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He scoffed. “If you were my prisoner, you’d be chained up.” Heat burst in his gaze as he slowly studied me. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind having you chained up in my bedroom. Are you into that—”
I lifted my finger to cut him off. “Not a chance in hell.”
Ruin shrugged. “We’ll see.”
The same flashy style as the grand room continued into the demon lord’s gigantic kitchen. Gold flecks popped in the sleek black counters, top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances fit between the glossy gray cabinets, and a massive gold chandelier dangled in the center of the ceiling.
Who the fuck needed a chandelier in their kitchen?
A spell must be blocking the music from Wrath & Ruin in the next building because no sound traveled through the walls, keeping the atmosphere calm and peaceful. A set of French doors with black and gold silk drapes framed a courtyard where a fountain bubbled under fairy lights adorning trees.
Could that be another escape route to try in the future?
“I’m terribly sorry about Denton locking you up downstairs,” Ruin said as he grabbed several items from the huge commercial fridge. “I should have left more specific details regarding your stay. I never meant for you to feel like a prisoner.”
I leaned against the center island, the granite like ice on my forearms. “That’s exactly what I am. Let’s not pretend a weed is anything but a weed.”
His brow arched as he dropped the containers on the counter. “Weed?” He scoffed. “You are no more a weed than I’m a human boy with a puppy dog smile.”
“You know what I mean.”
He hummed as those vibrant eyes bored into me. “Right.”
“Anyway, what are you eating? Hearts of the innocent?”
His lips stretched into a smile as he grabbed two plates from the cabinet. “Weare eating sandwiches with the best honey ham in town and delicious focaccia bread from the bakery down the street.”
“Don’t you have servants or something to make your food?” I asked as he slid the plastic containers down the counter.
He darted across the kitchen and pulled a bag of bread from a cabinet. “No one makes my food unless I’m busy. I prefer to do things myself. I’m practical like that.”
“What’s with the extravagant house then?” I waved my finger around the gleaming kitchen as he sliced a piece of bread open. If there were any more lights, I’d probably go blind from all the reflective surfaces.
He grabbed a bottle of mustard. “Do you like it?”
“Does Tony Montana know you stole his house?”
Ruin’s boisterous laughter reverberated against the glossy walls. “I do have a taste for the eighties and luxury. My home in Mexico was actually their inspiration. So if anything, Tony stolemyhouse.”
Why wasn’t I surprised?
Ruin grabbed the mayo and was two seconds away from spreading it on all four pieces of bread.
“No!” I snatched one of the plates from him. “Mayo is disgusting. If you were going to put that on my sandwich, I can’t trust you to make it for me.”
My dislike for mayonnaise didn’t start until after being fed nothing but mayo and bologna sandwiches for three weeks straight in foster care. I can’t even look at the stuff without getting nauseated. “Do you have any hot sauce or jalapenos?” The demons delivering my food never bothered to bring me anything spicy despite asking a million times.
“Sure.” Ruin riffled through the fridge and finally pulled out a jar of jalapeños. “They’re not fresh, though. I can get someone to go to the store.”
I took the jar. “These are fine. Thanks.” When my day started, the last thing I thought I’d be doing was making a sandwich with the high demon lord.
But if I pretended to be the good, obedient non-prisoner, he’d give me more freedom. And then the moment he turned his back, I’d be gone. In the meantime, I should try to find out why he wanted the Infernal Sol.
Maybe I could anonymously tip Coltrane off, so she could stop whatever devious plot the demon lord had in store.
“Why do you want the Infernal Sol?” I asked, layering ham on my bread.
Ruin laid two slices of Swiss on his. “It’s complicated.”
