Soul Enslaved (Sons of Wrath Book 3) (20 page)

A glance at the camera screen seemed to tug him into a stupor. If Cherie persisted, no saying how his body might react without his mind steering the wheel. Swallowing his urges, he turned from the image of the female truly responsible for the tenting in his trousers. “I’m glad to know you’re adjusting well. Please leave.”

“I could be better,” she said over her shoulder, her ass still knocking against his thigh.

“It’s not happening.” Though, something
was
happening, evident in the urge he had to scratch his head where his horns had begun to poke through.

Smirking, she stuffed her breast back inside her shirt and twisted to a stand.

“Bras are part of your uniform,” Gavin said. “Wear one.”

“My, aren’t you the charmer?” She rounded his desk back to the other side. “I love having a man dictate my comfort.”

“And I’d be inclined not to give a shit about a bra, if I thought your comfort was the issue. Perhaps finding you with a customer in the men’s bathroom has clouded my perception. From now on, your business dealings are on your own time.”

“Funny, I don’t think you called me up here for a lecture.” She glanced down at his bulge. “I can help you with that, if you’d like.” Her eyebrow arched when he didn’t answer. “Wonder what the authorities would say, if I told them about our meeting.”

“Feel free. My office is wired with cameras from every angle. The fact that I never once laid a hand on you, I’m certain, will speak for itself.” The lisp of his fangs nearly called his bluff on that last word.

A smile curved her red lips. “I wouldn’t do that, anyway. I’m not as bad as you think.” She winked, and her hips pounded back and forth as she made her way toward the door. Gripping the frame, she paused there for a moment. “If you need anything else, it’s my pleasure to oblige. No strings.”

“Cherie,” Gavin called out, as she crossed the threshold. “One moment, please.” Excitement lit her face as she spun back around, and Gavin crossed the room until he stood a good foot away, facing her. “You will not remember any of this. Is that clear?”

Her eyes glazed, and she tripped backward before she caught herself.

Bullshit Buzz.

Watching her for any sign of her own bullshit, Gavin backed himself to his desk, blowing out a breath and falling back into his chair as soon as the door clicked shut.

Christ
.

He’d almost done it again.

Women had always been his weakness. He could thank genetics for that. In his world of royal blood, spreading his seed meant viability, strength of his species. A healthy female like Cherie could easily excite a Wrath.

In the human realm, however, it meant a gamble—trouble he didn’t care to risk lately, particularly with a curse over his head.

Gavin had to find that loophole, and fast. With Jessica imprisoned, though, the
odds
were pretty much laughing in his face.

Gavin grabbed hold of his painfully swollen nuts and, sucking in a deep breath, squeezed until stars formed in his eyes. Thoughts of Jessica drifted through his mind—a sobering visual that had his fangs sliding back and the sting of his horns subsiding. He released his balls and blew out the imprisoned breath, allowing his body to calm, his beast to retreat, yet his dick still tented his pants, as if the damn thing suddenly resented him.

Nabbing his drink from the desk beside him, he held it up like a toast. “Get used to it, buddy. I am.”

***

Jeven tipped back a beer, sinking into his armchair—the only piece of furniture in the dilapidated house he’d commandeered from a crack whore and her boyfriend. Two females fondled and sucked each other’s tits on the television. Used to be, he could get off on the sight, but having spent decades in porn, it just didn’t do much for him. His tastes had grown darker, his desires more taboo. He’d had two women in his bed. Slaves. Males. Females. Orgies. Had done it all.

How dark could he go? Would he ever be sated?

He polished the last swill and tossed the bottle against the wall, where it shattered to the floor.

He wanted one. One female. One female who could satiate him with the power she didn’t even realize she wielded.

Sabelle. He’d gotten his taste. Had damn near licked death’s cheek and could almost smell his rose-flavored ruin.

A succubus capable of coaxing a man toward his own demise was powerful. A succubus capable of coaxing her own pimp to do the same was something only a goddess could achieve, because that shit didn’t happen. In Jeven’s mind, that kind of power could be dangerous and needed a tight collar to keep it in check.

If she had even the slightest realization of what he’d done—the dark secret he’d stashed away since he first laid eyes on her at the age of twelve—she’d kill him without question.

She could, too. Jeven didn’t shit himself about that. Being unaware of her true power was all that stood between him living his shit high life and scrubbing souls in Stygius.

He’d kept her on a leash for years, until those kids arrived and everything went to hell. She’d begun to challenge him, to undermine him, and although Jeven kept a firm hand on her, he wasn’t stupid. One slip and she might quickly discover the reason Jeven had never forced her into collecting souls. If she happened to reach renoshza, it’d be all over, and Jeven sure as hell didn’t like the idea of a Wrath taking up residence with her. At the very least, Jeven’d managed to instill fear—enough that Sabelle had always had a hard time even coming close to orgasm. He’d forced the other succubi to take up the slack in souls, by running a sweatshop of prostitution, just to keep Cash off his ass when he risked not meeting his quota. Who the hell knew what that meant anymore, with the demon staying with her? Nothing Jeven could do about it, either, because in the underworld, Wraths had the same reputation that Pit Bulls carried in the human realm. You just didn’t fuck with them, if you could avoid it.

His lids grew heavy as liquor he’d downed earlier mingled with the beers he’d sucked down.

Ah, shit
. Passing out meant possibly releasing the torrent of piss tripping the gates and the vomit cocked at the back of his throat.

“I’ve always wondered what pimps do with themselves while their bitches are out working the streets.”

The voice penetrated his half-sober state, and Jeven lolled his head to the side, taking in red. Lots of red. A red band stretched across her throat, too, though all he could make out was a faded stripe. “Sabelle?” Didn’t sound like her voice, but, damn, his didn’t sound like his, either.

“What if I was? Would you pour another drink and wallow in your own self-loathing?”

He sat up in the chair. “Who th’ fu—” His words arrived on a slur, lessening the authority in his voice. Features of the woman’s face shifted in and out of focus. Not Sabelle. “Wh-fucru?”

She crouched in front of him. “You don’t like being one-upped by a woman, do you?” Her hands slid along his thighs. “You like to be the one in control.”

“Are you … you’re a hallushinashion. I get it. Fuckin’ Elysia, man. That shit’s potent.”

“What do you want more than anything? The woman, yes. But she is a means to an end. What is it?”

Jeven’s lip curled into a smile. “Own this city. M’own bitches. And knock Cash off his pe-pesestal.”

She kissed his thigh, her face still a blur. “You can.” Her mouth inched higher, his flaccid dick coming to life with each feathered breath against his skin. “You can have everything you want. Women. Respect. Power.
Sabelle
.”

“Already own Sabelle.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t own shit.” Her gaze wandered the room. “You should be in a penthouse, drinking expensive champagne.” She lifted a busted bottle from the floor. “Instead of cheap, liquor store piss-water. Human pimps live better than you.”

“W—wha’ you talking about?”

“You’re going to tell me who you sold Cash’s Black Book to.”

Jeven threw his head back in laughter. “What makes’ou think I stole it?”

“That’s how you want to play?” She smiled, tipping her head as she rubbed his thighs.

“How d’
you
play?”

The smile disappeared, and as a piercing pain gripped his balls, Jeven double over, a blood curdling scream tearing through his chest.

“I like to play hardball. I’ll ask you nicely, and then you’ll be calling mercy.”

“Fuck!” He gritted his teeth, breathing hard through his nose. “You’re gonna … rip them off!”

“I suppose, if I have to, yes. Though, I’d prefer not. Only because I hate cleaning up the blood.” She bit her lip, and another zap of pain struck his nuts. “Now, to
whom
did you sell the book?”

“Lachlan! Fuckin’ Lachlan!”

She released him, and the floating stars dispersed into a haze of dimming lights and nausea gurgling in his gut. “Thank you.” Her voice held a wicked sweetness.

She tugged down his pants, freeing his dick from its confines. Her tongue circled the tip, and just like that, Jeven’s erection sprang to life.

Looking him straight in the eye, she continued to tongue him. “You get off on pain.”

“
Giving
pain,” he clarified.

“Oh, I beg to differ.” She unbuttoned her top, giving full view of her plump breasts. “I’d like to explore your threshold. And then maybe we’ll talk business. In fact, I think you’d make a great partner.”

“Who
are
you?”

“You can call me Madame.” She stood up from his lap, tugging a dagger from her hip. “This … Sabelle. Why do you fear her?”

“I don’t fear her.”

“You do. There’s something about her that keeps you at a safe distance. I’ve watched you. Watching her.” Her finger slid along the blade. “Tell me, what is the one thing in all of this world that would bring her to her knees?”

“Why?”

The woman’s head tipped to the side, eyebrow winged up, and she tapped the dagger to her lip as though waiting impatiently.

Jeven met her eyes. “I can think of two.”

CHAPTER 6

Familiarity welcomed Sabelle like a warm blanket, as she walked through Griff’s Garage, taking in the overwhelming metallic scent and underlying notes of dirty motor oil, grease and rubber. Like home. She’d spent more time in Griffin’s garage than anywhere else, growing up.

A great escape from her mother and the male du jour.

Naked women plastered the walls between dangling car parts, in the belly of the building, where patrons didn’t venture. Griff tended them in front, mostly because he happened to be particular about his workspace. He always appreciated the business customers brought him, but the man was far from social. ‘You should see me … I’ma hell of a people-person when no one’s around,’ he often said. Never bothered Sabelle much, though. Socializing didn’t happen to be her thing, either.

Gavin followed behind Sabelle, his wandering gaze exposing his car enthusiast side. Odd thing about Gavin. On the outside, he carried a sort of James Bond appeal. One’d never know there was a MacGyver buried somewhere in there, too—one unafraid of getting his hands greasy.

John Darrow, or Darrow, as everyone called him, waved at Sabelle, while Clyde shot her a wink. Both men must’ve been approaching sixty and had been with Griffin as long as she could remember. The two reminded her of Ralph and Ed from the
Honeymooners
—a show she’d have no knowledge about, if Griffin didn’t happen to own old episodes on tape. They’d watch the old black and white shows sometimes, while he took care of her and Denya, on nights when her mother was out looking for clients.

Sabelle stopped beside the hoisted car. “You seen Griff?”

“Office.” Darrow threw a thumb over his shoulder. “How you been kiddo?”

“Not bad. How’s Stell?”

“Good, good.” He slid his cap from his head, his black stained fingers scrubbing through the thinning gray hair atop his head. “Up and around now, taking her meds. Thought the good Lord was callin’ her name, with that last heart attack.”

Sabelle offered a smile. “She’s a feisty one, that Stella. No man tells her what to do, not even the Big One upstairs.”

Laughter threw Darrow’s head back. “Ah, I’m gonna have to tell her you said that! She’ll get a kick out of that one.”

“Give her a hug for me while you’re at it. Tell her to stop smokin’ so much.”

“Yeah, I’ve tried. Lotta good that does. Who’s this one?” Darrow nodded toward Gavin.

Sabelle’s attention cut to Gavin and back, a sly smile playing on her lips. “My sex slave.”

Another obnoxious laugh had Darrow bent forward, clutching his stomach. “Darlin’, you are full of it today!”

Sabelle shot a quick glance over her shoulder to see Gavin smiling back. “I’m gonna let you two get back to work. Enough entertainment.” She kept on toward Griffin’s office, Gavin trailing close behind.

A knock on the door, and Sabelle pushed through to find a brawny, bearded biker kicked back with his feet up on the desk. The coiled phone cord stretched across chest prevented him rising—probably the only joint in the city that actively conducted business on a tethered land-line.

Many of the bikers Sabelle had come to know boasted impressive beer guts and chub on their faces. Griffin looked like he worked out. Not chiseled like Gavin, but not a trace of gut, either. His body was big and solid, barrel chest and small waist, hands always coated in grease stains—no matter how long he washed them. She’d once tried to scrub them with a manicure brush from her mother’s makeup bag, before accepting that grease on Griffin was like wrinkles on an old man. A while back, his black silky hair’d reached his shoulders, when un-tethered in a small ponytail, but he’d since cut it short, giving him a Javier Bardem with tattoos appearance. His black beard always looked perfectly trimmed, never shaggy and gross like some of the bikers she’d encountered at the bar.

He held up a finger, and Sabelle turned to Gavin, who seemed to be studying pictures on the wall.

Head tipped, he whistled. “Nice.”

Amid various species of motorcycle, a few cars had been sprinkled in and Gavin had zeroed in on a shot of a black beauty, beside which Griffin gave a thumbs up.