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I t was just after three a.m. when Charlotte stepped into the shower, swaying and trying her hardest to sober up. A big, handsome blond guy with scars down one side of his face, calling himself Phoenix, had given her and Ava a ride home. On Roman’s orders, he’d told them.

Charlotte was still reeling from everything that had happened at the club. She barely gave a thought to the drunken asshole that had slapped her, her mind lingering on piercing blue eyes, sandy blond hair, and a kiss that had set her soul on fire.

That handsome, giant specimen of a man. And it wasn’t just his rock-hard body that had been large, either. The erection that had been rubbing against her thigh would make any woman blush. He had rocked her world in minutes. Now she was thinking a little clearer, her foggy mind was trying to wrap around the idea of how he could even fit.

She giggled to herself.

Seeing as Charlotte hadn’t given up her V card, as Ava liked to put it, Charlotte couldn’t believe she had been so hot and heavy with a complete stranger that she lost all common sense and had been ready to give it up like a tramp on the couch, no questions asked.

She sighed and leaned against the wall, letting the warm water run over her face, trying to wash the drunkenness away. She had forgotten she’d taken Kate’s shift and had to be at the diner in a couple of hours. There was no chance in Hell she would be sober when she rocked up for that shift. She groaned at the thought of dealing with Hal, her head starting to pound at the thought of him.

The door to the bathroom flew open, interrupting her train of thought.

“Oh my god, girl, I am so fucking wasted.” Ava giggled, staggering into the bathroom.

She opened the shower curtain, holding out a towel. There was never any privacy with Ava. Charlotte had learned to live with it years ago.

“My turn. I swear I spilled half a bottle of vodka on me.”

Charlotte took the towel, wrapping it around her as she walked out of the bathroom. Their apartment was tiny, with a small lounge room just big enough for their double-seater couch, a coffee table, and the TV cabinet their flatscreen sat on. Then, there was the world’s tiniest kitchen with enough room for one person to stand in at a time. There was no room for a dining table, so they always ate on the sofa. Off the lounge room were three doors. One was the little bathroom, one was Charlotte’s room, and the other was Ava’s. It was a crappy, rundown apartment in a crappy, rundown part of town, but it was home.

After her grandmother died, Charlotte and Ava worked their butts off to afford the little apartment and have somewhere safe to live. Charlotte had been fourteen when she met Ava, who ended up in a foster home down the street from where Charlotte and her grandmother had lived. One of the high school bullies punched Charlotte in the face on her way home one day. They teased her about her grandmother, her strange Greek accent, and the clothes her Ya-Ya wore. On this particular day, they were going to give Charlotte more than just one punch, but Ava came out of nowhere and beat the girl so badly that she, as well as her nasty friends, never bothered Charlotte again.

From that day on, they were inseparable. Ava practically lived at their house, her grandmother answering the door at all hours of the night to let a bruised and crying Ava in. Her foster father would do unspeakable things to her, and Charlotte’s grandmother would always keep Ava as long as possible. Most times, the authorities would have to knock on the door and drag Ava back. After a year of Charlotte’s grandmother fighting like hell with the authorities, Ava could finally come and live with them, like a real family. Until the heartbreaking day her beloved Ya-Ya died.

They’d been in this apartment nearly three years now, both slowly putting money away to rent something nicer in a better neighborhood.

One day soon, Charlotte mused as she went into her room, listening to Ava babble on from the shower. She dragged on some clean underwear and went through her drawers, pulling out her black sweatpants with Stranger Things written in red down the left leg and a matching black hoodie with the same written across the chest. She and Ava were obsessed with the series. They had power-watched Season 4 and were both in love with Eddie.

“How was that blond-haired, green-eyed bombshell?” Ava asked, walking past Charlotte’s room in her towel. “He followed me into the bathroom, all business, snapping at everyone to get out so we were alone,” she called out from her room.

Charlotte made her way into the kitchen, combing her fingers through the tangles in her wet hair as she pulled a water bottle out of the fridge.

“What guy?” she asked, gulping down the water, hoping to get ahead of the hangover.

Ava pranced out of her room in her black onesie, the words Hot Stuff in large neon pink letters across her chest.

“Seriously, Charlotte, keep up, will you? The guy, Phoenix, who drove us home. Remember? He was my future husband, my July wedding, but not anymore. Not after the guy that burst into the bathroom in the club. He was all business, backing me up into the wall, all rough and sexy like he wanted to eat me,” she told Charlotte with dreamy eyes.

“What?” Charlotte grabbed another water from the fridge, handing it to her as she walked over, flopping down on the couch. Ava jumped on the couch next to her, putting her legs up onto Charlotte’s lap. “So, you let a stranger grope you in the bathroom?”

You’re not one to talk, couch whore, she thought.

That searing kiss with Roman replayed in her mind, and her body felt on fire all over again.

“There are no words, Charlotte. No words at all for what that man did to me in the bathroom. Never has a man turned me on as much as he did. He kissed me like he wanted to possess me, then he…” She trailed off, her face looking scandalous as she couldn’t stop smiling.

Charlotte leaned forward, already engrossed in the story. Roman’s kiss had felt just like what Ava was describing, like he had kissed her very soul. It gave her goosebumps, her body longing for his touch again.

“Then he what? Don’t leave me hanging, he what?” Charlotte demanded with a laugh.

“He went down on me, right there with me up against the wall. I have never come so hard in my life,” Ava said, smiling from ear to ear.

“No!” Charlotte’s eyes were wide. “Anyone could have walked in.”

Same as the office, hussy.

“I know! Then he kissed all the way up my body, stopping to stare at me. It must have been the lighting because his eyes were pitch black as he gazed at me like I was the most precious thing in the world. Then, he gave me the most intense kiss of my life, whispering to me in this sexy language that I couldn’t understand, and…” She frowned, her eyes glazing over for a moment.

“What? Then, what?” Charlotte urged her on. She always lived vicariously through Ava’s sex stories.

Ava continued to frown, chewing her bottom lip in deep thought. “I… I can’t remember,” she whispered, confused.

“What do you mean you can’t remember? The man kissed the life out of you… in every way,” Charlotte said with a laugh. “How can you not remember what he did next?”

“I don’t know. It’s foggy. I honestly can’t remember.” She sounded vague and confused.

“Must be the fifty quick fuck shooters you made us have,” Charlotte reassured her with a giggle.

Ava snapped out of it with a laugh, giving Charlotte a playful kick. “We are going to feel those bad boys in a few hours.”

Charlotte shook her head. “What are you talking about? I’m already feeling them.”

A loud knock at the door startled them both. They frowned at each other. Their neighborhood wasn’t the safest, and no one ever knocked on their door in the middle of the night.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Charlotte whispered.

Ava shook her head as she got up, making her way to the door.

An uneasy feeling crept over Charlotte. “Don’t open the door,” she told her, frightened, but it was too late.

As Ava stood in front of the door, someone kicked it open, breaking the locks. Wood and splinters flew everywhere, and the door smacked Ava in the face, knocking her back onto the floor. Blood poured out from a gash on her forehead as Ava lay unconscious on the ground.

Charlotte screamed as three men piled into the tiny apartment, laughing and joking amongst themselves. The man who’d kicked in the door walked straight toward her, his pale face twisted into an evil smile, his long, oily black hair pulled into a ponytail.

The man from the diner. Dread shot through her as she froze in fear.

“Well, the boss didn’t tell me how pretty you’d be. I couldn’t take my eyes off you all week.” He smirked.

Charlotte finally came to her senses and quickly scrambled to her knees, trying to jump over the back of the couch. The oily-haired man laughed, lunging at her and grabbing a fist full of her hair. He ripped her backward so fast that her back slammed into the floor before she knew she was falling.

The air burst out of her, her lungs burning as she struggled to breathe. The oily-haired man stood over her, grinning as he slammed his fist into her face. She cried out in pain, her vision going blurry. As the world came back into focus, a shaggy, red-haired man was looming over her, half his teeth missing as he grinned.

The other creep from the diner, she thought, fear and panic paralyzing her.

How was she going to get away from them? It was three against one. She didn’t stand a chance. Her mind raced, trying to figure out how to get out of the apartment.

“I want to play with her,” he sneered, running his fingers down her cheek.

Charlotte smacked his hand away in disgust and spat in his face. The man angrily wiped his face, then smashed his fist into her jaw, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. Her hands flew to her face. The pain was excruciating. Her mouth ached as tears filled her eyes. She didn’t know what to do. She did not know how to defend herself against three men. Ava was unconscious, and Charlotte didn’t know if she was going to be okay. Her mind raced as the pain overwhelmed her.

“That’s enough. The boss said she wants her in one piece, so no more marks on her, or it will be a one-way ticket downstairs,” the third man said calmly from somewhere behind her.

“Let me play just a little. No one will know,” the red-haired man pleaded as his hand slowly crept up her leg.

Fear rushed through her. What did they want with her? Who was their boss? Were they going to rape her? Her head spun, a mixture of fear and the night’s partying causing a wave of nausea.

As the man’s hand crept higher along her inner thigh, terror at the thought of getting raped kicked her into motion. Charlotte used all her strength and kneed the shaggy-haired man right between his legs. He howled, landing on his knees next to her. She heard a man curse from behind her as she rolled onto her stomach and scrambled to her feet, the pain from her face causing her to sway, and another wave of nausea hit her hard. As she tried to steady herself, she saw the bald man from the diner storm over to her.

Charlotte turned, running for her room. She felt a sharp pain in the back of her head, and then the darkness took over.

* * *

Roman wound his way through the streets of the Hollywood Hills. He put his foot down, and the engine of his Black Bugatti Chiron purred as he turned onto his private street. His home sat high on a hill above other million-dollar mansions, some owned by A-list movie stars and singers, others by rich, snobby, high-class society. People he loathed.

He pulled up to the black iron gates of his home. A ten-foot white stone wall wove around the perimeter of the property. Magic reinforced the gates and the wall to keep unwanted beings out.

He pressed a button, opening the gates, and headed up the driveway. His mansion came into view, the lights and high-tech security cameras covering every inch of the white three-story house. Nothing was getting in, and nothing was getting out.

Roman could see Phoenix and Lucian’s cars out front as he pulled into his garage on the side of the house, parking the Bugatti next to his other expensive cars.

Oh, how he loved his toys, he thought, looking them over.

His two muscle cars, a silver 1967 Shelby 6T500 and a black 1969 Mustang Boss, were his just-for-fun cars .

The next three cars were not to be touched by anyone: his black Aston Martin Victor, the only one in the world, and his stunning dark-blue Lamborghini Sian. But the last was his pride and joy. He’d only taken it out a few times. Collectors constantly tried to buy it from him. His one-of-a-kind black matte Bugatti La Voiture Noire. This car, he would kill someone over.

He walked past his favorite toys, hanging his keys next to the others as he opened a door leading into the kitchen. It was exquisite, like the rest of the house. Along the kitchen walls were white cupboards with golden handles and, beneath, beautiful, black marble countertops. The kitchen had a massive burner and stove, which any chef would swoon over, built-in, along with a custom giant black double-door fridge big enough to feed the army of angels living with him.

Roman opened a cabinet, reaching for a glass and a bottle of Macallan 25-Year-Old Single Malt Whiskey. He poured the amber liquid, filling it halfway.

What a night , he mused, taking a sip as he leaned back against the countertop. Charlotte’s image invaded his thoughts. Her big, beautiful, almond-shaped eyes. The way her lips felt against his, and her body. God, her body . He would give anything to touch her again and make her moan as she had back in his office.

He shook himself. He didn’t have time for this. They had found another demon; the others had it locked up in the basement, ready to be questioned. It was just what Roman needed. The encounter with Charlotte left him feeling wound up, so a bit of torture would be a great distraction.

“Time to focus,” he told himself, taking another swig. “Phoenix? Lucian?” he yelled, his voice echoing through the quiet mansion.

Started without me then, he thought, shaking his head.

Putting his glass down on the bench top, he headed down the corridor. He knew damn well the two angels had begun torturing the demon they’d captured.

Roman entered a security code for the massive twelve-inch-thick steel door leading to the basement. The pad lit up green, and he could hear the metal rods gliding as the giant door slid open.

He started down the stairs, Charlotte once again popping into his mind as he headed down a long corridor lit up by fluorescent lights. He peered into the empty, barred cells as he walked, trying to forget how warm her body had felt under his, how soft her breasts had been. The agonizing screams coming from the room at the far end caught his attention.

“I suppose it is like a dungeon.” He laughed to himself as he opened the door, stepping into the room.

It looked like a massacre had taken place, with blood streaked across the roof and walls. The two angels looked menacing, their backs facing him, and their black wings, splattered with blood, hung loosely down their backs, the ends trailing on the bloodied floor. They turned, grinning at Roman, giving him a glimpse of the demon, or more accurately, the human body the demon had possessed.

He was a dark-haired man, looking to be around thirty. Despite having his face beaten to a pulp, he was still laughing and grinning at them with his one good eye that hadn’t yet swollen shut. Magically enforced chains tied his hands and legs to a chair, and it appeared that the fallen angels had already used a pair of pliers to rip off all his fingernails.

“I thought I gave you strict instructions to wait till I got back,” Roman said, a little annoyed.

“We couldn’t help ourselves.” Phoenix grinned as they faced him. Blood splattered his sandy-colored hair, and his golden amber eyes glowed slightly with fire, which usually happened when the angel experienced any type of strong emotions. This mixture of blood, fiery eyes, and the scars on his face made him look frightening.

He must really be enjoying this.

“Come on, Roman. We thought you were going to be gone for hours.” Lucian smirked. His pitch-black hair clung to his head, and his face was streaked with blood as his ice-blue eyes glanced back toward the demon. Lucian had noticed the demon flinch, his smile slowly fading at the mention of Roman’s name. Lucian laughed. “That’s right. You did not know whose dungeon you were in, did you?”

“Please… I will tell you what you need to know. Just keep him away from me,” the demon whimpered.

Rumors of Roman’s torture techniques had made it all the way to the depths of Hell. His frustrations at not being able to get to Lucifer and make him pay for everything that had happened to him and his fellow fallen often made him majorly lose his shit, as his brother liked to put it.

He would often tear demons to shreds, taking out thousands of years of anger on them. It wasn’t pretty, and it even made the other fallen angels squirm when his infamous temper reared its ugly head. Every few hundred years, he’d lose control and go on demon-hunting massacres.

These rampages, as the angels liked to call them, were Roman’s most shameful moments. The amount of innocent possessed humans he had killed haunted him. They had ways of sending the demons back to Hell while saving the humans they possessed. But if Roman was in a mindless rage, he only saw the demon.

When they happened, he couldn’t control himself. No one could stop him. What even his brother didn’t know was that each time, it was getting harder and taking him longer to rein himself back in. He had been careful for the last century or more. He’d kept his inner beast in check. Kept it buried deep down inside of him. Until tonight… until Charlotte.

If only they really knew what I was. He quickly shook the thought away.

Roman stalked forward, memories flooding his mind, especially of his younger brother crawling out of the gates of Hell, covered in blood, his wings gone .

He delivered a powerful blow, smashing his fist into the demon’s face, causing the chained chair to slide across the floor and hit the wall. The demon yelled in pain.

Calm your shit. Roman’s memories of the fall and his tortured brother brought his anger forth in waves. He was breathing heavily, his fists clenched so hard he thought he might break his own fingers. He could feel his eyes burning as they glowed the eerie red.

Roman realized Lucian and Phoenix had taken a few steps back. The few angels over the eons who’d tried to calm Roman down in his fits of rage had learned the hard way to just stand back and keep clear.

Twice now tonight, he’d lost his cool. He was beginning to feel agitated that he couldn’t keep his emotions in check.

“It’s okay,” he snapped, trying to get a grip.

“You sure, boss?” Phoenix asked wearily, the flames now gone from his eyes.

Roman took a deep breath. “Yes,” he answered, finally getting a hold of the anger, calming himself just enough that his eyes returned to normal as he walked toward the chained demon.

“Wait, wait! Just tell me what you want to know. I don’t want to go back to Hell,” he pleaded, his good eye slowly starting to swell shut.

“Why are there suddenly so many demons roaming the streets? What are you looking for?” he asked angrily.

The demon shook his head, whimpering. “No, no, no, no,” it muttered.

Roman punched it in the face, its head snapping back, hitting the brick wall. The sound of the bricks cracking made Roman smile. He was pretty sure he just fractured the demon’s skull.

There’s a person in there, remember?

“No more… no more. A girl, a girl, a girl,” the demon rambled.

Roman straightened, looking at the other angels. They both shrugged.

“That’s the first time it has said that,” Lucian told him. “We’ve been working on him for a bit, and he has given us nothing.”

“What girl?” Roman asked.

“A girl, a girl. She is the key. His one way out, his one-way ticket,” it muttered like a crazy person.

“You’re not making any sense,” Roman snapped angrily. “Tell me what I want to know, or I will rip out your eyes and shove them down your throat,” he screamed, eyes glowing again.

The demon flinched. “A girl. There is a girl; she is his ticket, his way out of Hell.”

A shiver crept up Roman’s spine. “You’re talking about Lucifer, aren’t you?”

The demon nodded.

“How? How does this girl help him out of Hell?”

“Sacrifice… need her blood… a ritual, that’s all I know. I’m just an errand boy. W-we don’t get told much,” he stuttered.

“What’s her name? What does she look like?”

“We have to find this girl,” Phoenix said, a hint of panic in his voice.

Roman was shocked. If Lucifer got out of Hell, it would be the end of everything as they knew it. He would raise his army of demons and head straight for the heavens… after he annihilated every human on the planet.

“No… no, he will kill me.” The demon shook his head.

“I am about to kill you,” Roman growled, grabbing the demon by the head and punching him again, shattering his cheekbone.

“Char… Charlotte… that’s all I know,” the demon slurred before it passed out.

Roman straightened, eyes wide, taking a few steps back.

Not possible.

“It can’t be,” he whispered, thinking of the golden beauty he’d been kissing only hours ago. “Phoenix, the girls you took home earlier, you need to go get them and bring them here now,” Roman said, his mind spinning.

Phoenix nodded, rushing out of the room.

“Get Maalik on the phone. It’s time to go demon hunting,” he told Lucian. “We need to find a demon who can tell us more about this ritual. Lock him in a cell. Armaros can send the piece of shit back to Hell,” he ordered, stalking out of the room, panic hitting.

We need to find Charlotte before Lucifer gets a hold of her. Otherwise, we are all fucked .