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Leviathan walked out of the closet, and without his shirt, entered the bathroom. I could hear the water running, so I went back to the window and focused on the view outside. It was hard, though, knowing his glorious body was naked behind a thin door.
I shook my head. What the hell was I thinking?
He might be hot, but I had seen plenty of hot men before and had not lost my thoughts to desire so easily. Besides, he was a demon who takes advantage of others. Ninety-nine percent of demons deserved to be dead or in the underworld, imprisoned for eternity.
After fifteen minutes, Leviathan exited the bathroom with damp hair and wearing crisp, dark blue slacks and a white shirt. He reached inside the closet, grabbed a small, wheeled suitcase, and left it beside the front door.
He turned to me. “I know the view is great, sweetheart, but it’s time to go.”
I cringed. “Can you stop calling me that?”
With his half-grin, Leviathan asked, “Why, sweetheart?”
Groaning, I walked toward the front door, but didn’t give him an answer. If he had half a neuron, he knew why.
“Not that way.” Leviathan sidestepped me and walked back to the four doors. He grabbed the knob at the third door. “Through here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, sweetheart.” He opened the door and stepped into the darkness.
Where the hell was he going? I followed him, but halted when I walked through the doorway and total darkness surrounded me. A feeling like I had been in a twister hit me hard and fast.
Then it was gone.
I blinked and found myself past a door and in a large, musky room. There were no windows, though the ceiling was high, and a few naked bulbs hung from wires.
In the center of the room, a man was tied to a metal beam.
“Has he said anything?” Leviathan asked, and only then I noticed there were three men in the room, a safe distance from the other one.
“No, sir,” one of them answered.
My gut hardened. What was I seeing?
Leviathan tsked. “Igor, Igor. I’ve tried being nice, my friend, but you’re forcing my hand.”
Nice? I took a few steps to the side, to take a better look at the man tied to the beam—his face was lolled to his chest, and blood stained his white shirt.
Leviathan had tortured him. Or his goons had.
And he had brought me here.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, approaching the scene.
“Stay back, sweetheart.” Leviathan pointed at me but kept looking at the tortured man. “This demon has a taste for angels.”
The man’s head snapped to me and his eyes—completely black—fixed on mine. His long, forked tongue slithered out and licked his dark lips. “Angel,” he hissed, dragging the vowels.
A shiver rolled down my spine.
Leviathan glared at me. “Stay. Back.”
I wasn’t afraid of a demon, especially one that was tied up and beaten, so I held my ground. Mostly to defy Leviathan than anything else.
“Sweet angel,” the demon said.
Leviathan walked up to him and punched him squared on the cheek, forcing the demon to turn his head. “You look at me, trash. You answer to me. Where is it?”
