Rapture (Fallen Angels #4)(11)
Author: J.R. Ward

Cue the trouble.

Her thoughts had quickly spun out of control, images of all manner of trash compaction and oozing Dumpsters and overcrowded, stinking landfills making her want to cry.

She could have gone back for the specific tube, but she wanted to honor at least part of the therapist’s religion: It would have been very much part of her cycle to become obsessed with getting that one particular lipstick back, and execute that plan no matter what got in her way.

Except she couldn’t keep going down that road—and so she was here and not at that office, and she had this fresh, pretty new tube to replace the one that she had sacrificed in the name of self-improvement.

There were five more in her color, all stacked one on top of another in the cutest little tower. Reaching forward, she wanted to take them all as backup for her backups, but she stopped herself. Closed the cabinet. Flickered out of range.

She was proud of herself as she walked away.

Enough with the break; time to get back to work.

Returning to the window display she’d come in through, she stopped in front of one of the mannequins. The thing had a straight blond wig on and had been dressed in a flowery creation Devina wouldn’t have been caught dead in—

It was galling to wonder what Jim Heron would think of her in it.

No doubt it was right up his alley, feminine, pretty, not too revealing. Modest.

That f**ker. That lying double-crosser.

Naturally, the fact that he’d played her so well in the last round only made him more attractive….

Devina frowned as the therapist’s voice came back to her. Cognitive behavioral therapy…a rewiring of the brain through experience.

The demon leaned in and fingered the fake hair, the long, straight fake hair that was the color of a canary diamond.

Sissy Barten, Jim’s precious darling, had had hair just like this. Would have loved a dress like this. Would have stood in the back and waited for Jim to approach, never forward, ever f**king virginal.

It was enough to make her want to kill them both—and with that stupid little girl, that would be an “again” thing as she’d already sliced the kid’s throat open over that tub—

Devina began to smile. Then laugh.

With a quick jerk, she yanked off the wig, stripping the plastic model bald…and headed out through the glass.

6

It had to be a dream, right?

Adrian had to be dreaming. Except, damn, this felt real, everything from the velvet couch under his ass to the cold beer in his hand to the heat in the club visceral and authentic.

He was afraid to turn his head. Terrified to discover that he was alone here in this noisy, desperate place filled with hollow people who were just like him.

If he were alone, Eddie really was dead.

Taking a swig of the longneck, he braced himself, and pivoted—

Adrian slowly lowered the bottle, exhaling all the oxygen out of his lungs. “Hey, buddy,” he whispered.

Eddie’s red eyes swung around. “Ah…hello.” The guy shifted in his seat. “Listen, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just…”

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“I’ve missed you,” Ad said in a low voice. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”

“Just because I went to the bathroom?” Eddie smiled. “Usually I do come back.”

Ad reached out a hand, knowing touch would prove which side they were walking on—

Eddie frowned and eased out of range, looking like Ad had grown a horn in the middle of his forehead. “What up with you?”

That face was exactly right, the darkly tanned skin sporting a beard shadow, those reddish eyes open to the world, neither suspicious nor naive, that heavy braid down a thick, muscled back.

“I don’t”—Ad rubbed his face—“know.”

“You want to leave?”

“God, no.”

“Okay.” Those red eyes shifted back to the crowd. “So are you going to force me to have sex again?”

Ad laughed loudly. “Right. That’s happened. Suuuuure.”

“Throwing women at me—”

“I’ve never thrown—”

“Picking ones you know I’ll like—”

“Well, I have done that—”

“Ruining my virtue.”

As the guy took another swig, Ad got serious. “No one could do that.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Before I was an angel, I was a vestal virgin and it stuck.”

“Which would explain all the hair.”

“Nah, that’s because it makes me look hot.”

Ad laughed again and leaned back, a sudden surge of energy coming over him. The sense that life had returned to normal, that tragedy hadn’t occurred, that everything was reset back to the way it should be, was a relief so tremendous he was flying even as he was sitting down. In a rush of optimism, his eyes went to the crowd, his f**k filter slipping into place, a rare happiness turning the slutty candidates into beauty queens.

“See anything we like?” Eddie said dryly.

“If it weren’t for me, you’d never get laid.”

“You know, I’d like to argue with that.”

“You’re too honest.”

“Damn it.”

Ah, yes, that redhead would do, Ad thought. And she was with a black-haired—

He frowned, stiffening. There was someone on the periphery, over in the far corner in the shadows, watching them.

“It’s time,” Eddie said. “Either we do what we’re going to do, or we have to order another round. Ad? Hello?”

Adrian shook himself. “Yeah…sure.”

His best friend gave him the hairy eyeball again. “What’s wrong with you, man?”

Good question, he thought as he got to his feet. “Just gimme a minute to reel something in.”

“Take your time—and make it quick.”

“Isn’t that a contradiction?”

“Not when it comes to you.”

Easy laughter. And then he was all about the two ladies. As he closed in on the red and black, their giggled responses were predictable, and not nearly as satisfying as the orgasms they were all going to have.

“My name’s Adrian,” he said, as he came up to them. His slow smile got the females blinking fast, and doing little rearrangements of their stances—breasts up, bellies tucked in, legs out more in front so thighs showed.

“I like your perfume,” he said, leaning into the neck of the redhead.