Page 4 of Forgotten Deeds

“I’m not going to give you my real name.” Tucking my knees to the side, I ask, “What’s your name?” My eyes land on his right forearm—that scary as fuck devil tattoo with horns and a trident. I’ve always wondered how the devil co-opted Poseidon’s trident, but I keep that musing to myself. The devil’s mouth is open wide—devouring a man with ink-blood dripping gruesomely; below it, the word Diávolos is written in script.

“Diávolos,” he says with humor in his voice as he flexes his muscular forearm; the action causes his devil tattoo to appear a bit too realistic.

Having been caught staring at his ink, I snap my eyes back up to his. “Real name, not nickname.” Pursing my lips, I try to go for nonchalant—like me spending time in the VIP room with a man who refers to himself as the devil is an everyday occurrence.

“It’s not a nickname, aggeloudhi mou,” he corrects me.

“What kind of name is it, then?” I ask, instinctively scooting an inch or so away from him.

He doesn’t answer my question; instead, he says, “My ‘real’ name is Darius Angelos.”

“Angelos? A devil and an angel?” I raise an eyebrow.

“God has a sense of humor, no?” He flashes a grin, making the butterflies in my stomach take flight.

A knock sounds, and the VIP hostess enters carrying two large brown paper bags. “Here you are.” She sits them down on the coffee table before practically sprinting out of the room.

Darius pulls out delicious-smelling takeout containers from the bags. “I hope you’re in the mood for Italian,” he tells me.

“You paid ten grand so we could eat?” My mouth falls open.

He lifts a shoulder lazily, fixing a plate and handing it to me, before busying himself with his own.

Waiting until he has his food, I take a bite of some kind of pasta and moan. “This is amazing.”

“You have a man?” he asks, watching my mouth with interest.

The answer is on the tip of my tongue before I catch myself. “I’m not going to discuss my personal life.”

He looks at me thoughtfully. “You’re not a full-time dancer, but using this as a springboard for bigger and better things. Good for you.”

Coughing, I nearly choke on my pasta. “What makes you say that?”

“Your speech and mannerisms give you away, aggeloudhi mou.”

“You’ve called me that a few times now. What does it mean?” I ask, deflecting.

Darius flashes a Cheshire cat smile. “Tell me your real name, and I’ll tell you my nickname for you.”

“I don’t need a nickname, and this is a one-time thing, you and me,” I warn him.

“Sure, aggeloudhi mou.” He playfully flicks my nose like I’m a naive child who’s said something amusing.

* * *

Lily

A ringtone startles me, and it takes a moment to orient myself. I’m in the VIP room, my head on Darius’ lap. He’s on the phone, speaking quietly in another language—Italian, maybe?—while he runs his big hand through my hair.

Bolting upright, I check my bra and thong to make sure everything’s in place. Nothing feels violated down there, but Christ, I cannot believe I fell asleep with a customer! So freaking dangerous.

He ends his call and looks at me with a wry smile. “My company’s so stimulating I made you fall asleep?”

“No, it’s just I never eat this late at the club. That, and I’m tired from—” I stop myself from revealing something personal. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I have to go. Until next time, aggeloudhi mou.” He stands, extending a hand for me.

Ignoring his gesture, I stand and beat him to the door, opening it. “No next time,” I warn him.

---