Page 40 of Great Service from Top to Bottom

Kris’s shoulders drooped. “The business is legitimate. All the goods are bought outright. Demons donate their appendages and are paid accordingly.”

Zee’s eyes narrowed. His tail swept back and forth. “Sit the fuck down.”

Kris sat, and pulled his dressing gown over his knees. “Zodiac. We’re good, aren’t we? We had a good time, you and me. That night?”

Zee stepped back, his wings splayed, bolstering his size and intimidation level.

I stood back with Reynard, as our services weren’t yet required.

“That night was work, Kris. This is personal.” Zee opened his phone, scrolled down the screen, selected a video, and showed it to Kris. The music playing was the same we’d heard on arrival, but clearer, and with Kris’s karaoke vocals joining in.

“Zodiac?” Kris gulped. “What are you going to do with that?”

Zee handed his phone to me, and Reynard watched over my shoulder as Kris strutted around the living room we now stood in, wearing just tighty-whities, and belted out “Never Gonna Give You Up” by Risk Astley. He put a great deal of effort into it—his hip movements, bucking and rocking his shoulders—but unfortunately for Kris, his performance was painful.

“A somewhat tragic performance of a classic,” Reynard remarked.

“Zee?” Kris whimpered. “No games, now. You need to delete that.”

“Hm.” Zee tapped his chin. “No.”

“Hey.” Kris fidgeted on the chair. “You can’t come into my home, my private property, and film me. This isn’t right.”

“You know what else ain’t right?” Zee propped his heeled boot on the chair between Kris’s knees and leaned in, getting closer and closer. Kris gulped. Zee’s wings ticked, shifting higher. “Conning Lost Ones out of their body parts so you can make snake-oil potions to rub on each other’s dicks. The fuck is that, Kris, huh?”

Zee held out a hand. I handed him the phone back, with the video playing on a painful loop.

“C’mon?” Kris glanced at me, hoping I’d save him. “What are you gonna do with that?”

Zee shrugged. “Not to brag or anything, but my last socials video gained one point two million views in a single day. Weird-ass white-boy fae getting their funk on with Rick Astley ain’t usually my vibe, but I’m willing to take a hit for the team.”

“What?” Kris coughed a nervous laugh. “No. You can’t. Don’t. Zee, wait?” In his desperation, he looked to me again, assuming I was the soft touch. “Don’t let him do this? My reputation is everything. I’ll be ruined.”

I shrugged. “Maybe you shouldn’t have locked us in a freezer?”

“Never gonna give you up . . .” Zee mumbled, tapping away on his phone.

“Fuck! Alright! What the fuck do you want?! Money? I have money.”

“We don’t want money, Kris. We want the name of your bossman, where the black market body-parts business operates from . . . and that cat ornament.” Zee pointed at a chonky cat ornament sitting on the fireplace mantle.

Kris gulped again, and when he next spoke, his voice broke. “I can’t . . . I can’t tell you that. She’ll kill me.”

“Trust me, when this hits my socials, you’re gonna wish you were dead. Once it’s out there, this video will be played in every business meeting, on every date. Every fucking time you step out your front door, Risk Astley is gonna haunt you.”

Kris burst into fits and sobs of ugly crying. “I didn’t know, I don’t do it, I help with distribution, you can’t do this, I don’t deserve this.” On and on it went.

“Zodiac broke him in under five minutes and hasn’t laid a single finger on him,” Reynard said, his voice low, so Zee and Kris didn’t hear. “I’m impressed.”

Pride made my heart swell. “Yeah, Zee’s great.”

“Indeed.”

Reynard’s eyes sparkled, and a touch of heat warmed his typically pale face. He really liked Zee getting his interrogation on. Seeing the hunger in his eyes, his gaze fixed on Zee, had my blood warming too. Maybe I should find those Reyzee fanfics Zee kept talking about, because the idea of the two of them together tingled lust through my veins.

“Oh well.” Zee sighed dramatically. “Guess I’ll just hit send, then.”

“No! Fuck! Her name’s Agatha de La Cour. She’s fucking next level. Mess with her and she’ll dump your ass off the Golden Gate Bridge.” He rattled off an address near Hunter’s Point Shipyard and slumped in the chair. “Please, you can’t tell her it was me or she’ll cut my fingers off.”