Page 49 of Demons Dig Donuts

“Well,” the woman with Lou whispered, “somebody’s dill came right off their pickle, didn’t it?”

Indy snorted out a laugh.

He couldn’t help it because it made him think of Dill the leshy and maybe that he’d like that joke.

But now everyone was staring at him.

“Right. Sorry.” Indy coughed and swallowed back another snicker. “So, uh. Anyway.”

“We’re leaving.” Mr. Heiss put his wings away, the flames around his horns faded, and he marched toward Indy. He grabbed Indy’s arm and yanked him up from the chaise. “Right now.”

“Right now?” Indy grinned. “But we’ve been having so much fun.”

“Let’s go before I shove my fucking foot up your caboose.”

“Kinky.”

CHAPTER

SEVEN

Indy took one step into the elevator and found Mr. Heiss had plucked them away and transported them to the back of a sleek limo. The seats were plush, the bar stocked, and a peek through the divider revealed there was not actually anyone driving. Mr. Heiss had taken the seat in the very back while Indy was perched along the side next to the bar.

Mr. Heiss was human, still scowling, and holding a big glass of something black and glittery.

Indy perused the bar and helped himself to Malibu rum and what he hoped was Coke.

Ugh, Pepsi.

And judging by the taste, it was diet.

Definitely a demon’s pick.

Indy assumed they were driving to Anna Graham’s, but he wasn’t in a hurry to disturb the silence for once. He could practically taste the rage coming off Mr. Heiss in thick waves, and he was actually grateful for a chance to sit and catch his breath. He was used to a pretty fast-paced life, but holy shit.

So much for a relaxing day off.

He wanted nothing more than to enjoy this disgusting drink, kick off his boots, and simply be. He did just that and stretched out his long legs, turned so that he could prop his head up on one of the cushy pillows and still see Mr. Heiss.

Mr. Heiss eyed the tears in Indy’s fishnets, but he said nothing.

Indy wiggled his toes at him and grinned.

Mr. Heiss snorted, and it was almost a laugh.

Grateful that the tension had ebbed, Indy chugged the awful concoction and immediately made another. He noted that Mr. Heiss’s glass continued to refill no matter how much he drank, and he bet that was popular at parties.

The trick, not Mr. Heiss.

Mr. Heiss was a dick.

Breathe.

The memory of Mr. Heiss’s hand on Indy’s throat made him shiver, and suddenly the silence was terrible because it was letting Indy’s mind run absolutely wild, wondering what would have happened if they’d kissed—

Nope.

Time to cut that shit right out.