by R. J. Blain
That would sink my ship.
“Knowing what I know, that’s a potent threat. However, I live there, so I’m going to have to ask you really nicely to not target the house. It’s pretty resilient against fire, seeing as it’s in the middle of a lava field.”
I shrugged. “A woman can dream, right?”
“You sure can. Shall we?” Jonas held out his arm, and the gesture puzzled me for a moment before I remembered some men had been taught linking arms was how they escorted a woman somewhere.
The dated yet charming gesture would give me something to think about later, but I danced to his tune. In a way, I appreciated I could lean on him—and use him to keep my balance while traversing the curb and dodging cracks in the sidewalk.
A salesman met us at the door, an older man wearing a designer suit, the kind the Devil would wear if he wanted to preen in front of an audience. It annoyed me I compared everyone to Lucifer and his wicked ways, especially when he opted to turn on the charm.
“Mr. Esmaranda, Miss Moore,” he greeted. “Shall we get the paperwork out of the way before I show you the vehicle and give you the keys?”
I appreciated his no-nonsense attitude, although it annoyed me I came second string to the incubus. Then, as though sensing my annoyance with the stereotypical sexism, Jonas shrugged and gave my elbow a pat. “Miss Moore is the star of the show, I am merely her servant, driver, and whatever she wishes me to be today.”
With a newfound appreciation for an incubus stating he could be whatever I wanted for the day, I put on my best lawyer face, smiled, and said, “Yes, let’s get the paperwork out of the way. I absolutely can’t wait to get behind the wheel. But I’ll let you drive me around as my servant in a while. I am a generous queen like that.”
“You’re most generous,” Jonas replied in an amused tone. “Do I get to be the prince or the pauper this time?”
“Pauper, but I’ll let you earn your way up towards prince with good behavior.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“And if you want to drive, you’ll accept it,” I countered.
The incubus chuckled. “As I really want to drive it, I’m accepting it with a smile.”
The salesman stared at us, but after a moment, he recovered and held the door open. “If you’ll come this way, Miss Moore?”
I stepped inside the dealership, which featured three other Lamborghinis, all of which likely outran the wind and would result in numerous speeding tickets should I drive them. Taking care to avoid speeding tickets would become an unanticipated challenge in my life.
My parents’ car could barely manage the speed limit on a good day.
Taking notice of my interest in the vehicles, the salesman took the time to introduce us to the other cars, rattling off their specs and confirming my initial suspicion they would beat the wind without breaking a sweat the instant they were freed from the showroom. Once satisfied we had a thorough knowledge of the showcased offerings, he led us to an office which continued the showcase theme, declaring Mr. Porter to be the manager of the dealership and the proud owner of numerous customer service excellence awards issued by Lamborghini.
As part of being an attorney involved tricking other attorneys with my pleasant expression and demeanor, I kept my thoughts and feelings to myself, sat in the chair Jonas held out for me, and prepared for an exercise in fine print.
Maybe attacking the Devil’s wallet appealed, but he would not be taken on the wrong kind of ride because of a dealership’s paperwork. Mr. Porter offered a leather folder to me, which I accepted, placed on the polished wood of his desk, and opened.
The top sheet bore Lamborghini’s embossed logo and a certificate of ownership for a rather limited edition car, and while I got first naming on the sheet, Jonas had a spot on it, too.
Lucifer would pay for making the car a true co-ownership arrangement, and I bet the bastard had done it to encourage me to keep his brother-in-law around permanently—or for the lifespan of the Lamborghini. His ploy stood a high chance of working. As getting angry would do me no good, I purged my annoyance with a soft chuckle and handed the sheet over to Jonas so he could bask in the glow of co-ownership. “You owe your brother-in-law for life, Jonas.”
“I already had, but I’m working on the next life now. I think I’ll hide his wallet behind Darlene’s milk again, as I have never repeated the same trick twice on him yet.”
I could see the prank standing a good chance of working if he’d been careful to never repeat himself. “I want to watch the fallout.”
“I’ll make sure to time it for your maximum enjoyment.”
Mr. Porter handed over a pair of pens, and heavy metal ones with our names on it. I had no idea how they’d gotten the pens on such short notice, although I supposed Lucifer could have taken his sweet time making the arrangements for the car’s sale.
Sneaky, sneaky Lucifer.
The next page held the payment details, confirmed the account, confirmed my allowed usage of the account, and stated the car’s purchase had been processed over a week ago. The price of the vehicle about killed me, as my new bastard of a boss had paid out almost three million dollars, after sales tax, for the forest green beauty of a car waiting outside for me to take it home.
Continuing the sexist theme, pink flags marked where I was supposed to sign, and I did before handing the sheet to Jonas and reviewing the next page, which informed me I had insurance under the Mephistopheles family account.
Yep, the Devil would pay for his crimes. I signed the paper and promised myself at least an hour while in a bubble bath fantasizing about my revenge. “He got us good.”
Jonas chuckled and took the paper. “It is one of his infuriating traits, his constant ability to blindside his targets. You won this round, though. He likes planning further in advance than a week, so you made him scramble.”
“Well, that’s something.”
According to the fine print, the Devil had already done his work protecting our souls, so we got to keep possession of them while we accepted two sets of keys. Lucifer had gotten to the dealership, as my key fobs had been custom made to be pink and sparkly. Jonas enjoyed a bronzed key fob, and his had a rather amusing amount of glitter imbued into the color. Armed with the folder containing our copy of the ownership papers and a huge giftbag each, heavy enough I wondered if someone had managed to stuff an entire tire into the damned thing, we went to make close acquaintances with the newest love of our lives.
It took Mr. Porter an entire hour to go over every button and feature of the Lamborghini, explain the maintenance schedule, certified mechanics if we were not in range of a dealership, and a thousand and one little details he understood we would forget and promised were in the owner’s manual, which was located in the vehicle’s glove box.
After an eternity of exchanging pleasantries, Jonas took the bow off the car, put it into the trunk, and handed over the keys to the rental, which Mr. Porter promised would be watched until the rental company came and retrieved it. One brief call to the rental company with the vehicle’s address later, and I slid behind the wheel of my new car and made myself comfortable.
Jonas grinned at me, buckled in, and adjusted his seat. “That asshole looked like he’d swallowed a fish when he really comprehended that you’re the owner of the car and I’m just the extra.”
I started the engine, and the car growled. “Do people like that end up going to hell, or do they get away with asking for forgiveness for their shitty ways just on the virtue of having asked for it?”
“He really doesn’t accept last-minute confessions and half-assed apologies at death as a way of entering the heavens, Sandra. That’s something the religious whackos created to make themselves feel better about their sins and their final destination. That said, there are plenty of sexist pigs and assholes who have done a lot of good deeds in their life, so they’ll end up going upstairs because their souls ultimately balanced the right way. Rapists never make it into the heavens, ever. I
t’s one of His rules. A single rape damns the soul to Lucifer’s tender care, and there’s usually no mercy for them. Nowadays, Lucifer either gives them to Darlene or Diana, and they take some of the succubi along for the ride to give those souls some major attitude adjustments. On the really rotten souls, he sends them both.”
“I take it they’re vicious in regards to rapists?”
“That doesn’t even begin to scratch at the surface. I could ask Lucifer about the salesman if you want, though. I’ll admit, I’m a little curious. That one seems to hate women in general, and he gives me a bad feeling. I also don’t appreciate how he was looking at you.”
“Seriously? I’m bald, I couldn’t get much more casually dressed if I tried, and I’m bald. That bears repeating.”
“He comes across to me as the kind to not care as long as the subject is female or appears to be female.” Jonas scowled, dug his phone out of his wallet, and fiddled with it. “Do you want to hit a boutique in Atlanta or do you want to head back to Athens?”
“Are there boutiques left in Atlanta?”
“A few, yeah. Malcolm’s work brought back a lot of shopping to the area, outside of the raze radius. Honestly, he basically owns Atlanta now along with Savannah and Augusta. The surviving owners sold, the deceased owners couldn’t sell, so their estates were liquidated if no next of kin were available, and he got the whole shebang for a pittance. Kanika still doesn’t get the ramifications of her actions—or how much her actions benefited her husband. Malcolm keeps trying to tell her, but she doesn’t believe him. It’s insanity.”
“Jonas, your brother-in-law is literally the Devil. Your entire life is insanity.” I eased the car out of its unconventional parking spot in front of the dealership, made use of the turn signal, and eased into traffic, as I wasn’t about to hit the gas without a thorough understanding of how my new baby handled. “A car this nice needs a name, and since we are co-owners of it, we should name her together. However, she is a lady, and you will accept her gender without complaint.”
“I don’t mind our car being a lady car. I do not usually assign genders to my vehicles, but I can’t fault your belief she should have her own name. Gendering the car seems very strange, however.”
“I need fortification in a sea of testosterone. Most attorneys are men.”
Jonas laughed. “An ally in your quest to take over the legal world? All right, I can’t blame you for that. If we name her Lucille, we can tell Lucifer we turned him into our bitch.”
“Lucille it is, named after your brother-in-law in our effort to crush him beneath our heels.”
“I wish you the best of luck with that. You are going to need it.”
Nine
Don’t monopoly laws exist?
To my delight, I handled driving Lucille better than I anticipated, and I got us to three boutiques before I threw in the towel and handed over the keys. I’d left enough room in the tiny trunk for some basic kitten supplies, which we’d acquired at the nearest pet store before aiming in the general direction of the kittens, which we would find on the outskirts of John’s Creek, a booming town-turned-city north of Atlanta.
According to Jonas, Malcolm owned most of John’s Creek, too.
“Don’t monopoly laws exist?” I complained, tapping at the screen of my fancy new phone on my quest to investigate Malcolm’s business interests, which exceeded the sane.
“He doesn’t have a monopoly, nor does he violate any of the monopoly-based laws. Essentially, he’s a landlord, and because he follows the law to the letter and doesn’t price control the area, allowing other landlords to compete and set prices as they will, he gets away with murder. His land management company buys up good lots, he develops them, and he’ll sell them for a ridiculous amount if an offer comes his way, otherwise he cultivates the lot for his use. If anything, he rent controls in the right direction, pricing competitively but fairly. The other landlords have to either produce a better product to justify the rent or keep their rent lower. Will he get nailed for having a monopoly? Maybe one day—but he has a plan for that, too.”
“He does?” Was there anything Malcolm didn’t think of? “I mean, on paper, he’s the perfect man, Jonas.”
“According to Kanika, he is the perfect man, and no other men can even attempt to compare. She embarrasses herself when she gets started, and Malcolm adores it, because she says exactly what she means, and he knows it—and appreciates it. You’ll get used to it. Anyway, if he thinks he’s going to run afoul of monopoly laws, I’ll end up the owner of yet another plot of land I don’t want. I have ten to fifteen of the damned things already, and Malcolm gifts the land with the employees required to manage them. It keeps him legal, and I get to keep some of the fucking assholes busy while they do their time, so my business is actually doing well, and I don’t actually do anything. Lucifer says it’s good I’m not a complete layabout, but honestly? I don’t do anything. I just get paid for putting up with the bullshit bureaucracy I hate.”
I laughed at his fortunes—and his perceptions of his fortunes. “You poor, poor thing. Your family dotes on you, sets you up with a future business you could learn if you wanted, and pays you to put up with their disgustingly law-abiding ways.”
“It’s so rude. I am not an angel, nor do I pretend to be one. I feel like I should go steal a car and take it on a joy ride just to restore some of my pride. I’m surrounded by goody-goody busybodies!”
“I have some bad news for you, Jonas.”
Jonas parked Lucille a five-minute walk from our destination, slumped over her wheel, and moaned. “Not another one. The Devil is going to make me bed the enemy? What did I ever do to him?”
Giggling, I unbuckled, grabbed my bag, and eased out of my car, giving her dashboard a fond pat before closing the door. “But the enemy is eager and willing to keep you fed. You’re my kind of handsome, and you appreciate a dedicated woman, and I’m dedicated to having the same partner warm my bed. Look on the bright side. You may be bedding the enemy, but the enemy will take good care of you. You might even like your captivity as the world’s best-fed incubus. All you’ll have to do to rev my engine is take your shirt off and pose.”
“You’re easy to please.”
“No,” I corrected. “I’m easy to turn on. We’ll see if I’m easy to please once you get to work. I’m looking forward to it. I also resent that my engine appears to be dead at current.”
“Your engine is literally dead at current because of a cancer. I’ll be doing your engine overhaul in the next few weeks. Your engine will be capable of purring for you again in a few weeks.” Jonas got out of Lucille, closed her door, and locked her, before he stared at me over the roof with a raised brow. “Honestly, I’m impressed you have any interest in me whatsoever considering your current physical state. Most in your situation are typically asexual due to the lack of hormones that create general arousal.”
“I have always had a rather healthy interest in men. I am just very good at ignoring my whining ovaries and doing the work I need rather than chasing after some male tail. I am sufficiently motivated to enjoy your tail, so I will.”
“I’m going to check for an overactive sex drive when I’m working with you. Too much of a good thing can be bad. I will make sure your engine is properly tuned to account for the evening seduction of your personal incubus.”
“Please and thank you,” I replied. “So, where are the kittens? I am on doctor’s orders to contract as many curable diseases as absolutely possible on my outing, and I feel we haven’t done much in the way of exposure to germs, viruses, and so on. My immune system needs to be tested. It’s for science.”
“I don’t remember feeding you any sugar earlier today, but you are acting disturbingly like my sister after she’s gotten her hands on multiple iced coffees,” Jonas muttered, and he joined me on the sidewalk and offered his arm, which I took. “It’s about a five minute walk, so if it becomes too much for you, I’ll go get the car and pick you up.”
“I’m going to be depressed if I can’t last ten minutes plus however much work it is to catch some kittens.”
“Lycanthropy infected kittens, possibly rabid,” Jonas replied. “Probably rabid? Honestly, I was busy driving and wasn’t really paying all that much attention to Lucifer.”
“I can’t remember if he mentioned something about rabies, so I’m not sure, either. I was too busy thinking about the kittens to care what they’re infected with.”
“He really hates when he’s ignored. If you yawn while he’s talking and look bored, you’ll tweak his pride. Of course, you’re toying with the Devil, and that tends to have consequences.”
“Consequences you are familiar with?”
“One of these days, he’ll run out of new tricks, and then I will consider it to be my victory. I will have tested his patience beyond the limits of his creativity,” Jonas replied in a solemn tone.
“Do you think the kittens are a clever way of punishing us?”
“Absolutely. I mean, he warned us the kittens were diseased and probably rabid or something like that. I really should have paid more attention.”
“Me, too. I had other things on my mind, like the whole car problem. My parents’ car is more important than the list of new diseases I’ll contract. I mean, I already got the big incurable disease out of the way, so the rest are basically inconveniences, and you can cure even the supposedly incurable sexually transmitted diseases. And since the kittens can’t give me those, I’d say it’s all good.” Aware I would reach my limit for exercise sooner than later, I kept my stride slow and careful, watching where I put each foot so I wouldn’t crash to the ground in a pained heap. “I’m going to do my best to make it back to Lucille, but if I don’t, you totally have my permission to do nefarious things with my body as punishment for my failure to walk back.”
“Lucifer asks this often, but I find myself required to inquire. Is it a punishment if you like it?”
“Absolutely. You’re just going to soothe my battered pride after you get me back to the car. You’ll be healing my damaged pride, sacrificing your body to do so.” I smiled. “I’ll behave and do my best to make it to the car with my pride intact.”