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“So I see you Monday in Miami, yes?” Boris asked.
“Miami?”
“For fitting?”
“Right. The wedding outfits. Yes, I’ll be there.” Miami was the last place Damien wanted to go, but a deal was a deal. Especially when it came to the Russian mafia.
“Good, bring date for big dinner sister’s place. I text you address.”
Date? “I’m only coming to measure the wedding party and…” Boris had already hung up.
Damien exhaled slowly. He was losing his mind. The gods wanted him to find the cure to immortal death. His dark beast wanted him to go on a killing spree. MF wanted to turn his family’s legacy into a dress empire. Boris wanted to socialize. Sky wanted him to host her sister and nephew. Pet and two demons wanted to live with him indefinitely. All he fucking wanted was to be left alone!
The drive home with the top down gave Damien another much-needed cooling-down period along with some clarity. The key to staying sane was prioritizing the issues. First there was the immortal exodus issue. Second, punishing and stopping anyone involved with the traffickers. Third, dealing with his beast. And finally, getting these intruders out of his life. This last one would be dealt with tonight.
“Hello?” Damien entered his home, noting the scent of fresh warm bread in the air. Who the hell was baking?
He stepped into his once-pristine kitchen now covered in flour, batter, and other goop running down the walls, which Pet was licking while Gorgonzolina watched.
“What are you doing?” he asked Pet.
“Baking you I’m-sorry biscuits.”
He had no idea what was in them, but eating anything prepared by a sex fairy was never a wise idea. Also, he did not need an apology. He simply wanted her gone.
“You clean up this mess immediately,” he ordered. “I want my kitchen just like you found it.”
“You mean sad, lonely, and no sense of sexiness?” she asked innocently.
“It is called the minimalist look.”
“You win. It is minimally sexy. Though, you do have a nice variety of festive potholders.”
Grrr…He hated people touching his stuff. “I want this mess cleaned up immediately. Oh, yes, and I need to ask you and Gorgo something.”
“Gorgo?”
He jerked his head at the brown Chihuahua still avoiding eye contact.
“She says she doesn’t like nicknames,” Pet corrected. “You must use her entire proper demon name.”
“I will call you what I like, when I like, and you will answer my question,” he said.
“See. I told you. He’s very mean,” Pet said.
“Exactly. Now I need you both to tell me where you were captured and where they took you before you got to the Browns’ house.” Damien wanted to find out who was involved in this despicable trafficking operation—who supplied the Browns with the women and creatures? Where were they taken from? Who were the clients? Most of all, which ones were involved in torturing the creatures in that bunker?
Finally, Sky had said that Vincente Newbery was an investor in the Browns’ company. Damien wanted to find out what that meant and how deeply the Newberys were involved. Did this go all the way up to the governor? Their rich friends? Because someone was still trying to shut Sky up, unaware she was already dead. Strangely, that third article, implicating the Newberys, still had not gone live. He needed to ask Sky about that.
“I don’t remember much about being captured,” Pet said. “I was dancing in some guy’s pants at a festival in Austin. He was tripping, and I was tickling.”
“Vile.”
She went on, “Next thing I know, I was thrown inside a box. It was cold.”
That didn’t help. “Pet, do you know if others were taken at the same time as you?”
“There were a few. We were all scooped up and then…” Her voice trailed off.
