“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun—” Blaine tensed as the patio chairs began to bend, as if someone was melting them. Son of a bitch. “I know for an absolute fact that I ordered the graphite ones, not the stainless steel—”
The chairs leapt into the air and attacked. The glider hit him square in the gut, and he swore as the rocker sliced through his shoulder. “I’m demanding my money back on these suckers.”
The two side tables got into the action, and he had to set aside the dissatisfied customer complaints for later, along with the “find Trinity Harpswell and make her pay” plan. But as soon as the patio furniture was contained—
And then he heard a high-pitched yapping.
“Oh, come on,” Jarvis said. “Not Lassie.”
But it was the dogs. Again.
***
“You know, it would be really nice to have another cross-stitcher in the family. That was always a great sadness of mine, that you didn’t inherit my creative gene.” Trinity’s mom was peering at an enormous tapestry in the gilded foyer of Death’s McMansion. “You have no appreciation of how beautiful this is, do you? It must have taken years.”
Trinity was pacing the lobby restlessly, waiting for Reina to return from tracking down Death. As expected, Trinity’s mom was delighted at the prospect of saving her husband without sacrificing her daughter’s soul. Making a deal with Death? A brilliant idea.
With great glee, she’d transported the three of them to the Castle of Extreme Opulence that Death had called home ever since he’d made his first big contract after taking over the job from the Grim Reaper. Reina had gone off in search of Death. (She’d recommended that they not wander around the halls just in case Death was in one of his moods, whatever that meant.)
Trinity had never been in the McMansion before, and normally she’d be sort of curious to check out the lair of the most powerful being in existence (at least from some perspectives), but now? Not so much.
She was actually feeling a little cranky. Must be that massive guilt complex at leaving Blaine behind when she’d promised to help him. She was not feeling the self-love right now, and she doubted there’d be any positive affirmations about her inner goodness coming from Blaine after today.
Which was fine, right? It wasn’t like she was first in line for “girlfriend of the year” awards anyway. But still…
She felt like roadkill.
Olivia brushed her finger over the tapestry. “Does Blaine know embroidery? It would be really fun to have someone to sit with in front of the fire while you and Dad clean up after dinner. I wonder if he does his own designs.”
Trinity slumped on a golden bench. “Mom, he’s not going to marry me. I betrayed him big-time, in the worst way possible.”
“Blaine will appreciate you leaving instead of killing him. Just explain you were saving his life.” Olivia knelt and began plucking at the Oriental carpet in the foyer. “My goodness, the workmanship on this rug is extraordinary.”
“Yeah, because that’ll go over well with him. Nothing like insulting a man’s ability to stay alive around you to interfere with his sense of manliness.” Trinity jumped up. “I can’t wait anymore. Let’s go find Death. I have to deal with this.”
Olivia looked up sharply. “I don’t think running off by yourself is a good idea—”
“Reina went this way.” Trinity ran down the hall toward a set of double doors. She grasped one of the lemon-sized crystal doorknobs (please tell her that wasn’t a diamond), but the door opened before she could turn it.
Trinity jumped back as a beautiful woman peeked out.
“Hello. May I help you?” She had gorgeous blond hair piled artfully on top of her head, and she was wearing a necklace of so many emeralds that Trinity was surprised the woman was still vertical. Her smoky eye makeup was impeccable, and she was wearing a gorgeous black strapless dress that Trinity was pretty certain she recognized. “Isn’t that the gown that was designed for Meryl Streep to wear to the Oscars? The one that disappeared from her dressing room five minutes before she was supposed to present?”
The gal smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “You are so right. I saw it, I had to have it, and my darling got it for me.”
“He’s not your darling,” a voice said from behind her.
The woman ignored the interruption. “My name is Isabella Fontine. Are you here to apply to be one of Death’s HoneyPots?”
“Um, no.” Was she? What if that was the deal? “What does a HoneyPot do?”
Isabella winked. “Whatever he wants us to do.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Izzy, stop being rude and let them in.” The door opened wider, and another woman walked up. She was wearing a luxurious cranberry pantsuit and a plethora of jewels as well. Sexy, but in the most classy, most beautiful way. “My name is Linnea Nogueira. I’m Death’s executive VP. Won’t you please come in?”
Trinity hesitated. “We don’t have time to socialize. We really need to talk to Death. It’s urgent.”
“He’ll be here in less than a minute.” Linnea smiled. “I’m scheduled for his nine fifteen personal gratification session, and he’s never late for his orgasms.”
Well, wasn’t that handy? Nothing like timing her visit with a personal gratification session. “You’re sure we won’t intrude?” Not sure she wanted to be around for one of those. Or maybe she did. Might be educational.
“Oh, no problem. He always makes time to meet with women.” Linnea waved her hands. “I’m just waiting for my nails to dry. He prefers a French manicure when I’m going to give him a hand job in a Dolce and Gabbana suit. Versace always requires a nude finish. You know how it is.”
Trinity cleared her throat. “Yeah, sure.” She knew exactly how it was to try to dress to keep nice guys from noticing her. Wasn’t so experienced on dressing in a way that might turn them on. Interesting thought. How hard would it be to tweak Blaine’s—
No. She had to let him go, at least until she could get back there and help him. God, she hoped he was okay.
Isabella held out her hands as well, showing red fingertips. “He likes Crimson Fire for this dress.” She pursed her mouth. “See how it brings out the tones of my lips? My makeup artist and I spent hours trying to find which ones went together the best. He’s very discerning in his tastes.” She stepped back and gestured for them to enter. “Please do come in.”
“Great. We’ll wait for him.” Might be best to chat with him after the sex. Men tended to be in better moods afterward. “How long does a session take?”
“Depends on how much time he has.” Linnea picked up a small hand fan and turned it toward her French manicure. “Usually about three minutes.”
Olivia raised her brows. “He can satisfy you in three minutes? Can I watch?”
“Mom—”
“Oh, no,” Linnea said. “It’s not about us. It’s about him.”
Olivia snorted. “What century are you ladies from? It’s always about the woman, and any man who ignores the woman’s needs is just a jerk.”
Linnea raised her eyebrows. “Or the richest and most powerful man in the universe.”
Olivia gave a nod of acknowledgement “Well, there is that. Is he handsome?”
Isabella and Linnea exchanged knowing smiles. “Of course.” Isabella winked. “You may not have come here to become one of his HoneyPots, but you won’t want to leave until you are one.”
“I have an MBA from Stanford and graduated number one in my class.” Linnea picked up a small laptop from a nearby table. “I came here to run one of the most up and coming businesses in existence, and I’ve helped take it to a world dominating enterprise.” She began to mouse through some files. “But I do my share to keep him happy. We all do.”
“Is it your choice?” Trinity wasn’t liking the direction of the conversation. Was Reina a HoneyPot as well? She’d never mentioned personal gratification sessions before. She really hoped Reina hadn’t been lowered to that.
Linnea and Isabella exchange
d looks again, and something silent passed between them. “Of course it’s voluntary,” Isabella said. “Death would never force anyone. Not an efficient use of his time.”
“And apparently neither is taking time to satisfy his woman?” Olivia snorted. “You all should get some standards when it comes to orgasms, you know.”
Trinity left her mom to the sex talk and strode into the office, hoping to catch Death before he dove into his PGS.
The ceiling was at least twenty feet high, and gorgeous dark mahogany beams crossed the smooth plaster above her head. Built-in carved mahogany bookshelves stretched to the crown molding, and they were packed with thousands of hardcover books. A ten-foot desk camped across one end of the gorgeous handwoven carpet. It was clearly his office, and it was beautiful.
But the most interesting thing was the beauty salon at the far end of the room. Well, if you could call it a beauty salon. It was more like what she’d imagine a spa for the Hollywood royalty would be. A dozen women in expensive dresses were working on six beauties. Nails, hair, and foot scrubs were all going on. Expensive plants and soothing music filled the room.
“He often enjoys seeing us primp for him,” Linnea explained, gesturing at the bustling activity. “The salon is portable so that if he’s not in the mood to see us, we can relocate in less than thirty seconds. He likes us to be perfect, so I run the salon 24/7. I require everyone to get touched up twice an hour to make sure we haven’t smudged our makeup.”
“Well, that’s ridiculous.” Olivia set her hands on her hips. “What man is worth that kind of time?”
“I am,” said a deep, cultured male voice.
Trinity turned toward the door. The moment she saw the tall, well-dressed testosterone factory, she knew that coming here had been a huge mistake.
And not because of the HoneyPot risk.
It was much, much worse.
***
Angelica stepped out of the Ferrari just as a stainless steel deck chair crashed to the sidewalk beside her. She jumped, and then was immediately embarrassed at how edgy she was. Damn Napoleon for interfering with her calm, confident demeanor.
Mari opened the door and stepped out. She shaded her eyes and looked up. “You really trust the schnoodemgons not to hurt Trinity?”
Angelica raised Trinity’s tulip, and it spun around, pointing south. “She’s gone.” By all that was slippery and elusive, how had the girl vacated so fast? “I knew I should never have let her back into the world.” Smutty’s tulip started to vibrate, and she tensed. “He’s in trouble. We have to go help him.”
“But what about the men?”
Angelica looked up again. She so desperately wanted to go up there and claim her boys, but Smutty took priority. “My puppies will keep them occupied until I can get back. A little suffering will benefit them anyway. Let’s go.” But as she got back into the car, she couldn’t help but hope that the boys were up to the challenge.
She’d made some adjustments to the schnoodemgons since the escape, and she hadn’t had time to test them. She wasn’t sure the boys would survive them.
But that was okay, right? If they weren’t strong enough to defeat a few puppies, then they weren’t worthy of her girls. A loud yell made her skin prickle, and Angelica leapt out of the car. Teal-colored smoke was pouring out of the roof deck of Blaine’s building, and the air was pulsing with dark energy. “Dear Patron Saint of Torture,” she breathed.
Mari leaned out the window. “I’ve never seen smoke that color. What is it?”
“It’s Blaine.” Angelica pressed her hand to her heart. “He’s dying.”
Mari snorted. “He’s always dying, and he’s always fine. Unlike Christian, who’s not that tough. I really want to get back. I’m worried about him—”
“This is different.” Angelica took a step toward the building, suddenly afraid for her favorite warrior. He’d bled aquamarine smoke only twice before, and each time, she’d been certain it was the end. It was only when she got in his face and gloated about how happy his parents would be to know that she’d finally killed him that he’d fought back from the edge. How she’d hated pulling that card on him, but it had been for his own good. “I need to go up there—”
The tulip in her left hand began to smoke, and she realized Smutty’s flower was turning brown on the edges of the petals. “Smutty’s hurt.”
Mari held out her hand. “My fingernails are turning gray.”
Angelica realized her own cuticles had gone black. They were starting to tingle. “By all that’s merciless and bloody, Napoleon must have him. The smut’s leaking back already.”
“Dear Lord.” Mari went pale. “I’ll kill Christian if I get my smut back. You know how crazy it makes people.”
“I know.” A loud shout of agony echoed from above, and Angelica looked up as another burst of teal-colored smoke cut across the sky. And then a dark shadow flitted into sight and perched on the edge of the roof. One of Death’s harvesters. Waiting.
“I’ve hurt Christian enough.” Mari slid back into the driver’s seat. “Come on!”
Angelica couldn’t wrench her gaze off the carnage taking place so far above her head. “But Blaine—”
“Call off the dogs.”
“I can’t.” Angelica’s throat felt dry. “Once I unleash them, they’re on their own. They stop only when they die or their prey dies. It’s up to the boys to save themselves.”
“So it’s going exactly right.” Mari revved the engine. “Or are you going soft?”
Angelica tensed. Dear Demon in a Black Hat, who was her loyalty to? The men who still weren’t worthy of her darlings, or her sweet girls who needed her protection? She looked over and saw Mari’s lips had gone black as well, and her eyes were getting sunken.
There was no decision to be made.
It was her precious protégées who mattered.
“Let’s go.” She jumped in and grabbed hold of the door handle as Mari gunned the engine and the Ferrari took off down the street.
And when an earthsplitting scream rent the day, she refused to look back.
***
On the plus side, there was nothing like pain to reinforce a man’s self-image as a badass warrior.
Blaine sucked in a groan as he crawled away from the bathroom where Jarvis and Nigel were using the antique footed bathtub as a shield from the schnoodemgons. The damn things felt no pain. Didn’t stop flying when they lost their wings. Didn’t seem to notice when their heads got whacked. It was like each body part was a segmented being all on its own. Even the teeth were still pinching them when they got knocked out of the things’ heads.
“This would make a great Halloween movie,” Jarvis yelled as he decapitated a flying fang. “Crack dragons from hell. They never die, they just keep on killing.”
“You making any progress, Trio? Your bathtub’s getting beat to shit.” Nigel’s voice was strained, and Blaine knew the ninety percent severed left arm had to be hurting like hell.
Blaine swore as another dragon bodyslammed him. They’d hit him with water repeatedly, and it had an extra kick it hadn’t had last time. Wasn’t sure what was bleeding out of his pores right now, but it felt kind of like acid mixed with razor blades. He had no fire left. Couldn’t summon even a spark. It had wiped him, and they knew it.
Sensing that Blaine was no longer a threat, the schnoodies were focusing on Jarvis and Nigel, which had given Blaine the chance to slide away. To the one thing that might save them.
He gritted his teeth against the pain, then finally reached his wall safe. He shoved his way to his knees, and the room began to spin. He braced himself against the wall, fighting against the nausea. This was even worse than when he’d been in the piranha feeding frenzy, and that had been no field trip through a bed of daisies.
Water was streaming down the wall from his palms, pooling on the wood floor. And that just pissed him off. He loved those floors. Water stains would never come out.
“Any day, Trio! Quit admiring y
ourself in the mirror!”
“A couple of pansies, always needing rescuing,” Blaine shot back. He tried to focus on the padlock, tried to remember the combination, but his mind kept blurring. Shit. “Nigel! Knife!” He moved aside to make room for a flaming dagger to slide through the metal.
“No more left, Trio. They’re all playing with the fanged birdies.”
“Tell me you didn’t forget the combination,” Jarvis shouted. “Not impressive!”
“Shut up.” Blaine shoved his hand in his pocket. Pulled out a wallet and a phone. Other pocket. Motorcycle keys. A cross-stitch needle. He started to throw it aside, then looked at it again. It was one of his reinforced ones, designed to survive even a blue ball blast, so he could find solace even in the middle of a battle. Hot damn.
Nigel shouted with pain, and Jarvis swore. Explosions came from the bathroom.
Blaine fisted the needle, focused what strength he had left into his upper body, and then slammed the weapon into the lock. The needle went right through the metal and the door sprung open. “Rock on.” He tossed the needle aside, then reached inside the safe.
Three blue balls. “You guys ever see Lethal Weapon 2?”
“You kidding?” Jarvis yelled back. “Never looked at a condom commercial the same way again.”
“Remember the bathtub scene?”
Silence. “You serious?”
“Got three blue balls and a hard-ass tub.” There was a roar from outside, and Blaine looked up as a new wave of salivating butterfly-wannabes came streaming in through the window. “You guys ready?”
“What about you?” Nigel shouted. “You’re too close. It’ll take you out!”
“No chance.” Blaine braced his palms against the wall and rested his forehead against the plaster, summoning his strength. If he died now, Trinity would go free, and that was unacceptable.
Trinity Harpswell, I’m coming for you.
A schnoodemgon launched itself at him, and Blaine let it hit him. Too numb to feel its claws rake across his throat. Barely noticed the blood pouring from the wound. “I’m engaging!” Blaine shoved himself off the wall and began to run toward the balcony. Threw the first ball into the bathroom. The second into the living room. The third went outside into the approaching swarm.
Kiss at Your Own Risk Page 25