by G A Chase
“I don’t understand,” Bart said. “Those two dogs aren’t just your pets?”
Kendell lifted Cheesecake to her face for a good snuggle. “This old girl has been with me for thirty-four years. While we were combating Baron Malveaux, she made a trip to hell with us. That’s where she had her litter of pups. Myles and Doughnut Hole instantly bonded, so we kept him for ourselves. He’s twenty-one years old.”
“How is that even possible?” Bart asked.
Myles scratched behind the former hellhound’s floppy ear. “Their longevity was the only payment I requested from Papa Ghede. Until this morning, my boy has been as well-behaved as any other Lhasa—meaning he’s had his moments, but I’ve never seen his eyes go red before.”
Sere feared Bart was about to spill the beans about Jennifer. She had to say something to distract him. “Could it have been something he ate?”
Kendell shook her head. “I keep all of the voodoo stuff locked up, though he’s certainly acting the way Cheesecake did when she swallowed that cursed pipe tool.”
“Is there anything we can do?” Bart asked. Sere wasn’t sure if he was directing the question at her or the bar owners.
Kendell put Cheesecake down. “You could give Myles a hand tonight so I can take these two mutts home, where they’ll be less agitated.”
“I’m happy to help.” Bart picked up the closest clean bar rag and tossed it over his shoulder.
“You’ll need to tell me what to do, but I’d also like to help.” Sere had never worked a real job in her life.
Bart smacked her with the towel. “Rule number one: don’t kill anybody.”
“I think I can remember that one.”
Kendell rigged up the harnesses on the two dogs. “You’d be surprised. It’s harder than it sounds.”
Though Sere had danced many a night away on the Scratchy Dog’s painted concrete floor, she’d never noticed how much work the staff endured to keep the alcohol flowing. She grabbed the tray of Budweiser bottles and tried to balance it on her hand the way she’d seen other waitresses do it.
“Imagine it’s a weapon,” Bart said as he helped her get it stable, “and you’re going to spin it to slice off someone’s head.”
“Don’t give me any ideas.” She held the round metal tray high to avoid it being jostled by the throng of dancing bodies and headed off across the floor. Getting from the bar to the tables was nearly as challenging as performing a running, tumbling gymnastic attack. She slid the tray onto a table just as her foot slipped in a puddle of unknown liquid.
“Thank you, pretty lady.” From the deeply set beer stains on his faded purple-and-gold LSU sweatshirt, the frat boy looked to know his way around a bar. While she was still bent over, he attempted to palm a five-dollar bill into the back pocket of her jeans.
Sere had the boy on the ground—his hand twisted to the point of snapping bones—before she realized what she was doing. “Just leave the money on the table.”
She let him go and headed back through the undulating bodies before things turned ugly. The dancers kept moving without missing a beat. If any of them had noticed the altercation, they must have dismissed it as just another night at the bar.
“Good thing I didn’t put you on as shot girl,” Myles said when she returned to the counter. “Here. Take these margaritas to the women at table four. And try not to break anyone’s arm on the way.”
“I didn’t mean to attack him. I guess Doughnut Hole isn’t the only one feeling a little fiery tonight.” She swung the tray up to her shoulder and headed back into the fray, searching out the least difficult path through the crowd.
Without realizing where she was going, she stepped next to the asshole who’d tried to grope her. He kicked his foot into her ankle. As their feet interlocked, Sere’s perception rate doubled, making everything in the bar appear to be happening in slow motion. By popping her hand fully open, she palmed the tray a few inches into the air. The asshole’s attempt to trip her partially succeeded. She landed her foot that had been in stride, caught her weight, and pirouetted around. With the hand she’d used to transport the tray fully flexed, she jabbed the dude in the trachea before her momentum carried her around to catch the tray as it drifted back down to her palm. She continued on across the floor as if the whole movement had been a smooth recovery from a misstep. From behind her, she could hear the college kid gag and bang his head on the table. Sere kept walking as his friends rushed around the table to see what he was choking on.
“Nice move.” A stylish woman in her midthirties accepted the oversized margarita glass with both hands.
Sere looked around to see if anyone else had caught the show. “I tripped.”
Every woman around the table laughed. “We saw him fondle your ass,” one of them said. “You don’t have to make up a story for us.”
The first woman set three twenties on the tray. “Keep the change. You sure won’t be getting a tip from that table of idiot boys.”
On the way back to the bar, Sere bashed the LSU fan on the back of the head with her tray. “Asshole.”
He swung off the seat with more speed than she’d expected from someone who’d already had four beers. “You messed with the wrong dude, sister.”
“I ain’t your sister.” She made a quick assessment of her situation. The bar was crowded, which limited the field of battle. Frat boy might be able to hold his alcohol, but that didn’t mean he’d be at full fighting mentality. He also might not feel pain as easily. She needed to put him down fast.
“I’m really going to enjoy this.” He lunged at her like a football lineman—all forward momentum and no agility. He put his arms out for the tackle.
“Idiot.” She took his wrist again and spun around, twisting his arm behind him. As he tumbled into a group of dancing girls, Sere swatted him on the ass with the metal tray. “Care to try again?”
His buddies weren’t as fast in getting into the action, but seeing their friend on the floor seemed to change their goal from aggression to valor. They helped him to his feet but kept hold of his arms. “Come on, Willy,” one of the frat boys said. “Let’s find someplace else to drink. This bitch looks like she’ll spit in your beer. You wouldn’t want to catch anything from her.” The others forced a laugh as they coerced their friend toward the door.
Bart stood at the entrance with his muscular arms folded over his chest like a bouncer, the Navy SEAL tattoo on his bicep clear for all to see. “Aren’t you boys forgetting something?”
They quickly fumbled for whatever cash they had in their pockets and dumped it on the closest table. The one who’d confronted Sere tried to break out of his friends’ grasp. “You’re not so big. I’ll fight you and your scrawny-ass girlfriend.” Based on his slurring, the alcohol had finally worked its way into his system.
“She doesn’t need my help to bust you up, but I’d just as soon not ruin the party. Now, pull out a twenty as your way of apologizing and leave the premises.”
“The fuck I will!”
Bart’s hand sprang out so fast that it looked like a snake striking. His fingers clamped around the boy’s windpipe. “You’ve got thirty seconds before you pass out.”
The guy gurgled his compliance before reaching into his jeans and pulling out his wallet. Sere watched the action from the bar with a combination of envy at not being in on the fight and admiration for her boyfriend. The term hadn’t even entered her thoughts until she’d heard the youth refer to her as Bart’s girlfriend.
“I don’t think being a bar waitress is my calling,” she said to Myles. “If I have to face another asshole like that one, he’s going to be carried out of here on a stretcher.”
Myles took the tray from her hand and checked the clock on the wall. “Eleven forty-five. You did well for your first night. I’ve had waitresses that didn’t last half as long and ended up crying in the alleyway.”
Bart came back from the door and handed over his bar rag. “I’d better keep an eye on her—assuming you ca
n spare me.”
Sere ran her hand over Bart’s sweaty-shirt-covered chest. “I can think of one activity that might calm me down.”
Myles snapped the towel at both of them. “Get out of here, you crazy kids.”
Sere knew what it was to have her demon side take over in a fight. Being fueled up from hell was the most powerful drug she could imagine. With Joe’s help, she’d learned to harness the energy and use it without being consumed by it. The supercharged adrenaline always let itself be known first in her vision, which would turn from the colors of life to the intense shades of the red of the damned. Then each of her other senses would take on an equally heightened, though single-dimensional, sensitivity.
Outside in the dark, everything took on the distinct red hue she knew well as her skin tingled with electricity. When Bart stopped to unlock the door, her ears picked up his bull-like breathing. His male pheromones wafted to her like an airborne drug. She could practically taste his body on the tip of her tongue.
Halfway up the stairs to her loft, her impression of his luscious ass as he climbed in front of her switched from a longing to an all-out obsession. She reached for his belt. With all of her one-hundred-nine-pound body, she yanked at the sides of his jeans. Like a locomotive pulling a single caboose, Bart powered up the incline without missing a stride.
As he fumbled with the lock, she pressed against his back and reached around to unbuckle his belt. Her hand was down the front of his jeans, grasping his engorged erection, before he turned the door handle. “I want you now,” she growled in his ear.
He pushed open the door then swung around to face her. “It’s been less than twelve hours since we last rattled the rafters. What’s gotten into you?”
She didn’t let go of his cock as she yanked hard at the back of his jeans with her free hand. “Something primal has been set loose inside me. And as a being born in hell, my urges rage like an all-consuming fire that can never be satisfied.” Without bending over, she could only get the pants down past his waist. He grabbed the bottom of her halter top and tugged it over her head, forcing her to let go of her prize. She looked down at her milky-white breasts, expecting them to be glowing red with desire. “How can they not be outwardly displaying the lust I feel inside?”
His hands completely devoured each tingling mound. She threw her head back and arched her spine to force her tender flesh even harder into his rough clasp. His enraged cock ground against her stomach. She needed him inside of her, his hands grasping every tender section of flesh, his mouth breathing life into her—and she needed it all immediately. She reached around behind him and took hold of his shoulders for support then rubbed her body up his without ever losing an inch of skin-to-skin contact. When her crotch lined up with his naked cock, she wound her legs around his body.
With his pants lowered below his butt, he carried her to the bed. The longing between her legs refused to release the cock just a few layers of fabric away. She undulated her hips in an attempt to drive them even closer together. His hands didn’t leave her breasts until he’d lowered her to the mattress.
She didn’t want to let go of his body, but as his hands massaged their way down her torso, she spread her legs for whatever he planned to do next. “I fucking hate wearing clothes when we’re together,” she said.
Her tummy fluttered as he ran his fingertips lightly over the bare skin above the waistline of her low-rider jeans. The rocking of her butt pulled the elastic top of her panties above the heavier denim. She longed for him to rip her clothes off and plunge himself into her. His torturous teasing had her writhing against the bed in agony. If he wasn’t going to get on with it, she’d have to do it herself. She reached down and started undoing the button and zipper.
His playful swat at her hands made her stop. “None of that. You remember our agreement. I let you play whatever games you could come up with last night, so now you have to let me show you what it’s like to have to wait.”
“This is worse than being in hell.” At least, in that dimension, she could take what she wanted sexually from the doppeldildoes and not worry about what they had to say about the situation.
He bent down and kissed the exposed panties between the flaps of her open jeans. Her body felt like it was on fire, and the point of ignition was just under his lips. She grabbed his head and tried to force her longing into his mouth. She only partially succeeded. His teeth clamped down on the thin white cotton. With a growl of lust worthy of the most potent demon, he lifted his head, ripping the delicate fabric to shreds.
“Don’t stop.” She wanted to feel that level of lust against her skin, even if it resulted in wounded flesh. His soft kisses on the newly exposed skin only made her whimper with increased desperation. “You’ve been teasing me for hours. Fuck me already!”
“It’s been minutes,” he said between kisses that traced along the V of her strawberry-blond wisps.
Grabbing the remains of her insufferable clothing, he finally freed her of the constraints that separated them. Fully exposed, she spread her legs wide and arched her back to show him how much she needed him. His tender kisses along the inside of her leg were becoming her undoing. With each press of his manly lips to her sensitive flesh, she was forced to imagine him progressing toward her desire. By the time his hands cupped her ass cheeks, she was completely at his mercy—not a position she understood or enjoyed but one she accepted in her show of trust.
His lips parted. The hot breath that had brought goose bumps to her inner thighs engulfed her. It took all of her control to not direct the action.
“What are you doing to me?” she whined.
The powerful tip of his tongue separated the delicate folds of her flesh like he was peeling away the layers of her soul. Warm, wet, and wanton, the raspy appendage curled over her clit. She longed to be devoured by him, to have him know every intimate detail of her lust, to have no barriers between them.
Her self-control broke as easily as the orgasm that shook her body. Dropping her hips to the bed—and her sex out of his mouth—she grabbed him by the ears and kissed him so fervently she doubted he could breathe. “Enough playing,” she said as she let him go.
“Whatever my heroine needs.” His legs shed the last of his pants as he crawled onto the bed after her. As she lay out flat, he finally put his erection where it belonged—deep within her. The slow buildup was over. He didn’t stop writhing up her body until he’d fully driven his cock into her.
She pulled feverishly at his shirt like a wild animal tearing its prey to shreds. Skewered by his erection, she arched her back and undulated her hips so every nerve ending inside her could experience the joy of knowing his manliness. His soft grunts as he pressed his forehead to hers preceded the ramrodding of his cock into her. She caressed the back of his head as his animal nature took over. The red demonic haze that had inflicted every part of her since the moment they’d stepped out of the Scratchy Dog slowly let go of its hold on her senses.
When the long, even thrusts of his iron-hard erection shortened to intimate, desperate jabs, she knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. “Let me have all of you,” she whispered.
His raw emotional release matched the flood of hot liquid that spread inside her. The intensity swept over her like a wave, creating an orgasmic response from her in its wake. He finally lifted himself off of her, rested his weight on his elbows, and gazed into her eyes. “The red’s gone.”
“You fucked the hell out of me.”
4
Sere would have gladly stayed naked in bed with Bart all day. The energy that made every nerve ending demand action had finally abated, but not until she’d ridden him so hard he complained about the skin of his erection being rubbed raw from the friction.
The ringing of the landline phone on Bart’s side of the bed made her sit bolt upright. Only a trusted few had the number. She still wondered if the ancient technology was really needed, but Kendell and Myles had insisted on installing the service, and it was, after all,
their building. Bart had assured her, based on his military knowledge of telecommunications, that her hell-based energy wouldn’t be an issue.
He rolled over and picked up the receiver. “What?” His lazy, half-lidded eyes flew open as he sat upright. He cupped the receiver and whispered, “It’s Ann Fisher.”
Shit! Sere and Doughnut Hole weren’t the only creatures connected to hell. Though Monty was nothing more than demented thoughts inside the kindly CPA’s brain, the demon was still hell-based.
She took the phone from Bart. “What’s wrong with him?”
He shook his head. “We really need to work on your phone etiquette.”
“I don’t know.” From the woman’s trembling, phone-distorted voice, Sere could tell Ann was barely holding it together. “It must have to do with the concussion he suffered. He woke up in the middle of the night, babbling like a crazy man. By dawn, I was able to convince him to let me take him to the hospital. We had to call an ambulance as I couldn’t drive and keep an eye on him at the same time. The doctors are running tests, but if it was something simple, they would have said so by now. Our daughters are on a retreat. I can’t face this alone. I don’t know you very well, but Montgomery thinks the world of you. It would make me feel better if you were here.”
Sere checked her watch. At eight in the morning, the doctors probably hadn’t had time to figure much out—not that they would be able to diagnose hell’s influence. “I’m on my way.”
“What’s wrong now?” Bart asked as Sere handed back the phone.
“I think Fisher is suffering the effects of hell. I’m headed to the hospital. Can you round up Kendell and Polly and follow me over? I’m afraid whatever had ahold of me last night might be powering up Monty as well.”
Sere pulled her Triton motorcycle as close to the hospital entrance as she could manage. Bart, on his much faster Ducati, was right on her tail. For the entire short ride from the Quarter, all she could think about was her sweet, caring, superhero-sidekick friend going all demony the way Thomas had. “I don’t know the first thing about human medicine. What will they do to him?”