Page 96 of Wicked Believer

“Smile, Charlotte.”

The flash goes off less than a foot from my face, nearly sending me sprawling onto the pavement, but Az catches me, his expression turning lethal.

He’s known for going toe-to-toe with them. According to Gerard, my favorite gossip on Apollyon’s legal team, apparently there’s a few different charges pending against him.

But Az’s expression ignites something inside me, and suddenly it’smewho’s launching myself toward the paparazzo, shoving my hand against his camera lens and shouting, “What the hell is wrong with you? Can’t you vultures leave us alone?”

The paparazzo laughs. “If you enjoy this, you’re going to love the headline in the morning.” The constant shutter of his lens continues. More flashes. “Does Lucifer know you’re cheating on him with his brother?”

“Cheating on him?” I nearly shriek.

I blink several times, completely stunned by the accusation.

Rage wells up inside me, practically causing me to choke.

The insinuation that anything—anything—that’s gone on between me and Azmodeus tonight somehow means I’m not completely and utterly loyal to Lucifer infuriates me.

So much that I can hardly see straight.

My jaw sets, the dark thing inside me writhing.

So I went to a museum and a club with his brother without telling him. So what? He fucks off to Hell or whereverelseit is he goes all the time without telling me. So Az and I flirted a bit. Who cares? Azmodeus flirts with anything and everything that moves.

Not to mention, he’s my future brother-in-law.

There’s nothing more to it than that and my pathetic bid to save humanity, except ...

Except that Az is a surprising new ally. Maybe even a friend?

But that’s it. End of story.

And I’m so sick and tired of me and everyone I’m close to being scrutinized for our every move when, meanwhile, the goddamn apocalypse is brewing yetno oneseems to be noticing, that I ... I lose it.

The temptation and immediate satisfaction of showing this asshole what’s what wins out over reason, clouding my judgment and any consideration I might have once had for the long-term consequences. I take the near-full water bottle I’d been drinking when we exited the club and chuck it him. Not caring who or what I’m aiming at.

To my shock, my aim proves true, and it clocks the paparazzo upside the head, sending him stumbling onto the pavement as I rush at him.

“Charlotte!” Az shouts at me.

But I don’t hear him. Or I don’t register what he says, at least.

All I hear, all I can feel, is the sound of my pulse thumping in my ears. My rage.

And that harsh, feral thing snarling inside me.

All those people. All those people.

My vision goes red.

My fault.

My fault, my fault, my fault,that thing inside me hisses.

“Get out of here!” I shout, suddenly finding myself standing over the paparazzo, kicking him over and over again with my heel. Anywhere I can reach.

“Charlotte!”

Az’s voice is closer now, practically on top of me, and before I can stop him, he’s locked his arms around me, hauling me up and off the now-bloodied and groaning paparazzo, like I weigh nothing. “Charlotte, get off him!”