Page 50 of Grave Mistakes
Crux just chuckles, like I’ve said a joke, but when I feel the ground grow spongy, I dig in my heels. The surfer demon doesn’t even falter. He just grips both of my arms, picking me up straight off the ground. He easily steps into the boat while holding me up, and I squeal a bit when it sways as our weight is added to it.
He plops me down next to him, but I quickly scramble away to sit in the tiny middle bench seat to better distribute the weight. I plant the scythe down in front of me like it’s a steadying mast and hold onto it for dear life. The last thing I want is to go tipping over. Also, the middle seat seems the safest in case an alligator comes along to check out a boat withno fucking sides! I mean, we’re practically floating dinner, for fuck’s sake. The guys can deal with that, because no thank you. Those things are just dinosaurs with anger issues, and I don’t want anything to do with them.
“For real, why doesn’t this boat have sides?” I ask the four demons around me, feeling indignant that I’m the only one who seems worried about this.
Iceman takes one look at me and tilts his head. “Um, Maverick, I think it might be best if someone else holds onto your Hell weapon for a bit. I’m a little worried your anxiety is going to get someone stabbed.”
I look from Iceman’s concerned gaze to the white-knuckled hold I have on the black wood and metal stick. Shit. Maybe he’s right. I shakily hand it over, grabbing onto the bench beneath my ass when the boat bobs again.
“It’s fine, Delta,” Iceman assures me, like those words alone will stem the freak out I’m currently having. He sits down and holds the Hell weapon at his side like he really doesn’t want to touch it at all.
The imp does something behind me, and then the huge fan turns on, the motor instantly drowning out the loud ass cicadas.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice pitched high so that I can be heard over the fan. Whatever answer I was going to get is cut off as the imp guns the engine and we start fuckingflyingdown the water.
Completely unprepared for the speed, my body tips forward, and I land head-first in Jerif’s crotch. I would be embarrassed, but I’m too worried about falling into the alligator-infested waters, so when the boat suddenly turns in a fucking ninety-degree angle—I swear, this imp is trying throw one of us out—I just scream and then let myself fall to the floor of the metal boat and grab hold of Jerif’s leg like I’m a tree hugger straddling a redwood. I am not letting his leg go for anything.
Jerif’s fiery eyes blink down at me where I’m clinging to his calf, my hair flying all around me as we speed through the swamp. “Yeah, I know we had a fight,” I snap at him. “But I amnotfucking letting go right now, so just deal with it.”
He rolls his eyes, but luckily, my death-grip must deter him from objecting, because he just leaves me be.
“Who knew she’d be afraid of boats,” Echo says conversationally.
“It doesn’t have any sides!” I snap, making him and Crux chuckle.
I swear, all four of them have model hair right now, as the wind blows their strands back from their faces like they’re doing a photoshoot. Mine, on the other hand, is tangling all up in my fucking face, some of it somehow snagging between my teeth like floss.
“Would you like to sit beside me?” Iceman offers, patting the metal bench to his right.
“Nope. Gonna keep holding onto Hot Lava. Because if I go overboard, I won’t feel all that bad about taking him with me.”
Jerif snorts, but otherwise doesn’t reply.
I’m not sure how long the boat ride lasts, but by the time it slows to a stop and I can shove the hair out of my face—and teeth—my fingers are sore from my clawed raptor-hold on Jerif, and I have no doubt that I’ve left very deep fingernail indentations into his smooth black leg.
Standing up, I don’t wait for any of the demons. I practically jump out of the metal raft, landing on a dilapidated wooden dock that has so much green moss growing on it that I can barely see the wood.
The guys disembark behind me, and I look around, noting the sagging wooden building several hundred feet away. There are more docks up and down the swamp with boats parked, and I can hear banjo music coming out of the building that has a tiny neon sign over the door that readsHairy Dog Tavern.
“What are we doing at a hillbilly bar?” I ask, my brows pulling together in a frown.
“One of the Hellgates is here,” Iceman replies as he hands me back my scythe and smooths his suit jacket over himself. I don’t know how the hell he looks so good or how he’s not dying from being overheated. I’m already sweating balls out here, and I’ve only been out of the boat-made wind for about sixty seconds. The underarms of my purple shirt are damp with circles, and I can feel how clammy my skin is.
“Why aren’t you guys sweating?” I ask, my tone accusatory. I point at Crux. “Crux is the only one who is.”
“Hey, I’m not sweating, I’m glistening,” Crux retorts before running a hand through his damp sideburns and sweeping back his blond hair.
“Yeah, but the rest of them aren’t evenglistening,” I reply. “It feels like Satan’s asshole out here after he’s had fiery diarrhea. What the fuck?”
Echo tips his head back and laughs, and my attention is immediately drawn to the fact that the tattoos usually wrapped around his arms have moved—again—and they seem to be stretched into long and widening shadows that are currently protecting him from the oppressive sun.
“I can shade myself,” he answers. “Hot Lavaover here doesn’t feel hot, because his blood legitimately runs as hot as lava. And Rafferty, your proclaimedIceman,doesn’t get hot. He always runs ice-cold. Crux is more susceptible to the Mortal Realm’s elements because he’s a Tres demon.”
I let all of that soak in.Iceman always runs ice-cold?Huh, guess I was wrong in thinking he chose that call sign because he was a Val Kilmer fan. It makes sense though, when I remember how he wrapped around me during my overheated freak out at the mansion. “Well, why don’t I get any handy no-sweating demon tricks?” I ask, picking my hair up off the back of my neck to fan it.
“Not sure, but you look cute with your cheeks all flushed and your brow beaded with sweat like you’ve just gotten fucked for two hours straight and you’re still boiling with lust,” Crux says casually, elbowing me slightly with his tanned, muscled arm.
I choke on air, and my eyes widen, while my stomach tightens. A salacious smile sneaks across Crux’s face, and my vagina really likes the things that smile is doing for us. My coughing fit ends, and I try and fail to think of a witty comeback.
