Page 137 of Wicked Believer

When I step inside, I can’t help but feel confused about why I’m in the middle of a high-end sushi place with Lucifer nowhere in sight. He’s not exactly the biggest fan of sushi. He says it “tastes like the salt and brine in the air” when God first created the seas.

Ithink it tastes delicious. Even if it doesn’t smell great currently.

But my confusion subsides when, in Lucifer’s place, I find Jax there, waiting for me.

“Jax,” I breathe, rushing toward her and practically throwing myself into her arms.

I haven’t seen her in weeks. With my and Lucifer’s private engagement soiree planned for us this weekend—a masquerade play party at the penthouse, becauseof courseany get-together Azmodeusthrows would involve some element of a public orgy—plus the philanthropy work I’ve been doing to try and help people through all this, and the upcoming CFDA Awards, I wasn’t sure I’d get to connect with her before then.

“I’ve missed you,” I whisper, clinging to her like a lifetime has passed since we’ve last seen each other.

It sort of has for me.

“I’ve missed you too.” She pulls back, smiling awkwardly.

Right.

I’m still in the doghouse for being a completely shitty friend, but even strained conversation with Jax is easy. She has a way of putting anyone around her at ease.

She launches into telling me about how Lucifer had Apollyon’s secretary, Jeanine, reach out to her. Apparently, she seems to think he’s worried about me, but as she’s talking, out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of an unexpected someone near the kitchen.

I hold up a finger. “Can you hold that thought?”

I’m beelining away from our table before I can think twice about what I’m doing, and then the next thing I know I’m through the kitchen door, Gluttony—or Beelzebub—staring down at me.

“Z.” I lift a hand in greeting.

“If you’re going to do it, at least do it properly,” he growls.

I blink, thinking at first he’s talking to me until the entire kitchen staff answers back with a resounding, “Yes, Chef.”

Z turns away from me like he’s too busy to be bothered by my presence.

“Z? Or, er, Mr. Beelzebub, sir?” I follow him as he heads toward the other side of the kitchen.

Gluttony and I have barely exchanged more than two words with each other. I’m not even sure I’ve been formerly introduced to him. Once you reach a certain level of celebrity, introductions sort of become, well, redundant. And technically, we’re family, I guess.

Or we soon will be.

“Uh, Mr. Beelzebub, sir?” I say again, trying and failing to get his attention.

He’s examining a piece of raw tuna like Lucifer examines my pussy when he’s got me spread open on one of the bondage tables.

Like he can’t wait to put his mouth on what he sees.

“Azmodeus tells me you only call Lucifersir.” He lifts a knowing brow at me, his eyes falling to my collar. It appears to be a diamond choker to anyone who doesn’t know better.

My cheeks flush until I’m nearly as pink as his tuna. “Z, then?”

He grunts as if he doesn’t give a damn what I call him and then moves on to examine the next station. A woman stirring some kind of pale-amber sauce. Gluttony plucks a nearby spoon from out of thin air, or maybe from his chef’s apron—how the hell would I know?—and dips it into the sauce before giving it a taste. “Needs more acid.”

“Yes, Chef,” the whole kitchen calls out in unison.

“Um, Gluttony ... er, Z, I wondered if you might be willing to ...” My voice trails off. I’m not even certain what I’d planned to say.

Let me do PR for you. Give you what your brother can’t so that you’ll maybe help me stop the impending apocalypse that nobody else seems to be noticing.

Initially, the headlines over the past few weeks confused me.