Page 40 of The Devil and His Sparrow

He smirked and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t worry. That’s part of the evening.” His eyes raked over me, and his mouth tipped down. “You’re not wearing that, though. Do you own any, you know, sexy outfits?”

I looked down at my shirt, cardigan, and jeans. These were some of the cuter clothes I owned, but they definitely weren’t “Friday-Night-Out” clothes.

He must’ve seen the hesitant look on my face, because he sighed and slumped down in his seat. “Of course you don’t. It’s fine. I’ll phone a friend when we get there.” He looked at me and said excitedly, “Get ready, Iyla. You’re about to see what a real Friday night looks like.”

WE STOOD IN THE FOYER of Zagan’s home. His shoulders bunched before relaxing once more, and when they did, his features changed. His demon horns appeared amid his black locks, his fingernails sharpened and turned black, his two canines became fangs, and his eyes turned inky black with a red vertical slit. He raised one clawed finger and drew the shape of a door in the open air. The imaginary line he drew glowed red before a solid black door suddenly appeared in the air.

He looked at me with a smirk. “I forgot to mention. The club we’re going to is a demonic one called Hell’s Gate. Nice, right?”

There was no time to respond or even think about the information he’d just thrown at me. He grabbed my hand and pulled me through the door. One minute we stood in his living room, and the next we were in a spacious hallway of red carpet and ornate black and silver wallpaper. When I looked behind me for the door to potentially jump back through, I found it gone. Only a solid wall stood behind me.

“Nice try,” Zagan chuckled, tugging on my hand. “You’re stuck here with me, Sparrow.”

I wanted to ask him why he kept calling me that, but before I could, he was pulling us down the hallway toward a black curtain, closer to the sound of pounding music. When we finally emerged through the hanging fabric, my jaw dropped, and my question left me.

Flashing and strobing lights illuminated the dark room, and a backlit bar stood off to one side. Loud pop music with a heavy bass played on speakers throughout the room. A dance floor took up residence in the center of the stadium-size space, and it was occupied by a mass of bodies, gyrating and moving to the song.

That all seemed normal from what I knew in my limited club experience. What stood out were the people in cages that hung from the ceiling. Some of them screamed and waved their hands through the bars at the uncaring people below them. Some, naked and slick with sweat, danced seductively for anyone who might be looking. Others had more than one person squeezed inside the black cages, which shook as the parties inside fought and roared.

Artwork depicting roaring flames eating agonized people or hooded figures ripping hearts out of unsuspecting people from behind adorned the walls around the club. Even more horrifying were the glass cases that seemed to have faces frozen in horror displayed around the bar, and they looked … real. Like real people forever suspended in pain or terror.

Zagan grinned at me, looking much too pleased with my petrified reaction. He nodded toward the cages suspended from the ceiling. “Humans who lost games or owed their soul to the owner of this club. The owner is a Bargainer demon, and a sneaky one at that. People who make contracts with her but don’t read the fine print. People who lost in some twisted game with her. They end up here. Displayed as her trophies.”

Souls? Did he just say those were … souls? I couldn’t speak. My tongue had been weighed down by horror and rendered useless.

His hand found the small of my back, and he leaned down so his lips brushed the shell of my ear. “Don’t be scared. Your soul is safe inside you … For now.” He chuckled darkly and pushed me along. “This way.”

My body prickled, first with the cold chills of fear, but the chills slowly morphed into heat and awareness. His strong hand stayed on the small of my back, and no matter how hard I tried to ignore it, I couldn’t. Every time he touched me, he was all I could focus on. His touch. His scent. His power. He was intoxicating to be around, and for once, I was thankful for that, given my frightening surroundings.

We reached a large table that had a prime view of the dance floor. I immediately recognized the group of guys sitting there as the rest of Sinners Do It Better, and my nerves skyrocketed when all of their demonic eyes zeroed in on me. It didn’t help when I noticed the chairs around the table looked like bodies that had been contorted and rearranged to make seats.

“There he is,” Perseus called out to Zagan with an excited grin. His black-and-red slitted eyes swiveled back to me, and he added, “I see you brought a snack.”

My cheeks flamed.

Xander laughed and raked his golden eyes over me from beyond the rim of his drink. “Snack? You mean breakfast, lunch, and dinner. That’s the only meal he’ll be getting. Doesn’t look like a very good one, either.”

The heat in my cheeks burned hotter. I fought not to dwell on my plain looks or casual clothes. I knew I stood out like a sore thumb, and among all these beautiful people, I was nothing.

“Shut up, prick,” Zagan snapped, his face darkening and mouth curling up in a snarl.

My heart fluttered with the irritation in Zagan’s voice. I wasn’t dumb enough to believe that he lost his cool momentarily to defend me. He was obviously annoyed with Xander’s poking fun at our situation. Still, the idea that Zagan might’ve wanted to stand up for me was nice. It did something to my insides that I didn’t want to acknowledge.

I reluctantly sat in a seat beside Dante, trying not to dwell on what I was sitting on. I just kept chanting to myself that the legs weren’t really legs and the arms weren’t really arms. It was all fake. I swallowed hard and glanced at the gray material of the chair, forcing myself to see metal and not flesh frozen in some petrified state.

Fake, fake, fake, fake.

I bit the inside of my cheek and faced the dance floor. Zagan took the chair to my right, and he went around the table, reminding me who each guy was. I forced a smile for them, still reeling from the environment of the club.

“So,” Perseus began slowly, pouring himself a refill of whatever drink filled the pitcher on the table. His black-and-red demonic eyes flicked from his glass back to me as he finished, “You’re our lead’s new bond, huh?”

I nodded stiffly, probably looking rather awkward. “I am.”

“How unfortunate,” Perseus sighed, running a hand between his black horns and over his blond waves of hair. His eyes raked over my seated figure. “You’ll only ever get a taste of Zagan and what he has to offer as a partner. You’re really missing out.” He winked and downed some of his drink, his arm muscles straining his shirt as he did.

Dante turned toward me, placing one arm on the table and the other on the back of my chair. The anxiety already thrumming inside me doubled as the large demon practically caged me in and pinned me in place with his suspicious eyes. “What did you want out of a bond with a demon, hmm? Riches? Fame?”

“Dante,” Zagan warned, his gaze zeroing in on his bandmate. “Knock it off. It wasn’t like that.”

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