Page 10 of Cry for Help

The demon found thatveryinteresting.

The announcer stepped forward, unlocking the cage door. He didn’t step through but wiggled his fingers at me like a stray dog.

“Come here.” The human demanded with a hiss. “Time to go.”

I arched a brow but did as he said, scooting forward and standing on shaky legs.

“Do the rest of your Flock know about the purchase?” The announcer stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I was surprised to see you at all, Stolas. I know you don’t have two credits to rub together.”

“You know all my secrets, don’t you, Malcolm?” Stolas pressed his lips together.

The announcer, Malcolm, paled. “I meant no offense.”

I reached the door and pressed my hand to the wire as I took a shaky breath. Walking through the cage had stolen the last of my energy.

The demon regarded me, unblinking.

“She isn’t defective.” Malcolm bristled. “She’s probably just tired.”

“Hmm.” Stolas’s lip pursed.

He turned on his heel, marching to the door. The tails of his jacket fluttered like the wings of an ornery raven as he left, expecting me to follow.

Every Friday night, the rec room television at Sandy Village was tuned to Discovery, and the Real Housewives of the Red City was aired to the captive audience of inmates who devoured reality television like candy.

Most people would never see a demon, let alone speak to one. Demons lived in the Red Cities. Part of the treaty between Hell and the Human Realities when the barriers between our worlds broke down for a time.

The Real Housewives of the Red City followed several women who’d married demons. Incubi, Leviathan, or Baphomet demons. There were often strange miscommunications between spouses about things like Valentine’s day—when one of the wives expected chocolate, but her husband Graglox sacrificed a goat in her honor instead.

That was the extent of my knowledge of demons, though I’d done research after my mother had been killed—hoping to find answers.

I had no idea what kind of demon Stolas was. What Sindid he belong to, or if he had any magic?

From what I knew of demons, they acquired and hoarded wealth. They liked shiny things.

But the announcer's words struck a chord. What did demons consider poor? Stolas hadboughtme. I’d assumed he had money. I wasn’t a gold digger, but a girl needed to eat.

I shuffled after Stolas, but once we reached the second hallway in the labyrinth of the auction house, he grew annoyed with me—clicking his tongue and huffing.

I couldn’t go faster, but I couldn’t tell him to suck it either. That would involve speaking. Instead, I kept my face clear of emotion and continued my torturous gait—even though I wanted nothing more than to curl up on the concrete floor and sleep.

We reached a set of double doors, and the breath left my lungs as Stolas wrapped his arms around my middle and heaved me from the ground. My stomach pressed into the harsh bones of his shoulder as he slung me over in a fireman’s hold.

I slapped his back in protest, but the blow had no force.

“This is faster.” He explained without sympathy.

It might have been faster to be carried, but there was no dignity in it.

Though, what would a demon know about that? I was a purchase like a television on layaway. I wasn’t a person to him.

My lip curled, and I couldn't lift my head up. My dark hair fell in my face, knotted from the forced shower and lack of comb and conditioner.

My stomach hurt as I jostled in his hold. The building gave way to a parking garage, the walls opening to show the night sky, polluted with a rainbow of lights from the city. Each section seemed to favor a specific color, sliced like an apple.

Rows and rows of sports cars in obnoxious colors lined the garage. Low to the ground, with blacked-out windows.

Stolas kept walking until we came to the end of the row—stopping in front of an SUV that wouldn’t have been out of place on a school pick-up line.

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