Page 53 of Wicked Believer (Original Sinner #2)

Chapter Forty-Four

Charlotte

The rest of the day flies by. If Azrael’s idea of a warm-up—a five-mile run on the treadmill that has me huffing and puffing until I’m beet red in the face—followed by a ridiculous amount of core and strength training wasn’t enough to break me (Exactly how did he expect me to focus on my form after stripping his shirt off mid-workout?), then my session with Greed definitely would be.

For every taunting jab from Azrael, Greed does me one better.

“Get angry, Charlotte.”

“I’m trying!” I snap, though she’s the only one I can get angry with, currently.

No matter what I do, I can’t access the furious thing that’d been prowling around inside me until Azrael showed up. It’s like my body wasn’t the only thing that plummeted toward the city’s concrete.

Thus far, all I’ve managed to do is conjure a bit of pulsing light into my palms. Not even enough for it to escape from inside me or do anything more than give me some stupid glowing ET fingers. It’s not like I, or Greed, know what I’m supposed to be capable of anyway.

Greed seems to be taking the approach that whatever my powers happen to be, they’ll reveal themselves if I just try hard enough.

Or if she bullies me to the point of fury.

At the end of the day when I collapse onto mine and Lucifer’s bed, feeling the other side once again empty, I don’t have the time or the energy left to scream.

But I swear I still feel Azrael’s presence there, watching me.

Even when I can’t see him.

Before I know it, two weeks of Lucifer’s hellish schedule have passed, then three. Until I’ve fallen into a strange kind of rhythm.

Azrael. Greed. Work. Playroom. Repeat.

Until I’m certain I could do it all in my sleep.

Except for the playroom part, anyway.

Lucifer can clearly sense the distance between him and me, and he appears to have decided that he can somehow find a way to punish it out of me.

I’ve been pumped full of him so many times, I’m starting to get worried I’ll be pregnant before year’s end.

Not that I’m complaining.

Our sex life has never been better.

Each time he thrusts into me, it’s like he’s trying to prove something.

A clash of wills.

Endless nights. A mix of devilish love and hate-fucking until we’re both raw in a way that reminds me of the first few weeks we were together.

But he can’t exorcise this particular demon from me.

This time, I somehow know it’s my responsibility.

That evening, when he’s finished with me in the playroom, he’s once again kept his promise to fill me up. He has every night he’s been home.

No matter how certain I feel that someday I want children with him, right now I’m not positive I could handle it mentally, so I’m still taking my birth control. And praying.

I’ve yet to rediscover the hope I felt in the playroom with him the first night of my training, my renewed spark, even though our tax bracket has kept me largely insulated from the chaos happening all around the world.

Team No Apocalypse is low-key struggling.

“I have a surprise for you, little dove,” Lucifer says as he deposits me on our bed for the evening, cleaned and cared for but still dripping, I’m so full of him. His cum leaks down my leg, and he uses two fingers to swipe at it and shove it back up into me.

I lift a brow, turning toward him tentatively.

“Get dressed, and the security team will take you down to the car.”

I nod and do as I’m told.

I haven’t been giving him the slightest hint of resistance lately. I’ve been such a good girl, he honestly seems a little put off by it. Apparently, my good behavior doesn’t thrill him as much as he thought it would. Like maybe he enjoyed what a brat I was being.

Though these days, I don’t have the energy.

When the security team finally leads me to the car, I’m surprised to find that Lucifer isn’t there waiting for me. Instead, without explanation, Dagon drives me to a restaurant in Tribeca I’ve never been to before, Belly of the Beast.

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.

I think 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, because of course any get-together Azmodeus throws 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 Lucifer sir .” 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.

I don’t think any other seals have been opened yet, but after scouring every news source I could find, I’ve felt way too concerned about the uptick of the city’s rat population.

That, along with the destruction that leveled several buildings in Washington Heights, has been causing even more delays in the subway than usual, and I’ve also been obsessively worried about the world’s rapidly declining population of bees.

Until finally it hit me.

Pestilence.

The first Horseman is Pestilence.

When Lucifer opened the first seal, it must have unleashed him. According to the Bible, that’s how it works, and he’s the first of the four. One for each of the first four seals.

Apparently, there’s even a new virus brewing in Hong Kong.

Though everything else appears to be business as usual.

Humanity is blind, it seems.

Or just so terrified, they’re numb to it all.

Except for the Righteous, of course.

They controlled my life for so long that it’s not difficult for me to guess what they’re up to.

I’m pretty sure they’re paying attention, too, but they’re likely celebrating what they believe will be their inevitable rapture, whereas I’m losing my ever-loving shit that we’re nearing the end of the world.

Though from a PR perspective, they’ve been unusually quiet lately.

Because Lucifer told Michael to keep them under control for you, remember?

No, not for me.

For whatever his strategy is.

I’m not allowing myself to fall into that trap anymore.

Gluttony turns to me abruptly, a spoonful of some kind of Asian soup in his hand. “Try this,” he says before suddenly shoving the spoon into my mouth.

The flavors hit my tongue a moment later, sweet, salty, sour acid, bitterness, and umami in a perfect balance. I groan appreciatively.

This is freaking good.

The side of Z’s lips quirk up, like he’s taken a sudden interest in me.

Or like he’s enjoying the unwilling offering I’ve just given him.

“Can I have another?”

“Always.” He smiles appreciatively, producing another clean spoon and passing it to me. “Good, isn’t it?”

I nod in agreement. “More than good.”

A small spark flickers in me.

Maybe I can do this.

Maybe I let my feelings over Lucifer and all the chaos happening in the world around us cloud my way.

Maybe I have got what it takes to get Team No Apocalypse off the ground.

“Z, would you like to host a family brunch at the penthouse this weekend? The morning before Az’s play party? Whatever you want to make. No budget is too big or small.”

“Brunch?” Z quirks a suspicious brow. “Did my brother put you up to this?”

“Which one?” I ask, batting my lashes innocently.

He gives me a pointed look.

There’s only one among the seven Originals who’s ever been in charge.

Until now.

Things are going to change.

At least if I have anything to say about it.

“Lucifer will likely be in, well, you know.” I nod toward the floor, expecting Z to understand. I’ve noticed there’s a rhythm to the days and times Lucifer “pops downstairs,” as he calls it. It’s like a second work schedule, really.

Some days I’m not certain how he manages it all.

Though now that I’m thinking about it, I haven’t caught him smelling like brimstone in a few weeks.

“And does he know?” Z asks, his eyes narrowing like he already senses I’m up to something.

I shrug. “Not unless you want him to.”

Z smirks wickedly. “Tell Farouq to have the kitchen ready for me.”

I grin victoriously. It doesn’t surprise me in the least that he knows our personal chef by name.