Fashionably Flawed: Book Nine, The Hot Damned Series

by Robyn Peterman

  “Ernest Hemingway is editing your semi-autobiographical romance?” Tiara asked, slack-jawed. “Hemingway lives in Hell?”

  “No, he doesn’t,” I snapped, annoyed at such lack of faith from my nieces. “However, he comes for poker night every Thursday. He lost ten weeks in a row so he’s editing. Are we done with this conversation? We have a Mermaid beheading to attend to.”

  “Did you cheat at cards?” Astrid inquired.

  “Of course. Your point?”

  “No point,” she replied with a grin.

  “Are we ready?” I asked.

  The girls nodded, still somewhat speechless. Damn it, had I made a mistake having the drunken bastard edit my tome? I’d considered Jane Austin, but she wasn’t as partial to Hell as Ernest was—not to mention I hadn’t called her back after our tryst fifty years ago. Whatever. I had far bigger problems at the moment than if Hemingway was going to add a few bullfights into my life story.

  “Can I ask a question?” Tiara inquired, still adjusting the sunglasses I’d conjured for her.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I eyed her. While I enjoyed the irreverence of the girls, I was getting tired of the back talk. “Just one?”

  “Umm… sure.”

  “You may,” I replied, tapping my Armani clad toe and wondering where in the Hell my trio of Demons had gotten to. I needed a little respect and I certainly wasn’t getting it from Astrid and Tiara.

  “Why am I wearing sunglasses? I can barely see out of them. If you want me to kill stuff, this could be a potential shitshow waiting to happen.”

  With a sigh and flick of my wrist I destroyed my cell phone one more time for good measure and then shook my head. “If the soul seller isn’t a Mermaid and is indeed a Siren, you’ll be susceptible to her deadly charms. The glasses will prevent you from falling under her spell.”

  “What about me?” Astrid demanded, looking a bit worried.

  “You and I are not vulnerable to the magic of the man eaters.”

  “Because?” she prompted.

  “Because we’re True Immortals. Besides the chances of the woman being a Siren are slim to none, but the glasses will also protect Tiara from a Mermaid,” I explained as Dino, Darby and Dagwood appeared in a blast of glittering black mist.

  “Sire,” they said in unison and dropped to their knees.

  Finally… some goddamned respect.

  “Have you cased the building?” I inquired, indicating with a curt nod they could rise.

  “We have,” Dagwood confirmed. “The soul seller is on the thirteenth floor. Only one passenger elevator in the building. Seems odd, but we checked thoroughly. The service elevator is out of order because we loaded it with rabid, horny porcupines and cadavers. We also made an appointment to have your picture taken for three weeks from next Tuesday.”

  “There are so many things wrong with what you just said, I’m not quite sure where to begin,” I replied flatly making the idiots take a few steps back. “First of all, buildings do not have thirteenth floors—bad luck. The second blunder you made was that I don’t make appointments. I don’t need to. I’m the fucking Devil,” I bellowed, causing a small windstorm that blew my Demons off their feet and into a pile on the ground.

  “You’re okay with amorous porcupines and dead bodies?” Astrid inquired with a wince.

  “I’m not touching that one,” I replied, pressing the bridge of my nose and considering sending all of them back to Hell.

  “Well, at least you’re the fucking Devil and not fucking the Devil anymore,” Tiara pointed out gleefully to the delight of her sister and the Demons.

  “Enough,” I hissed at all of the imbeciles on the roof. The darkness was looming closer and I wasn’t pleased. Was Chicago going to be the location I met my fate? I was so hoping for Paris or Milan—much more decadent—and the food was better. But, if it was Chicago, so be it. I watched my three Demons get back on their feet and eye me warily. “What else did you find?”

  “Eunuchs,” Dino said. “There are Eunuchs guarding the thirteenth floor. And this building has a thirteenth floor.”

  “Actually all buildings have a thirteenth floor, they just don’t label them,” Tiara announced at an octave that made my deadliest Demon warriors look like they wanted to cry. “Some say that the reason is triskaidekaphobia.”

  And that certainly put a confused wedge in the conversation.

  “Are you making shit up?” Astrid demanded with her hands on her hips.

  “Nope, triskaidekaphobia is an intense fear of the number thirteen,” Tiara informed the still perplexed group.

  “I call bullshit,” Astrid said with a grin.

  Tiara laughed and adjusted her sunglasses. “Triskaidekaphobia causes acute anxiety when people come across the number thirteen. Symptoms can include nausea, vomiting, difficulty breathing, rapid heartbeat, sweating and excessive use of the word shit-titty.”

  “Shit-titty?” Dagwood asked, clearly impressed.

  Tiara cackled with glee and we all winced in tremendous pain. “Nah, I was bullshitting you with shit-titty, but the rest is true. Anyhoo, a bunch of brainiacs think the fear of the number thirteen dates back to one of the earliest written texts—the Code of Hammurabi. Story goes that the dumbass writers left out the thirteenth law on the list, but get a load of this bizarre bullshit… they didn’t even number the fucking list. A douchehole set off a goddang panic that’s lasted for thousands of years for nothing.”

  “Are we done here?” I asked getting annoyed.

  “Is she fibbing?” Astrid asked me while poking her sister.

  “She is not,” I replied. “The laws were entertaining. The punishment for robbery is death. Kidnapping—death. Designing a house that collapses on someone’s head—death. As I said… amusing.”

  “You’re shitting me,” Astrid said.

  “I shit you not,” I replied, mentally cataloguing the information my Demons had just imparted. Eunuchs. Interesting. “How many Eunuchs?”

  “I counted twelve,” Dino said. “But the strangest thing is that the soul seller seems to be human.”

  “And hot,” Dagwood added.

  “Tremendous rack,” Darby finished off.

  “Impossible,” I muttered.

  “Seriously,” Darby countered. “Never seen a rack like it—perky and bouncy at the same time.”

  With a sigh slash hiss that caused alarm from my rag tag squad, I began to pace the roof and think. “I wasn’t speaking of the soul seller’s bosom,” I replied to snickers from the crowd.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “My liege, no one says bosom anymore,” Dagwood informed me with an enormous smile. “Very old school.”

  “And losery,” Dino added.

  “I told you,” Astrid chimed in giving Dino a high five that sent him flying across the roof. “Sorry, dude.”

  “No worries,” he grunted in embarrassment, quickly getting to his feet and jogging back over.

  Again, I deeply regretted my choice of company. These people were driving me nuts. Deciding to ignore the bosom comment, I went on. However, I made a vow to drop the word from my vocabulary.

  “I will no longer use the term bosom. Apparently, I’m dating myself,” I announced, putting an end to the amusement at my expense—or so I thought.

  “Well, dating yourself is better than fucking yourself,” Tiara announced with a grin so wide I almost laughed.

  Almost.

  Instead, I shot her a look so evil she could see it through the darkness of the sunglasses. That was sufficient for ending the insulting wordplay—at least for the moment. Quite honestly, I planned to have Tiara attend the next poker game in Hell. She’d wreak havoc with her voice and her horrifying observations.

  With a glance at all of the idiots on the roof, I sighed and continued. “Astrid, Tiara and I will enter from the ground floor. Darby, Dino and Dagwood you will jam the elevators and block all emergency exits after Astrid, Tiara and I hit the thirteenth floor. Darby, you
will then come back to the roof. Dino and Dagwood stay in the lobby.”

  “I think we should have used horny honey badgers,” Dino announced. “They’re quite disgusting.”

  “What in the bloody Hell are you talking about?” I bellowed as I gave up on my good intentions and zapped a nearby cell tower with an explosive shot of red lightning. The blast was outstanding. It was either the tower or the Demon. I was proud of my choice.

  Trembling like a leaf, Dino shrugged and gave me a weak grin. “Don’t think anyone will go near an elevator filled with fornicating honey badgers. Those fuckers don’t give a shit. They’ll eat anything—might have been better than the porcupines and dead guys.”

  Pressing the bridge of my nose, I wondered if the darkness that was after me wasn’t such a bad option. Dealing with halfwits was getting tiresome.

  Forgoing a response was a mature and responsible approach and I could do mature and responsible… occasionally. Chicago was a nice city—lots of crime and mischief. It would be a damned shame to blow it off the map. “Are we clear on the plan?”

  “Nope,” Tiara said. “Not a bit.”

  “You two are with me. You will kill anything that tries to stop me from getting to the soul seller, including the Eunuchs. Decapitation works best, but any kind of dismembering will do. They fight dirty and racking them is useless as they have no balls. Dino, Darby and Dagwood will kill anyone suspicious that tries to leave or enter the building. I’ll have my picture taken then I’ll kill the soul seller. Clear?”

  “So we’re just gonna kill a bunch of shit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Tiara said as the three Demons nodded their agreement.

  “Mmmkay,” Astrid said, clearly taking issue with my plan. “But are all of these dudes bad guys?”

  “Does it really matter?” I shouted, exasperated. “I have a few more pressing issues to deal with after the soul seller—potentially world ending ones. A few casualties are an acceptable loss. You feel me?”

  “I do not,” Astrid shot back, stepping up and going toe to toe with me.

  “You either have a death wish or you’ve lost your mind,” I growled as my eyes went red and a black mist began to slither over the city.

  “My mind has been questionable my entire life,” she replied, not backing down an inch. “As far as a death wish—no. And I’m awfully hard to kill,’ she added with a grin. “You don’t randomly kill for sport. You punish evil.”

  “Your point?” I demanded.

  “My point is… don’t bring on the damn darkness before it arrives on its own.”

  “What if this is what Fate has decreed?” I questioned her harshly.

  She shrugged and placed a kiss on my cheek. “Fate’s a bitch. I don’t give a horny porcupine’s ass what she’s decreed. We’re gonna make our own ending and it’s going to be a happily ever after.”

  “Isn’t that pushing it a bit—don’t think anyone will buy that,” I quipped with a raised brow and the beginnings of a smile pulling at my lips.

  “You think people are gonna buy your piece of shit autobiography vaguely disguised as a romance?”

  “But of course,” I told her.

  “Then they’re gonna buy this and so are we,” she stated and then stepped back.

  I was quiet for a moment while I digested the fact that I’d almost just leveled Chicago because I didn’t like what Astrid had to say. Goddamn it, the truth was far stranger than fiction and it tended to hurt. Whatever, I enjoyed a little pain. It made me feel alive. Maybe Fate had chosen my present company for a reason—or maybe not.

  “How are we going to get in without an appointment?” Tiara inquired, checking her arsenal of weapons that she’d hidden all over her body.

  “Watch and learn. I always get what I want,” I replied. “On three, everyone transport. Ready?”

  “Nope, but that’s never stopped me,” Astrid said.

  “Let’s kick some ass,” Tiara shouted.

  “Yes. Let’s.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Without an appointment, you can’t see Miss Rinoa. She’s very busy. You can leave now,” a horrid, mousey little woman snapped at me from behind a large ornate black desk. Her glasses were tinted an odd shade of grayish brown. I was curious for a brief moment what awful color the world must be from behind those lenses.

  “I’m sorry,” I replied with a tight smile through gritted teeth. “I don’t think you understood me. I’m here to see Miss Rinoa. Now.”

  “Here’s a thought, little mister,” she informed me in a pleasant tone that belied her insulting words. With a tilt of her head she sized me up dismissively and clearly didn’t like what she saw. “While I’d really like to see your point of view, I’m not sure I can wedge my head that far up my ass.”

  Holy Hell, she was outstandingly rude, but I was better. “My, my… a thought crossed your mind? Must have been a long and lonely journey.”

  “Trust me, it wasn’t,” she said with a delightfully evil sneer. “However, your family tree must be a cactus because you’re most certainly a prick,” she parried, pushing her ridiculous glasses up her nose and leaning forward aggressively.

  Did she seriously think she could insult me out of the room? Laughable. I was fucking Satan. Wait. No, damn it. I wasn’t fucking myself. Now I was misinterpreting my own words. This old bag was throwing me off my game. Unacceptable.

  “Shock me,” I purred and winked at her, which made her hiss. “Say something intelligent.”

  “Umm… don’t think this is going to help you get an appointment,” Astrid whispered while elbowing me in the stomach.

  “Hush now,” I admonished my niece. “I’m having fun.”

  “I have a problem,” the mousey woman said, slapping her hands down on her desk and glaring at me.

  “And what would that be, darling?” I asked, enjoying myself immensely.

  “Your face. I can see it.”

  While I appreciated the elaborately decorated office complete with flashy crystal chandeliers and questionably appropriate nude statues, I didn’t appreciate the tone or the words from the receptionist. My face happened to be a work of art. Normally, I’d find her appalling behavior amusing—even offer her a job in Hell. Truly ill-mannered help with a good dose of sarcasm was difficult to come by. However, today she was just pissing me off.

  “Dude… guess she just told you,” Astrid muttered under her breath.

  I was fairly certain my charm wasn’t going to work on the atrocity now staring daggers at me, but it was worth a try. While the insults were invigorating, I had business to attend to.

  My new impertinent friend simply scowled at me with the tiniest hint of a victorious smile pulling at her mouth. It was admirably annoying.

  I had half a mind to zap her bespectacled ass into oblivion, but the waiting area was filled with humans—underfed models waiting to have their photos taken by the infamous, soul selling Miss Rinoa, to be more accurate. God would be pissed if I started messing with his pets without provocation and I didn’t need to get my brother involved. He would tell our mother and all Hell would break loose—literally.

  “I don’t think you understand who I am, darling,” I said in a smooth voice I reserved for seduction.

  Every human woman and man in the waiting area was affected by my tone—orgasmic sighs and giggles permeated the air and lust wafted thickly around the room. However, the old bag seemed unmoved by my skill and watched with disinterest as the humans began writhing and touching each other.

  “And I don’t care, darling. No one sees Miss Rinoa without an appointment,” she shot back.

  “Now listen,” I started only to be cut off by the smack-talking mess behind the desk.

  “Save your breath, big boy. You’ll need it to blow up your latex date later.”

  Point to the mousey old woman. I’d have to use that one.

  Squinting my eyes, I wondered what she was—definitely not human—however, I couldn’t pl
ace her. Odd. Possibly an ancient witch? An extremely ugly ancient witch…

  “Do you know who I am?” I demanded.

  “Should I care?” she asked, rudely.

  “Actually, you should,” I replied flatly as my eyes blazed red and my fingers began to spark.

  “Tamp it back, dude,” Astrid said, grabbing my hands in hers and hiding the flames.

  “You’re speaking to Blade Inferno—the Blade Inferno,” Tiara announced, stepping in front of me before I turned the disrespectful freak show into a pile of dust. “The highest paid romance author in the mother humpin’ world—gets paid more than Jenny Ebonobitch.”

  “Oh my Uncle God,” Astrid grumbled. “It’s Janet Evanovich. He’s paid more than Janet Evanovich.”

  “Whoops, my bad. Janet Evanovich,” Tiara corrected herself with an apologetic shriek as the entire room groaned and slapped their hands over their ears.

  “I should say so,” Astrid said.

  “I don’t read romance,” Tiara defended herself. “I read comics and cookbooks.”

  Astrid let go of my hands and narrowed her eyes at her sister. “Why in the Hell do you read cookbooks? You can’t eat. Right? I mean that would be totally unfucking fair.”

  “Umm…” Tiara hesitated at the expression on Astrid’s face.

  “Are you telling me you can eat?” Astrid demanded as the humans paused their orgy and watched the bizarre conversation with rapt fascination and a healthy dose of fear.

  “On full moons, I can eat,” Tiara admitted in a whisper, darting behind me for cover.

  Astrid was still royally pissed that, as a Vampyre, she couldn’t eat food. We heard about it constantly. Her ability to consume chips and salsa along with black raspberry chip ice cream had been stolen from her when she died. My guess was that Tiara’s strangely mixed heritage enabled her to eat occasionally.

  Stomping her foot and walking in tight little circles around the now naked group of models, Astrid tried to work off her fury. If I’d had time on my hands, I would have enjoyed her fit, the orgy, and the churlish receptionist, but I didn’t have that luxury at the moment.

  “Your grandmother can give you a reprieve and you can eat for a day,” I hissed in her ear as I grabbed the collar of her shirt and yanked her back in line. “Right now you shall behave.”