Avarice (Hell on Earth #1)

Kami emerged from her bedroom in wings, a halo, and the skimpiest white dress she could find. The bodice crossed over her breasts in pleated folds. The skirt barely covered her panties, leaving her garters exposed.

Zoe whistled with approval. “You are one sexy angel, chick,” she complimented.

“Yeah?” Kami asked, watching Zoe’s headdress bob as she nodded. “Well, you’re one sexy, uh… sphinx?”

Truth? She had no idea what in the hell her best friend was supposed to be.

Rolling her eyes, Zoe sidled up beside her, smartphone in hand. “I’m Ahsoka Tano from the Clone Wars.”

“Right. I knew that.”

“No, you didn’t,” Zoe snickered. “Now, say ‘trick or treat, bitches!’”

After a few dozen selfies, which Zoe immediately posted to every social media app available, they finally left their apartment to join the party crowd.

New York never skimped on holidays, so it was no surprise Zapa’s was already pushing legal capacity when Geoff ushered them inside ahead of 200 people waiting in line.

“Hey, we’ve been waiting for an hour!” One of the guys shouted. “They only letting hookers in now?”

“Why don’t you suck a dick and find out?” Zoe returned sweetly with a middle finger.

Kami’s best friend was a pint-sized badass. Four-foot-nine and 85 pounds soaking wet. She ruled over the world of social media and could tear people to shreds in 140 characters or less. There was no one in the world more ruthlessly minded or packing a bigger set of steel ones.

The noise inside the club was like a physical assault. Shouted conversations made eardrums ring while neon lights spiraled over the masses. Thumping bass plied at Kami’s flesh. Sweat, alcohol, and a plethora of cheap perfumes filled her nose, clinging to the back of her throat. The body heat of the crowd was inescapable. When it took them 20 minutes to make it to the bar, she started rethinking her costume. Then, she noticed that people gave them a wider berth once they stood still and smiled.

Much love for the wings.

Their favorite bartender, Darby, spotted them and headed in their direction while more staff hustled to fill orders. He flashed a grin, revealing fangs to go with his horns, red face paint, and pointed goatee.

“An angel? This is kismet, you know?” he said with his tempting Irish lilt, wagging his brows suggestively at Kami.

“No, this is BS, Darby,” Zoe snapped. “You’re supposed to dress up for Halloween.”

Kami chuckled. “She’s got you there.”

“Flattery,” he preened. “You want the usual, luvs?”

“Make it double everything,” Zoe answered. “Who knows when we’ll get service again.”

He turned to fill their order just when that one moron out of 1,000 decided to target Kami.

“Hey, baby, where’s your man?”

Turning, she glared at the zombie groping her ass like he had a second death wish and flashed a sickly sweet smile. “In the trunk, where I keep all of the bodies. I definitely have room for one more.”

“Shit, I wouldn’t mind being in your trunk, girl,” he replied.

“Get off me,” she hissed when he plastered himself against her.

She elbowed him, but the crowd was so dense all he did was bounce right back against her. Zoe grabbed Kami’s arm and pulled her free from him, putting herself between them.

“Excuse me? What part of Halloween gives you the right to walk up to some random chick and start dry-humping her leg like a fucking dog?” she demanded.

“Please. You bitches didn’t dress like that because you weren’t looking to get a man’s attention,” he sneered.

“Oh, I can guaran-fucking-tee you no bitch wants your attention, you limp dick, Walking Dead reject,” she fired back. “You said it yourself. We’re looking for a man.”

“Man, fuck you, you stupid dyke,” he raged, shoving through the crowd away from them.

“Ugh, I totally should’ve recorded that and blasted his sorry ass all over social media,” Zoe griped. Rounding on Kami, she gave her backside an appreciative survey. “Your ass is kinda hanging out of that so-called skirt, lover.”

“Only for you, sexy,” Kami smirked.

Zoe’s mouth pulled into a mulish line. “Why is that for women to have standards, they must be gold-diggers or lesbians?”

“Because rejection sucks, and not everyone finds Twitter therapeutic.” Kami shrugged. “You’ll be my backup if I crash and burn like zombie boy?”

Zoe snorted. “You, crash and burn? Please. We all know what this night means in the World of Kameo Kross.” She swirled her finger in the air to indicate Kami’s costume. “Hence the display of assets.”

“You’re the one who said all or nothing,” Kami reminded her.

“Yeah, just don’t go skimping on the standards,” Zoe added sternly.

“Depends on what time the booze hits,” she half-joked, then clapped and rubbed her hands together when she saw Darby heading back their way. “Speak of the dev—”

Zoe cut her off with a hand in her face. “Eh, don’t even say it. This is a corny-pun-free zone.”

“You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.” Kamie snickered.

“Alright, ladies, this oughta jump-start your party,” Darby said, setting their drinks down on the bar in front of them. “Four Fireballs, two Electric Watermelons, and two Zombies.”

Kami grinned. “So fitting.”

Zoe reciprocated, lifting her first shot. “To no inhibitions.”

Clinking glasses, they slammed back one shot after the other.

“Woo!” Kami exclaimed as the cinnamon whiskey seared down her throat.

“Exactly.” Zoe licked and smacked her lips. Then, they grabbed their remaining drinks. “Thanks, Darby.”

“Hey, I get off at three,” he called after them.

They just laughed because hooking up with the bartender wasn’t on either of their bucket lists.

Kami might have entertained the idea a few years back when she’d been all about excess, overindulging in kinky debauchery. But the constant disappointment had become too taxing on her soul for so little pleasure. Now, she rarely allowed herself the freedom. To minimize the letdowns, she always sought out the biggest, most ruthless bastard she could find. It was also a safeguard against unwanted relationships.

Dancing with Zoe on the crowded floor was the next step in an important process—one small act of releasing the binds of harsh reality, survival instincts, and social conditioning.

Freedom didn’t happen spontaneously, so she used the liberating tools readily available. Alcohol and music. The hypnotic trance of bodies moving together in a primal dance that was just as sensual as sex, yet far more spiritual. It was comforting having her best friend there. The only person on earth who knew why this one night was crucial for Kami to let go of the façade and embrace her true nature.

It was the eve of her birthday, yet she shouldn’t be alive. There was no medical explanation for it. She’d been born in death; a tragic attempt at murder-suicide that she’d won and her mother had lost. Lucinda Terrell had bled out with no external injuries, hemorrhaging from every orifice.

The words Kill It had been written in blood on the brick wall of the filthy alley by her mother’s hand.

So, when you existed against the odds of meth-infected veins and had clawed your way out of the hateful snatch of a crack-whore that wanted you dead, there was only one way to celebrate your birthday: Recklessly free of all moral trappings. Kami could only hope that somewhere in the delirium, an epiphany might spark to finally explain why in the fuck she was even breathing.

“Whatever happened to being original? I swear, if I see one more Guy Fawkes mask, I’m gonna smash it,” Zoe complained as they shoved their way into the Ladies’ Room an hour later.

“It’s a step up from the Z-Nation convention,” Kami replied, experiencing the lightheaded effects of sticky body heat and dancing rather than alcohol.

You knew you were best friends with someone when their face could appear under the wall between stalls, and it didn’t even strike you as odd.

“Alright, babe, listen up. Halftime’s over. It’s time for a motherfucking touchdown.”

“I love these locker room pep talks.” Kami chuckled.

“I’m serious,” Zoe stated after her face disappeared.

“Hey, I’m all in, Coach.” Kami sighed.

No lie, she was edgy. Her longing to feel the last ties of reality snap was nagging in her blood. She needed something catastrophic. More than anything, Kami longed to find that one asshole who’d finally step up to the plate and indulge her masochistic needs without niceties and hollow words.

“First, more drinks,” Zoe declared.

Darby was busy helping other customers when they returned to the bar, but that was probably for the best. Kami was too close to caving and promising to wait for him to clock off because her only other prospects were lame. Zombies versus the devil? No contest.

But then it would be all weird between them afterward, and she didn’t want that. Zapa’s was their favorite hangout, and Darby struck her as the type who’d expect more than just a one-night stand. Kami didn’t intend to give that to anyone. Not tonight, and definitely not tomorrow.

Downing another round of shots, she and Zoe hit the dance floor again. They were halfway through the next song when Zoe elbowed her in the ribs and pointed toward the back of the club.

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about.”

Following her friend’s gaze, Kami spotted a group of men gathering in the roped-off VIP section. They all wore ancient Roman costumes with gold or black masks, except one. His suit and tie were too expensive to be a costume, perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and hard-packed body. He wore the mask of a blood-red bull, the kind that shrouded the entire head instead of just the face. One of the horns had a broken tip, and the eyes were egg-shaped, painted gold. It was disturbingly alluring.

“I don’t get it,” she confessed.

“They’re from the movie, The Conspiracy. Ever seen it?”

Kami shook her head.

“It’s a faux-documentary surrounding a conspiracy theory about a secret society that was like a cross between Eyes Wide Shut and the Blair Witch Project, only with less shaky camera action, thank God. The bull, though…”

“What?” Kami asked when her words trailed off.

Zoe looked at her. “That was the mask you didn’t want to get. He was to be hunted and sacrificed.”

Kami’s eyes narrowed on the man. He looked more likely to demand tributes than ever be one. “That doesn’t look like a frightened sacrifice to me, Zo.”

“No, it does not,” Zoe purred with female appreciation. “And they all get a gold star in my book for originality.”

“Since they’re already VIP, I don’t think they need it,” Kami pointed out. “Come on. I see a Sith Lord drooling over your alien dreads. Let’s give him a show.”

“I’m totally going to French your face off for knowing what a Sith Lord is.” Zoe beamed.

It only took 15 seconds for the red-and-black zigzag-painted man to cut in and steal Zoe from her. Happy that at least one of them would be getting some Halloween action, Kami glanced toward the VIPs again. The bull-headed suit sat comfortably in an armchair, staring right at her.

Okay, technically it was impossible to know where he was looking, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Undoubtedly, wishful thinking on her part. Regardless, Kami started a new dance just for him. She let herself believe that it was real, that she’d captured his attention because he’d certainly captured hers.

Then she got lost in the music, flowing with the bodies grinding all around her. A man’s hands started groping her clumsily, too sloppy and weak to break the spell. The vulgar promises and suggestions he hurled at her rolled right over her without effect. Let him touch and talk. He wasn’t getting inside. Only one kind of man was allowed inside of her on All Hallows’ Eve, and it wasn’t the type to shout his stupidity at the top of his lungs.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he declared.

Tired of being ignored, he shoved his face into Kami’s while yelling. His hot putrid breath assaulted her. She stumbled when it knocked her off balance, but strong hands landed firmly on her hips from behind to keep her steady.

Kami was turned around and pulled against a large, solid form donned in exquisite Armani. He crossed an arm over the back of her skirt and palmed her right ass cheek territoriality, the way a lover would. The red bull mask stared beyond her to the man who’d been invading her personal space, vowing things that were never going to happen. Kami fixated on the place where the mask met his throat, giving her just a glimpse of his chiseled jawline.

“Hey, don’t look at me. She never said she was here with anyone,” Mr. Bad Breath stammered, fearful, angry, and drunk.

He must have left the area because the bull-man finally lowered his head to look at Kami. It was odd how a mask could stare at you. It was an inanimate object, yet there were eyes behind it that could look into you without being treated to the same vulnerability in kind. It was a wicked power; that.

“A demon in an angel costume? Not very subtle,” a deep, masculine voice remarked from within the mask, both muffled and amplified by it.

“Isn’t that the point?” She arched a brow.

Kami flirted shamelessly because the chemistry charging between them was palpable, not just wishful thinking as she’d feared.

“Perhaps.”

“Wherein lies your irony, bull-man?”

She was curious after what Zoe had told her about the bull mask.

“I represent a conspiracy,” he answered.

“And?”

He tucked his head beside her ear. “I am a conspiracy.”

His tone never hinted at anything other than stone-cold fact. Straightening, he tilted his head and regarded her for another moment. Then, he ran his finger along her halo.

“Were you looking for someone to remove that pesky Grace from your body, angel?”

A delicious shiver worked through her. “Absolutely.”

“Good. We’re heading to a more intimate party. Would you like to invite your friend?”

Searching the crowd, Kami saw that Zoe was still happily occupied with her alien counterpart.

“No,” she answered.

“Even better,” he said.

It should’ve been a red flag, but the truth was, she agreed with him. Just because Zoe knew everything about her didn’t mean they shared the same thrills. And Zoe’s presence would keep Kami tied to reality, making it impossible to let herself go completely.

Just outside of the VIP entrance, a stretch limo sat idling. A chauffeur in a bright gold Greenman mask waited with the door open. The cold air felt exhilarating to Kami’s skin and lungs, despite the hint of car exhaust.

Before she could climb in behind the Roman entourage and their chosen dates, the bull-man grabbed Kami’s wings and yanked them off of her, handing them to the driver. Her halo went next. Then, he climbed into the car, seating himself close to the door, and held his hand out for her to take.

She could’ve walked away then. The bull-man didn’t seem the type to chase or persuade. Whether or not to join him was ultimately her decision.

What a pisser.

Kami ignored the disappointment over that and put her hand in his. She gasped when he pulled her right down to her knees at his feet. The door slammed shut, resonating like an omen. Her choice had been made, and there was no turning back.

The bull-man cupped her face and pulled it beside his to mercilessly correct her foolish assumption about choices, proving himself to be exactly the kind of ruthless bastard she’d been hoping for.

“I’m almost disappointed you decided to come willingly, angel,” he purred darkly. “Now, I’ll have to devise another way to get my point across.”

It wasn’t fear that shuddered through her body, but a heady rush of arousal that went straight to the apex of her thighs.

Thank fucking God.

“What point would that be?” she asked.

With a quiet laugh, he settled back in his seat and stared down at her. “After tonight, you will never ask that question again.”