Fashionably Dead and Loving It (Hot Damned #14) - Robyn Peterman Page 0,10
bullshit, Uncle Fucker. And Luke is not just anything. He’s your son.”
Satan’s eyes turned a sparkling blood red, and he stared at me with displeasure. “I shouldn’t have come here. I was sure you’d have my back.”
I squinted at him, then laughed. “Nope, you came here because you knew I would tell you the truth,” I informed him. “I’ll never be a yes-woman for your sorry, evil, pathetic butt.”
“You’re incredibly rude,” he hissed.
“And you love it,” I pointed out, seating myself in my favorite comfy armchair and waiting for the hissy fit to continue.
“This is true,” he agreed, pacing the room erratically. “Does Ethan keep any office supplies in here?”
“He does not.” I bit back my grin with effort. “Would you like to go to his office so you can pilfer shit while you have your breakdown?”
Satan considered the change of venue for a few moments then shook his head. “No, not unless he has any staplers or letter openers that are baby-proofed.”
“Nope, can’t say he does,” I replied, watching my uncle come undone. “You’re lying to me.”
He threw his hands in the air and laughed. “Your point? I always lie. It’s in my DNA.”
“Sit,” I said, pointing at a black leather chair. “Now.”
The Devil huffed, blew up a priceless ottoman then did as he was told. I said nothing. Normally, I would zap his destructive ass for ruining my stuff, but he was on edge. Getting him to tell the truth would be difficult. However, I knew that was exactly why he’d come.
My day was supposed to be for me, but it would not be good for anyone in the Universe if Uncle Fucker truly lost his mind.
“Speak,” I said. “And for every piece of fiction that leaves your lips, I get to zap you.”
“Seems a little harsh,” Satan said, glancing down at his horrifying shoes and letting his chin fall to his chest in defeat.
“I’m good like that.” I actually felt sorry for him. Not that I would let him know it. He’d use my compassion to his advantage. I didn’t know how. I just knew he would. “Is the problem really poopy diapers?”
“How do you know about that?” he demanded, surprised.
“Martha and Jane were here. So… you have a problem changing diapers?”
He shook his head and sighed. “No.”
I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
“Would you care to expound on that answer?” I questioned.
“Do I have to?”
I zapped him.
“Damnit,” he bellowed and slapped out the fire on his pants. “I didn’t even lie.”
“Think of it as incentive not to. Wait. What in the ever-lovin’ heck?” I shouted in alarm, as the cushion beneath me began to vibrate. Zombies were still forefront in my mind. If there was a Zombie under my chair, I was going to lose my shit worse than Uncle Fucker. Hopping out of the chair, I ran across the room. “Are you messing with me?”
Satan, sensing my alarm, poofed to my side. “Define messing with.”
“Did you make the chair move?” I demanded, watching the piece of furniture closely. I was prepared to incinerate my favorite armchair if an eyeball or a green body part popped out.
“I did not,” he replied as his fingers began to spark and a smile pulled at his lips. “Shall I detonate it? It would be a pleasure to damage something by request.”
“Not yet,” I whispered as my fangs dropped. “Need to see what it is.”
Satan huffed and shook his head. “I never get to have fun. Fine. What exactly do you think is hiding in your chair?”
I was embarrassed to say it. I wasn’t even sure they existed. However, if Uncle Fucker laughed, I’d take a picture of him in his state of disarray and blackmail him with it. “Umm… a Zombie.”
The Devil was shocked into silence.
It was a very rare occurrence.
My stomach cramped, and I shot him a look.
“Are Zombies real?” I asked with a shudder.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Satan said, narrowing his eyes at the jerky movements coming from the chair. “However, killing them is rather difficult.”
“How difficult?” I asked as black glitter covered my arms, and my fingers began to spit purple flame.
Satan shrugged. His gaze was glued to the chair. “Depends on how they were created. Whatever species created them is the one that can destroy them.”
“Mmkay, that doesn’t help much,” I said. “How can you tell?”
“Trial and error,” he replied.
“That’s a shitty answer.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” my uncle said. “Why do you think there’s a Zombie in your chair?”