“How do you feel about people blubbering and begging for mercy?”
“Do they deserve it?”
“Not if they’ve got an appointment to meet me,” said by a grinning Devil.
In truth, not many actually complained once the reaper appeared to take them. Most people understood they’d led an imperfect life. It was the truly heinous that protested most, and they were a pleasure to drag off for judgment.
He tapped the witch’s file. She was more interesting than expected. And given her background, complex. He needed to know more. See exactly what had scared off her potential suitors.
Bad breath? Most demons wouldn’t care if the package was pretty.
A grating laugh?
Perhaps a curse no one had detected that spurned suitors?
Given he’d spent longer than expected immersed in her biography, he had to hurry if he planned to make it in time for her dinner date. Set up by Grim Dating at the last minute, it would give him a peek at his client.
Although, surely, he had time to stop for one street taco. And a churro. Make that two. He’d only be a few minutes late.
3
Ashley’s annoyance started with her date being late. It was already simmering, given the locale. The restaurant, with its dingy lighting, couldn’t hide the dirty corners. The burn marks on the cloth. She’d already decontaminated her side of the table.
The single candle flicking inside a squat, smudged glass didn’t help the appearance of her date.
Physically, he was fine. Six footish, broad-shouldered, dressed in a suit. With wrinkles and the top button of his shirt undone. His hair was reasonably clean-cut. But his gaze kept lingering on her chest area as if he could see through her high-necked blouse. The brazenness of his stare irritated.
She snapped her fingers. “My face is here.”
“Are you still talking?” He sighed. “I thought the whole hooking up thing was supposed to be about eating food, having sex, and then maybe sex again.”
“Before we get to the donation of your sperm, ground rules must be laid down.”
“Fine. We can talk about them after I get back from the bathroom.” He left the table and didn’t return. The waiter did, and sheepishly said, “Your date left. But he paid first. Said he’d rather throw himself on consecrated ground than finish the meal.”
“I tell you. Men these days just can’t handle a real lady.” She sniffed as she gathered her coat and purse.
She exited the restaurant, her sensible pumps clicking on the sidewalk. This was the third runaway this week. It was possibly time for her to return to the Grim Dating offices and request that they tweak her profile because, obviously, something in their system wasn’t working.
It should not be this difficult to get pregnant. And no, she refused to shoulder any of the blame. She wasn’t about to carry the fetus of just any male in her belly. If she was going to suffer for nine months and deal with the messiness of birth, then by all that was unholy, her child would be the most perfect thing ever created!
“Someone should have told me playing hard to get was your thing,” growled a voice, a moment before someone grabbed her arm and yanked her into an alley.
Shock dropped her jaw. She blinked at her date, the same one who’d walked out not fifteen minutes earlier. “Excuse me. What do you think you’re doing?” She glanced at her white coat and the handprint left on the sleeve.
“It hit me as I left that you were doing it on purpose. Playing tough and bitchy. But really, it’s because you’re submissive inside, and you just want a man to dominate you. Show you who’s master.” He thrust his hips in her direction.
She rolled her eyes. “You are delusional. I have no interest in you. Now, or ever.”
“No one rejects me.” This time when he reached for her, she sidestepped so he missed.
The Dark Lord save her from horny half-demons. “You might want to rethink your choices right now.”
“I choose you to be my slut for the night. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t remember a thing.” Spoken with a leer. He stared at her. “You are getting very sleepy.”
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot.
“Very tired. Your eyes want to shut.”
Her lips pursed.
The demi-demon, who was supposedly part incubus, began to look confused. But before she could haul his ass in for unlicensed glamouring, someone interrupted.
“Step away from the lady, asshole.”
Ashley half turned her head to see the newcomer. He wore jeans, a leather jacket, unlaced combat boots, and a violent attitude.
“Mind your business, reaper. This is a sanctioned date.”
“Doesn’t look like it’s going well,” said the gang-member-looking guy as he stepped closer.
“The slut knows me. Playing hard to get is her thing.”
“No means no,” said the stranger, thumbs hooked in the loops of his pants. An idiot with a hero complex.
“While I’m sure you’re trying to do the right thing, you can move along. I’m capable of ensuring this cretin understands that a woman has a right to decide who touches her body,” Ashley said with a tilt of her chin. She didn’t need a man coming to her aid.
“A lady shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of crassness.”
At least the stranger recognized her class. Still… “I assure you, I am used to dealing with such filth on an almost daily basis.” She returned her glare to her date. “The OAB will want to have words with you.”
The demi-demon shrank two sizes. “Fuck me. You’re with the OAB? But you’re so….so…human-looking.” The incredulity in his tone didn’t surprise her. She actually welcomed it because it meant that her years of hard work to achieve her current state had worked. She’d fought the odds and had beaten them. Now, if only people would recognize that instead of laughing—which was usually their secondary reaction when they realized what she was.
“The OAB will have to get in line. I’ve got first dibs.” The stranger shrugged.
“And you are?”
“Derrick.” For a moment, the biker guy let his cloak show, a swirl of black at his back.
“A reaper?” Her lip curled. “As the Dark Lord’s personal handmaiden, I outrank you.” Her gaze returned to her date. “As Satan’s representative on Earth, you are under arrest.”
“Like hell, I am.” The demi-demon did the one thing guaranteed to stop her in her tracks. He spat. A vast string of spittle filled with germs. Gross.
She froze when she wasn’t able to shield quickly enough against it. Long enough that the jerk made it out of the alley, leaving her alone with Derrick Reaper, who watched the incubus flee before eyeing her.
“Are you okay?”
“No. How utterly disgusting.” She used magic to sluice the phlegm from her coat. Then pulled a bottle of enhanced sanitizer from her purse. She offered it to the stranger to be polite.
“I’m fine.” He waved her off with a gloved hand.
Now it should be noted that she thought everyone should wear gloves. She always had a pair so her skin never directly touched anything that might be germ-infested. However, when a man wore gloves and happened to be in an alley alone with a woman at night... Perhaps she’d still be making an arrest. Reapers weren’t above the law. If he tried anything…