Demon Kissed - Katie May Page 0,57

over and gestures for me to go next. I grab my bowling ball, grumbling about cheating demons as I do. I cannot throw the ball with one hand backwards like Mr. Giant-Showoff-Pants. I have to clutch the ball with both hands and bend forward, before I launch it between my legs like a toddler.

I turn, only to see it immediately gutterball. When I look back at the guys, blushing furiously, not one of them is looking at the ball. They’re all staring at me.

And then they start whooping and high-fiving.

“You’re throwing every ball backwards from now on,” Zolroth orders as I walk back to the group.

“What? Why?” I ask, sincerely confused. “That was awful.”

“No, it was epic. We got to see right down your shirt,” he states proudly.

I clap both of my hands over my face, which has turned cherry red.

Van, to my surprise, lessens my humiliation. “New rule. No normal throws.”

The guys all enthusiastically embrace this new rule, and I find myself constantly laughing as they waddle with the ball, lay down on their stomachs and roll it, kick one leg up and toss it underneath, spin and throw.

I get so into playing around with them that nearly an hour passes, and when I glance back over at William and Janie’s lane, I realize that they aren’t even there.

Oddly enough, I don’t feel that same sledgehammer of disappointment smashing my chest like it did when I first learned about their date.

I glance back at the demons and realize that, for all their faults, they do make pretty awesome friends.

But as I stare at them, I notice that Akor’s been in the arcade for a really long time. He’s missing out on all the fun. And the wild, crazy demon is, at his core, lonely. I don’t want him to be left out. So, I stand up and wander towards the arcade.

But I don’t see him amidst the flashing games. I bite my lip as I emerge from the room full of electronic jingles and scan the snack counter. Not there. I head to the front desk, where people can purchase shoes and lanes or escape room tickets. Maybe Jason will know where Akor is.

But when I get to the counter, Jason isn’t there either. They’ve both disappeared.

My stomach sinks. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

18

“Akor?” I call out tentatively, stepping outside.

I didn’t even realize that during our bowling shenanigans, the parking lot cleared out significantly. The biting November wind blows my pink hair around my face as I whip my head in both directions.

“Akor?” This time, my voice is louder, but only marginally. You never really know when a murderer is lurking behind a corner.

Or in this case, a pink-haired, eccentric demon.

Same thing.

“Akor!”

The distinct sound of muffled cursing reaches my ears, and I turn towards the honest-to-fuck minivan parked as far away from the lone street lamp as humanly possible. All I can see are vague silhouettes, barely visible in the glow of the crescent moon. But that voice? Muttering inane sayings such as, “Fuck me with a baseball bat. Fuck my unholy momma. Fuck your hairy asshole with a razor.”

That’s most definitely Akor.

I quicken my pace, unease automatically slithering down my spine like someone has dumped an ice cube down the back of my shirt. Not gonna lie—there’s something immensely terrifying about crossing an abandoned parking lot in the middle of the fucking night.

I wonder if the other demons have even realized I left yet. Probably not, if I’m being honest with myself. They probably found a group of pretty girls to keep them company the moment I left.

My heart clenches at the prospect, but I shove those thoughts away like one would a pesky fly.

Not today, Satan. Not today.

Though…

I really have to rethink that whole Satan thing, don’t I? Does he actually exist? Is he the leader of Hell? Would that make him the guys’ boss? Their…daddy? Oh, fuck. Do they call him Daddy Lucifer and bend over for naughty spankings? Is that what’s going to happen if they don’t fulfill my wish? Is that—

“What the fuck?” I screech when I finally reach the minivan.

Akor spins towards me guiltily, arms raised like a prisoner approaching a police officer.

“I can explain,” he pleads, but I can barely look at him. No, my entire attention is fixated on the familiar man halfway inside the trunk.

The familiar, dead man.

Jason.

His wide, mossy green eyes are vacant and unseeing, and his head is canted to the side at an unnatural angle.