CHAPTER NINE
Charlotte
We’re out on the street and in an abandoned alley before I even fully recognize what I’m doing. I’m alone at night with my boss, the Prince of Darkness himself, a man who’s known for his wicked deeds, and we’re about to enter one of NYC’s most erotic sex clubs, one that happens to be owned by his famous playboy of a brother, who Imani says murdered a man in cold blood, only to leave his body like a present for the beast beside me.
My poor life choices are catching up to me quickly.
I still don’t know what Lucifer’s true involvement was in Paris Starr’s murder or what exactly that means for me as his employee, but all things considered, I should be afraid, terrified even, and yet, I can’t bring myself to feel even an ounce of fear.
My heart flutters like a traitorous butterfly, the nervous adrenaline thrilling me.
If ever my father feared my fall from grace, this is it.
Somehow, I know that explicitly.
At first glimpse, the Body Shoppe looks nothing like a sex club. Instead, it looks like an abandoned auto repair place, the air rent with the smell of oil and rubber. The echoing sound of a saw whirs from somewhere in the background as we pass an old vehicle. We approach the clerk, a Latino man who stands sentry at the counter, who doesn’t say anything. He nods toward us as Lucifer discreetly slips him an obscene amount of money, and the man gestures to the door behind the counter, allowing us entry.
We round the counter, prepared to enter the club, but before we can reach the door, Lucifer pauses abruptly. He turns toward me, and for a moment, I half expect him to tell me to stay close, or maybe to give me some chivalrous warning. Instead, he only casts me a single vicious look, raking over my attire, from head to toe. “Try not to look so desperate, darling.”
Embarrassment floods through me, causing me to glance down at what I’m wearing. Nothing about my outfit is suited to this place. What appeared professional in the office looks entirely wrong here, my collared shirt and skirt combo paired with my black-heeled Mary Janes making me look like a stuffy librarian.
And not the good kind.
Sighing, Lucifer reaches for me, opening the top button of my shirt and mussing my hair a little before I can even breathe. I don’t move.
I’m frozen, allowing him to have his way with me.
Though he doesn’t touch my body. My skin. Almost deliberately.
When he’s finished, he nods. “Better.”
I don’t bother to say anything or try to defend myself as he turns away from me, and I fall in line behind him, prepared to follow his lead. Normally, I would take major issue with someone speaking to me that way, but from him, I allow it, almost naturally.
What is wrong with me?
We enter the Body Shoppe, and the inside corridor isn’t at all what I expected it’d be. Instead of something akin to a high-end strip joint, it’s posh, the height of chic, burlesque luxury. Like Azmodeus both enjoys human sexuality and aims to mock it.
“What the hell did you get yourself into, Jax?” I whisper beneath my breath.
Though if the tables were turned, I’m sure she’d be asking me the same thing.
Erotic red lights hang overhead, illuminating a pathway that leads to a series of private rooms. To our right, a dominatrix dressed in pink latex passes me a black masquerade mask that feels more like someone gifting me new lingerie than a face covering.
“For anonymity.” Lucifer’s voice chills me.
I turn just in time to watch as he slips on a mask of his own. It’s white and unadorned, setting off the midnight strands of his hair and the olive undertones of his skin. I bite my lip, struggling to look away. He’s honestly breathtaking. Looking at him reminds me of the time I was thirteen and one of my church friends managed to find an old copy of Phantom of the Opera in her aunt’s downstairs cellar. I remember feeling so wicked then, watching it with my friend, though I knew I shouldn’t be.
My father would never have allowed it.
When father found out, he beat me for it, told me the devil was in me.
Suddenly, standing beside Lucifer, those words take on a new meaning.
I flush a little.
“Follow me,” Lucifer mutters.
I do as he says, not bothering to ask questions. He’s helping me, after all. I wouldn’t have found this place so fast or have gotten inside without him, but for the first time since I turned in my employment paperwork, I start to wonder if there was more in that contract than there appeared to be.
Something that binds him to me.
Or me to him, really. Something that makes me eager to please him.
It’s a silly thought and yet, once I think it, the question consumes me.
It would explain whatever this . . . tension is between us, though something about that answer feels too simple, too easy.
I follow Lucifer through a series of lavish halls and plush, silk-lined alcoves, both of us searching for any sign of where Jax could be. A few of the club’s performers pass us in various stages of nudity. People of all genders are clad in tight leather, latex, and lace paired with even tighter corsets, their flamboyant makeup meant both to mock and titillate. To my left, a feminine groan sounds, and I turn to look into the open door of one of the many private suites, only to find a large, masked woman on a dais, completely nude save for her glittering pasties, being fucked by a man.
A sharp breath tears from my lips, drawing their attention to me.
Their heads turn in my direction, the tassels attached to the woman’s pasties bouncing each time her partner thrusts into her. “Care to join us?” she asks.
I gape, suddenly frozen.
“She’s not for you.”
Lucifer stands behind me now, his presence engulfing me as he places a hand on my lower back, gently guiding me away. His touch isn’t protective, it’s possessive, but still professional. Well, as professional as possible considering where we are, and yet, like everything he does, there seems to be more meaning to his words, to how he touches me. There are hidden depths to the Prince of Darkness, far deeper than I anticipated, and I have a feeling I haven’t even begun to scratch the true surface.
We make our way farther into the club, the music in the background growing in intensity. We pass several more viewing rooms, several more couples, throuples, and polycules in various stages of undress. The club’s patrons are diverse in age, race, class, and gender, and I never would have been able to imagine many of their . . . creative positions previously, but if Lucifer notices them like I do, he doesn’t show it as he continues to lead me.
I feel my pulse race.
Finally, we reach a more open section of the club, the main floor by the bar, away from the voyeur rooms. My heart drops.
“Jax.”
I spot her right away. She’s passed out in one of the club’s booths, some white guy dressed like he’s a bartender at a speakeasy leaning over her. I can’t see the look on his face, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess what he’s planning in a club like this.
Separating from Lucifer, I move across the main floor so fast I’m practically running.
I reach for the man’s shoulder, wrenching him away from my friend. “Get off her.”
“What the fuck?” He glares at me.
“I said, get off her.” I shove against his shoulder, making him stumble a little.
Eyes wide, he throws up his hands in surrender, like he suddenly realizes what I’m thinking, though he still doesn’t look pleased. “Look, it’s not what it looks like. She was like this when I found her. I’m the one who got her this gig in the first place and—”
Lucifer’s deep voice cuts in. “If you have any hope of leaving here whilst still breathing, I suggest you make yourself scarce, quickly.”
A chill runs down my spine, and the shadows around us seem to move. Lucifer says the words so coolly that for a moment, I almost miss the sharp violence in them, but suddenly, I understand exactly how he came to rule this city.
Lucifer doesn’t make threats. He makes promises. Violent promises.
For a beat, the bartender doesn’t respond, until finally his pride gets the better of him.
He puffs out his chest, squaring himself up.
But before he can dig his own grave, a sultry voice interrupts him.
“I would have thought threatening my employees is beneath you, brother.”
The voice slithers through me, making me instantly regret my decision to come here tonight.
Azmodeus stands on the far side of the club, his eyes fixed on us as that lusty grin of his twists his lips. His shirt is open, and there’s red lipstick smeared all over his neck and collar, leading down to his . . . I tear my gaze away. There’s a man knelt at his knees. Az is wearing pants, but his open fly does little to disguise what his partner was doing only moments ago.
He waves the other man away, not bothering to button his pants. There’s an open whisky bottle in his hand, and he makes a show of taking a generous swig of it before smirking at us like the party is only beginning.
Though he doesn’t wear the same burlesque makeup, Azmodeus belongs in his place. Everything about him lives and breathes it, more than any of the performers I’ve seen.
I glance toward Lucifer, watching his expression turn to ice so quickly that if I didn’t already regret coming here, I do now. It doesn’t surprise me that Az is here. It is his club, after all, but I had hoped, prayed even, that tonight Az would be at literally any of his other venues, or maybe even walking the red carpet with some equally gorgeous person on his arm.
Just not here, of all places, seemingly lying in wait to confront my boss.
When Lucifer’s sole reason for being here is because of me.
Sometimes it feels like fate has it in for me.
The section of the club’s floor where we stand is mostly empty since most of the patrons have already abandoned it in favor of the club’s private rooms. Azmodeus crosses the space toward us, and even the way he prowls like a languid jungle cat is undeniably sexy.
Though, he’s not nearly as tempting as the devil beside me.
At least to me.
Lucifer is temptation embodied. Humanity’s original and greatest sin.
Azmodeus claps a hand on his employee’s shoulder. “You’re free to go back to the bar, Ian,” he says, his eyes never leaving Lucifer’s. “Leave my brother to me.”
At the word “brother,” recognition floods Ian’s features an instant before he turns as white as a sheet. He nods before he scrambles away.
Good riddance.
From the booth, Jax lets out a confused groan.
“Jax. Jax.” I lean over the seat and shake her, but it’s not working, even though her breathing is steady.
A martini glass sits on the table. It’s still nearly full of a glittering pink liquid. Jax parties hard, but I’ve never seen her drink herself to the point of blackout.
Not without someone to get her home safely. This isn’t like her.
Desperate, I grab the martini glass and lift it to my nose. There’s a very faint off smell about it, beyond the astringent scent of alcohol. It’s so subtle that in the middle of a wild party, you’d never notice it, which is exactly what it was chosen for, of course. A small number of extra bubbles coat the drink’s surface, and when I lift the glass overhead, holding it closer to the light, I notice some of the pink liquid on the bottom has changed color.
All signs Jax taught me to look for.
That thought settles into me, making me uneasy.
I glance toward Lucifer, dread twisting inside my gut. “There’s something in her drink,” I whisper.
Lucifer’s jaw tightens, but it’s Az who reacts first. He snatches the martini glass, plucking it from my hand and taking a swig like he’s some kind of half-drunken pirate. He smacks his lips at the taste, but something sparks in his eyes then, something like fury, and he sobers instantly. His gaze turns toward me, and I take a small step back.
“And who might you be?”
My eyes dart toward Lucifer, uncertain how to answer. Azmodeus has already proved he’s willing to damage Lucifer’s image, and I can’t think of anything in this moment that would make mine and Imani’s job worse than admitting I’m his employee.
I can see the headlines now.
Lucifer frequents sex club with company intern!
How freaking predictable.
And I know better than anyone that even innocent truths can be twisted into their own illicit story.
I glance toward Lucifer again, desperate for help, but I don’t find any, and for one brief insane moment, despite that he’s done nothing to deserve my pity, all I can think is how lonely it must be to be blamed for every misstep, saddled with every wicked deed.
To have a father who would rather disown you than love you unconditionally, and for some ridiculous reason, I can’t help but want to protect him.
Like no one ever did for me.
“I’m his girlfriend,” I say, muttering the first lie that comes to mind.
“Girlfriend?” Az echoes, one eyebrow lifting in suspicion.
The moment the words leave my lips, my eyes widen. The onset of my panic must be obvious, but if it fazes him, Lucifer doesn’t dare let on. Something in his expression darkens then, almost imperceptibly, and before I can begin to think about how I’m going to play this, suddenly I find a lock of my hair wrapped around one of his fingers as he gently tugs me into his arms. His body presses flush against mine as he holds me from behind.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he says to Az.
The heat in his voice blazes through me, and my heart races at how easily he lies. One of his hands clutches my hip as the other snakes its way to my throat, gripping me. My breath becomes heavy, strained from where his hand rests at my neck. He doesn’t choke me, though his grip is still tight, possessive.
Tight enough to thrill me.
A spark of interest lights in Az’s eyes at the open display of lust, though whether on my face or Lucifer’s, it’s unclear to me. All I know is that my mind is too clouded by the feel of Lucifer’s lean, muscular body against me. The broad span of his chest. How his shoulders shadow me. His hand at my throat.
His darkness seems to envelope me, and I let out a sharp gasp.
But I don’t dislike it. Not nearly.
Slowly, he leans down, the heat of his breath whispering across the skin of my ear. “Play along now, Charlotte.”
Then he presses one gentle kiss on my cheek. It’s nothing but a brush of lips against skin, but that one touch is enough to light an inferno in me.
Like Judas, he’s branded me, marked me as his.
“She’s a little plain for your usual tastes,” Az comments, though there’s delight in his voice as his gaze flicks over us. Clearly, Az enjoys watching.
Heat flames through me.
Az quirks his head. “I wasn’t aware you were interested in vanilla sex, Lucifer.”
I shrink a little at the words.
My background may have ensured I’m not super confident in the bedroom—yet—but I understand enough to know that Az is basically calling me a prude.
My ears flush pink.
“You never truly know who someone is until you see them behind closed doors, do you?” Lucifer whispers against my skin. He’s speaking to Az, but somehow, it still feels as if he means to taunt me. “Until you witness their darkest desires.”
His lips brush against my neck in another kiss, and I turn molten in his arms, melting against him. Even as my mind screams this is wrong . . .
My body betrays me.
Suddenly, Lucifer releases me, the game he’s playing temporarily over, before he nods to where Jax lies, as if he needs to order me to attend to her. It takes a few seconds for me to gather my bearings, and I even stumble a bit as my brain seems to come back online. It feels as if my whole world has been tilted on its axis within the span of a few moments, but then Jax stirs slightly, her long lashes fluttering, and all my senses return.
What the fuck?
I grip her hand, attempting to wake her again, but it’s no use.
“I would think drugging my lover’s roommate would be beneath you, Azmodeus,” Lucifer comments, continuing with my lie.
I don’t know where he’s going with this, but he’s so good at it that if I didn’t know better, I’d believe him, without question.
His gaze flicks down at his nails like he’s bored before it settles on Azmodeus again. “But you never did know how to keep your business clean.”
Whatever Lucifer means, his words find their mark.
Azmodeus’s expression changes from lust-fueled greed to carnal violence in an instant. “Do you truly intend to fuck with me in my own club, Lucifer?”
Lucifer sneers. “If the shoe fits.”
Jax groans again, and her obvious discomfort tears through me.
“Would one of you help me? Please.” The words leave my lips before I can even fully consider what the consequences of either of their “help” will be.
Their attention snaps toward me.
“She needs medical assistance,” I mumble. “Now.”
A spark of amber flickers in Lucifer’s eyes. “Fix this,” he growls to Az.
“I have an ambulance already waiting.” Az snaps his fingers, and suddenly a whole team of EMTs and several of his employees descend on us. A stretcher is rolled up alongside the booth, and a burly leather daddy lifts Jax’s limp body, assisting the EMTs. Az or his bartender must have called them before we even arrived.
Not even money can make emergency services get anywhere that fast in New York City.
“I don’t tolerate liquid ecstasy in my clubs, and to suggest otherwise is a direct insult to me and my purpose,” Az says, casting a furious side-eye toward Lucifer. “She’ll be cared for at the nearest hospital immediately.”
“Thank you,” I say, nodding to him, and I mean it, truly.
Az inclines his head, lifting the whisky bottle in his hand as if to toast me.
“Brother.” Lucifer gives a curt nod to Azmodeus, signaling the end of our discussion, before we turn to leave. Lucifer places a hand on my lower back, guiding me. I open my mouth to tell him I have every intention of riding with Jax to the hospital, but Az’s sultry voice interrupts me.
“Oh, and, Lucifer,” he calls after us.
We pause, turning toward him.
“Before you go, why don’t you two lovebirds enjoy yourselves in one of my private suites.” Az smiles viciously. “My treat.”
Text copyright © 2025 Kaitlyn Ballenger
All rights reserved.
Original Sinners #1
Seven deadly—and ultrarich—sins rule NYC, and though she came here to escape her past, one woman’s true path to freedom might be the devil’s bonds in this scorching hot romantasy from Kait Ballenger.
The seven deadly sins keep high profiles in the Big Apple: Lust runs brothels, Sloth’s a media streamer…you get the picture. Pride, though, he’s more mysterious. You might know him as Lucifer—temptation irresistibly embodied. The paparazzi are dying for some burning-hot gossip. So when someone publishes my scathing but private rant about him, they eat it up. And now my job is on the line. After all, he is my boss.
With his vicious siblings vying for his power, Lucifer needs to distract the press, so he reframes my tirade as a lovers’ spat, demanding I play the devil’s fiancée. I need to be a good girl, smile for the cameras, nothing more.
But cocky and cruel as he is, his darkness awakens something wicked in me. Sexy and in control, he might just be the cure—an extra dose of sin to heal me from a lifetime of shame and subservience.
And I like it.
Romance Fantasy [Montlake Romance, On Sale: March 25, 2025, Paperback / e-Book , ISBN: 9781662528873 / ]
Kait Ballenger is the award-winning and bestselling author of the Seven Range Shifter paranormal romance series, where she weaves captivating tales of dark, sexy heroes who are cowboys by day, wolf shifters by night.
When Kait's not preoccupied writing "intense and riveting" paranormal plots or "high-voltage" love scenes that make even seasoned romance readers blush, she can usually be found spending time with her family or with her nose buried in a good book. She lives in Florida with her husband and two sons.
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