Pushing aside any weakness, she not only faced the door they’d closed on her, she pulled back her shoulders and lifted her chin. Do whatever the fuck you want. Treat me like I’m invisible. I don’t care.
A tear slipped over her cheek. She brushed it away and shoved the emotions she’d experienced with them so far down they’d never resurface.
Screw you guys. You think you’re tough? Guess again. I’ll make your existence a living hell.
She smiled at the thought and then her grin widened as an idea formed that might work to that end.
It has to.
Chapter Eleven
Racan
Elbows on his knees, Racan faced the monitors. What the hell?
He clicked the remote repeatedly. It didn’t change the speed on the images. They still advanced at a snail’s pace. He put in new batteries. Nada. Fucking technology. He willed the damn things to work right, his full power unleashed. No change. At last, he smacked the monitor nearest him.
Andros jerked awake. Vespar kept snoring.
The screen Racan hit showed wavy horizontal lines, then the images rolled to a stop and displayed what they had earlier, no improvement. He slapped another screen.
Yawning, Andros leaned up. “What are you doing? Break that shit and you’ll have to fix it.”
“You don’t think I’ve tried? New batteries and my powers haven’t done crap.” He pointed. “Look at that.”
Two-thousand-pound turtles trudged faster than Megan and the other servers, each step they took excruciatingly sluggish. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong.”
A demon watched them, his skin, horns, and scales a deep rust color. He yelled above the music, “I want my fucking drink!”
Vespar flinched at the shout, his lids popping open. “What?”
Racan gestured to the screen. “Something’s wrong.”
“Yeah?” He rubbed his eyes. “What else is new? What’s she doing now?”
“Shh.” Andros scooted to his chair’s edge, his attention on the monitors. “Watch.”
Since the demon’s outburst, the servers tramped at a more lethargic pace. None bothered looking at the chocolate on the trays sweeping near them. It might as well have not existed. Same for the unhappy patron. He jumped from his chair and slammed it against the table, the wood shattering.
“Put that on his account,” Racan said.
The paperwork appeared in Vespar’s hands. “He’s not going to like this.”
Probably not. However, his hysterics did nothing to increase the ladies’ speed. Even the ones dancing in cages weren’t giving their all. One actually sat cross-legged and observed the surroundings rather than entertaining the troops. They couldn’t be doing this on purpose. It was unheard of…before Megan arrived. All bets had been off since then.
“This stops now.” Racan grabbed the microphone and started with the weakest in the group. “Katie. Move your ass. This fucking instant.”
She didn’t.
Andros blinked.
Vespar’s mouth fell open. “Try again.”
Racan called out Jahzara’s name and some others, demanding they serve as required.
Zilch.
“Go on,” Andros said, riveted to the screen. “Tell you-know-who to get her butt in gear.”
They hadn’t used Megan’s name since their decision to ghost her. Racan wasn’t certain he could break that rule. First speaking her name, then what? Touching, kissing, fucking, enjoy—
“What are you waiting for?” Andros snatched the microphone from him. “Megan.”
She didn’t flinch at his amplified voice or lift her face.
Racan took the mic back and pressed the thing to his lips. “If you don’t want to do double shifts, Meg-an, you had better put a fire under your feet. Now be a good girl and do as you’re told, sweetheart.”
Words any feminist would hate.
Vespar pumped his fist.
Racan’s threat produced diddly from her.
Andros fell back in his chair. “The mic must not be working.”
“Let’s test it.” He tapped the thing.
Feedback screeched.
The demons jerked and then covered their ears. “It’s fine,” Racan said. “The ladies aren’t.” He stood.
Andros yanked him back down. “Let’s see how this plays out.”
The rust-colored demon pushed past the servers and reached the bar.
Cecil broke an empty bottle and thrust the jagged ends toward the devil’s throat. “One more step and you’ll regret it. Back to your seat.”
The guy whimpered. “I want my fucking drink.”
“A server will get it to you, as they always have.”
“When?” He gestured to the nearly inert ladies. “At this rate, I’ll be back in the mines for days before I get my order.”
“My sympathies.” Cecil swung the broken bottle, his face pissier than usual. “But we do not violate protocol here. This is Hard Lust, not one of those other crappy bars. Back in your chair.”
Vespar elbowed Racan. “Did the cooks put sedatives in the ladies’ food as a joke?”
“Beats me.” He spoke to Andros. “How long do you want this shit to continue before we do something about it?”
“As long as it takes.”
This wasn’t like Andros. He was a man of action. “Why?”
“If they haven’t been drugged—and I, for one, don’t believe they have—do you actually think they’ll tell us the reason they’re doing this if we interrogate them?”
“Offer them all the chocolate they can eat in five minutes plus a full-day off and they might. I’d start with Katie. She’s the weakest link.”
Vespar shook his head. “That would be playing into their hands. I agree with Andros. Let’s cool our heels and see what results.”
A demon with flames in his eyes gestured Jahzara over. Took her forever, but the moment she reached his side, he smiled sweetly. His blackened teeth were vile, his breath likely worse, but his manners were impeccable.
Damn. Racan had never seen anything like this.
Rather than demanding his order, the demon and Jahzara conversed, the civilized back-and-forth unthinkable in Hard Lust and too low to hear.
“Turn up the volume,” Andros said.