald and huge and muscular, walked into the ring and raised his arms, claiming the area as his own.
“I can get us a booth to watch,” Danny said, his shoulder rubbing against my own. “You might want to—”
I shut him out as Beau appeared in the darkness of the entrance, shirtless, his muscular tattooed chest gleaming with sweat and he moved forward, unrushed.
The crowd erupted in cheers for him and my knuckles turned white around the railing.
In an effortless move, he bent low at the waist, under the thick ropes and entered the ring. His eyes seemed focused on the other fighter pacing along the other side of the square of dirt.
Steel, the referee during my own fight the previous week, stood up on the side of the ring.
When Steel raised one arm, the chaos began.
I watched the two men fight in amazement and horror. Beau let the other fighter make the first move, but as soon as he did, Beau was ducking low with amazing efficiency and counterattacking with quick blows of his own. His arms swung low, aiming for the man’s stomach and plowed into him. Over and over.
The cheer of the crowd overwhelmed my senses.
There was the sour taste of a need for violence on my tongue and it mixed in with the creamy taste of desire.
Both men were vicious, fast and brutal, but Beau—Beau was deadly, and I couldn’t look away as the fight continued.
He was the chaos of my soul and it drummed under my skin with each strike of his iron fists.
I couldn’t keep track of each blow and before I knew it, the other fighter was knocked out cold.
Blood ran down Beau’s forehead and he didn’t bother wiping it away as he walked out of the ring.
I watched him make his way through the parted crowd, up the stairs. He felt so close to me now yet still too far.
Part of me prayed he wouldn’t see me and the other craved he would. Craved for him to get closer, closer, closer. So that the taste of everyone else’s emotions would wash away from the tip of my tongue and his would be the only one filling my mouth.
I held my breath as he stepped onto the second level, the men shouting his name everywhere around us.
Danny was still at my side, but I didn’t care. My sole focus was on Beau.
The disgraced Beau Knight. The once golden boy, now layered in blood and dirt and sin. His features were sculpted by pure lightning, carving sharp cheekbones and jawlines, like a cool glass of whisky rolling along one’s tongue.
Maybe the people at the Pit had gotten used to him, but this version of Beau was all new to me.
I knew the beast his family saw him as, but I hadn’t known about the savage fighter he’d chosen to become here.
I watched him scan each face, always on guard, always searching for a demon to step out of line and into his iron fists.
Did he view me as one of them? A misbehaving demon? Someone who needed to be put back in line? Did he see me as a menace to his controlled chaos?
I thought of his words. Of him having to deal with me and it sent a shiver down my arms, a ripple of want deep inside of my stomach, down to my core.
Maybe I wanted him to control me. Maybe I wanted to get high off of him and indulge for once in a man of darkness and sin and let myself breathe in his wrath and sorrow.
Maybe he was the key to finding Dolores.
“Savage,” I whispered.
He may be Savage—the heartless bastard, but he still was an incubus—in his blood, in the sweat sitting on his top lip and running down the side of his jaw before gliding down his strong neck. All he had to do was shift slightly and his eyes would meet mine. And at the thought, I felt the urge, the stir of impatient passion simmer low in my belly.
And as they did, as his eyes collided with mine, I realized they weren’t completely anger and darkness.
No. It slowly sunk in the longer he stared, unmoving, his jaw ticking to a rhythm.
In those gleaming dark eyes was lust.
Strong, unquenchable and desperate lust.
I’m fucked.
So absolutely fucked.