Page 191 of Wicked Believer

Greed bats her long, perfect lashes at me. “Money is my favorite, but offer me somethingelsethat interests me, little sister.”

“An exclusive first look at my powers.”

A crease forms between Greed’s brows.

“You wanted to see me angry? I’ll show you angry. I’m about to unleash all the power I’ve been holding in on some asshole who’s gotten hold of my friend. And I’ll let you livestream it.”

That piques her interest. “Tempting, but no. My followers would love it, but I’m your trainer. I’ll find out eventually, anyway.”

“Fine. Then I’ll come and work for you exclusively,” I say. “Three months.”

“You’ll quit Apollyon?”

“I think I was already planning to.”

Her brow furrows.

“Lucifer and I are ... It’s complicated. Though that may not be an option anymore if you don’t hurry the hell up and get me out of here.”

“Interesting,” Mimi purrs, smirking at me just as the door to the bathroom bursts open.

I turn, thinking we’ve run out of options, that I won’t be able to save Jax after all, or by the time I get to her it’ll be too late. Not to mention Lucifer and Azrael might both murder me.

But then I feel the soft, buttery grip of Greed’s plump hand wrap around my wrist, and suddenly I’m being sucked inside the ether, and everything fades to black.

Chapter Sixty-Five

Lucifer

The moment it becomes apparent to me that Charlotte is no longer locked inside the ladies’ room—having clearly absconded with my blasted bitch of a sister, if the sight of her sigil written upon the bathroom mirror in lipstick is any indication—I abandon that plan in favor of another.

Azraelwillfind her and bring her back to me safely.

I can’t allow myself to entertain any alternative prospects.

And for now, I have a human audience to amuse, it seems.

I make a beeline away from the Beaux-Arts Court, where the awards show is currently paused, and head nearby to the museum’s Egyptian gallery.

A large gold sarcophagus stands upright in a glass box in the middle of one of the rooms, and I make my way toward it. “I suppose I’m going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

I strip off the coat of my tux, casting it overtop the display as I feverishly begin searching the other cases. It takes me a few moments, but then I find what I need.

An ancient ceremonial dagger.

The sizable donation I’ll make to the museum for this will be well worth the trouble, as far as their curatorial staff are concerned.

Not bothering to wrap my jacket around my hand, I promptly punch straight through the glass of the dagger’s case.

Which in hindsight is some questionable judgment on my part.

“Bloody fuck,” I roar, cradling my now-bleeding hand. “How do any of them everlivelike this?” Pain is considerably worse without my abilities.

I cast a wayward look at the dagger, realizing I no longer require it, as I’m vaguely aware of an alarm bell going off like a siren and flashing over my head.

What good do they think that god-awful sound or their security guards are going to do? Scare me off? Put me in jail?

I may be down on my luck as of late, but even without my powers, there’s little any of them could do to stop me.