Page 51 of Grave Mistakes
“Wow, that was quite the visual,” is all I manage to come up with.
To keep from slapping a hand to my forehead like I want to, I braid my hair over my shoulder instead. I should really remember to bring extra hair ties. Maybe I can wrap a couple around this scythe thing, since it seems to be my destiny to have it with me. I make a mental note to do just that the next chance I get.
“Yep. It’s just one of the manydeliciousthoughts I have going on up here,” Crux replies, pointing to his temple and sucking me back into the dirty talk.
I snort, doing my best to pretend like I’m not flattered or flustered by his words as the thoughts crash through my mind. I shove them away for review at a later, more private time, as Iceman starts to lead the way down the dock and toward the bar. The five of us walk single file on a pathway that’s made of smashed beer cans shoved into concrete. When we make it to the building and past the swinging doors of the bar, I see immediately that there’s a lot ofwhat the fuckgoing on in here.
I stop in my tracks, taking in the large room. My eyes don’t really pay attention to the bar that seems to be made up of old wine barrels, or the banjo player who’s sitting on top of one of the tables in the middle of a fiery ring, or even at the dozens of demons that are inside showing off their horns, tails, wings, and fangs. Instead, my eyes are glued on the white canines that seem to have been glued to every inch of the ceiling.
“Are those…”
“Alligator teeth? Yep,” Echo replies before stuffing his hands in his pockets as his black eyes seem to soak in the shadows of the room.
I drag my glance away from the toothy ceiling and look around, the stench of alcohol overwhelming. At least there’s A/C in here. I feel gloriously cool air blowing around me, despite the flames in the center of the space. “What is this place?”
“Demon bar,” Crux tells me as we start following Iceman, who’s moving toward a table near the back. When we walk by one of the tables, a demon with four arms reaches out and slaps me on the ass withtwoof his hands, one right after the other.
“Keep your hands to yourself, fucker!” I say, my mouth popping off before my brain can warn me away from telling off the scary demon who could definitely kick my ass.
“You smell real nice,” he drawls before reaching forward to snag my arm.
I don’t even have time to wrench away or smash this prick in the head with my scythe like I want to before Iceman is there, standing between us. “She’s with us.”
I peer over his arm and see the demon blanche. “Rafferty, that you?”
Iceman nods tersely, and the demon whistles, revealing a mouth with a row of sharp black teeth. “Sorry, didn’t know she was yours. I won’t touch her.”
“Good.”
Iceman turns to me and places his hand on the middle of my back, steering me away. I know I shouldn’t preen at the protective and possessive gesture he just displayed, but I can’t help it.
When we get to the empty table, he pulls out a chair for me to sit in. I slide into the wooden seat and lean my walking stick from Hell against the table, while he and Crux take the chairs on either side of me. Echo and Jerif sit across from us, and a barmaid immediately comes over.
This one is definitely an imp too, but her sins must not have been too terrible, because she’s not as grotesque looking as our boat driver. She has four eyes, sure, but she also is still rocking some pretty nice cleavage, which is probably how she nabbed this job.
“What’ll it be tonight?” she asks, paper poised in her hand to take our order. “We got blood of the damned on tap, and some fresh brewed demon spirits.”
“Demon spirits will be fine, thank you,” Iceman says with a polite smile stretching across his blue face.
“Coming right up,” she says with a grin that I think is aiming for sultry. Iceman ignores her completely though, which for some reason, pleases me immensely.
Once she walks away, I can’t help but let my eyes drag over to the banjo player on top of the table. His face looks exactly like the white and light gray marble countertops I added to my Dream Kitchen Pinterest board. His skin is completely smooth, the veins of light gray running all along the visible parts of him, and it makes me want to trail my fingers down his body to see what he feels like. I never thought I’d be attracted to a marbleized demon, but damn, he’s hot. Jet black hair, faded jeans, and he’s playing that banjo with bunching muscles. The sound makes me want to shove screwdrivers in my ears, but the sight is almost worth the tune.
“You’re staring.”
Embarrassed at getting caught, I look over at Crux who has his green eyes narrowed on me. “What?” I ask defensively. “He just looks different.”
“You were checking him out.”
“I was not,” I argue, looking around at the others. Jerif is scowling at me—that’s nothing new—but so are Echo and Iceman. “Geez, lighten up. I was just curious, that’s all.”
“It would be best if you didn’t let your eyes linger,” Iceman tells me. “Everyone in here is very dangerous, and you don’t want to give them a reason to become curious about you.”
Swallowing, I nod. “Okay, warning received loud and clear...over,” I add, because I don’t love the feeling of Iceman scowling at me. Luckily, our radio humor gets the reaction from him that I was hoping for. His lips twitch slightly, the scowl gone as he shakes his head and looks around, trying not to break into a full smile. I grin into my lap.
The barmaid stops by again, dropping off a wooden pitcher and five cups shaped like hourglasses. The guys pour themselves a drink, and when Iceman offers one to me, I shrug and try to drink it again, only to nearly spit it out on the table. “Fucking hell, it’s worse than before,” I cringe, wishing there was something I could shove into my mouth to take the taste of paint thinner and rotten chicken away. “That is awful stuff. How can you drink that?”
“Tastes good,” Echo says before setting the cup down in front of him and leaning forward. “But I bet something else would taste much,muchbetter.”
