Page 95 of Demon Apathy: Sunderverse

“You… you look beautiful,” he said, his expression a bit incredulous as if he had never imagined I could look this good.

“You too,” I said.

Jenna snickered.

I swatted her arm. “You know what I mean.”

“Drevan is waiting outside.” Sage offered me his hand and guided me toward the front door.

We found the prince of Hell standing next to his idling Ferrari, gazing into the night. When he heard us coming, he turned to face us and promptly froze.

His golden eyes swept the length of my body. There was a certain hunger in his gaze that sent a spark of heat deep in my belly and made me want to pull him close and kiss him. But when his eyes fell on Sage’s hand interlaced with mine and his expression hardened, the flame was doused out of existence. His beautiful mouth twisted in distaste, and a muscle jumped in his jaw as if he were clenching his teeth in anger.

“The address is programmed into the car’s guidance system. See you there,” he said, skirting past us and disappearing into the house.

Sage snorted. “What’s up his ass?”

I said nothing, but I had a feeling Sage knew Drevan was jealous.

Cracking his neck, Sage said, “Let’s do this.”

“Good luck, guys.” Benjamin stepped to Jenna’s side and waved.

I waved back and got in the car.

A mere ten minutes later, Sage pulled up around a large, up-lit fountain and parked in front of a set of ample marble steps. An attendant in a white tuxedo jacket opened the door and offered me his gloved hand.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he said, inclining his head.

I smiled and handed him our gold-trimmed invitation.

Sage came around and offered me his crooked arm. My heart galloped so fast I felt faint.

Calm down, Lucia!

Taking a deep breath, I tried to let my sly instincts take over. They had saved me from disaster more than once and had to still be there. Right? I just needed to shut down my busy brain and let my nature guide me.

Sage leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Don’t forget my name is Maximilian.”

“How could I, my darling boyfriend?” I caressed his cheek, surprising him. I could feel facets of my old self rising to the surface. I could do this. I could.

He nodded, and we walked into the house, a place even grander than the one we’d just come from. The front door was wide and flanked by two beefy guys that looked like guards. Drevan had said the old man employed several unsavories, and I was sure these two counted as such. Once inside, the house faded into the background as my gaze roved over every face, trying to spotRichie. Drevan had shown us several pictures of the creep, so we would have no trouble identifying our target.

Sage spotted him first and let me know with a quick squeeze of my hand and a flick of the eye.

Richard Bamford III was talking to a group of older men, standing in a circle. The top of his head was bald, and the sides sprinkled with gray. He had glasses and a white mustache and chin puff. A red bow tie accompanied his tweed suit, and he might’ve looked like someone’s nice grandfather except for the oily feel his presence gave away.

Nonchalantly, we approached him, pretending to admire the art pieces sprinkled in our path.

Richie’s sharply dressed companions cackled as he said something, a sound so fake my stomach flipped. A waiter walked by with a tray of champagne flutes. Sage expertly snatched two and offered me one.

Pretending to examine the nearest painting on the wall, we stood sipping our drinks. The piece was so large and detailed that it must have taken months to complete. It depicted a black-haired woman sitting in a meadow surrounded by yellow flowers. A feeling of whimsical peace seemed to flow from her, making me wish I was sitting next to her, all my worries forgotten.

“Honestly,” Richie said, “you can hardly call any of these obscenities art.” He gestured with a flick of his hand.

Obscenities?

I hadn’t seen any obscenities, and I couldn’t understand why he would call them that.