Fashionably Dead and Loving It (Hot Damned #14) - Robyn Peterman Page 0,9
times when she was in her twenties, was using scientific language that she learned by cheating on her vocabulary tests in eighth grade. A more layman’s term for a hooker like you would be that the intergluteal cleft is the poop shoot or, more politely put, the Hershey hole.”
Crawling out from under the bags, Martha unfortunately joined in. “I’m partial to puckered starfish or corn pocket.”
Jane nodded in appreciation. “Yep, corn pocket is a good one. I also like fart box and mud clam.”
“You want to know what I’d like?” I inquired so quietly both idiots paled.
“Umm… to join in on the stink star contest?” Jane whispered.
“Nope,” I snapped. “I would like you to shut your pie holes or I’ll turn them into intergluteal clefts. You feel me?”
“Roger that,” Martha said. “So, it’s a no-go on killing the fuckers from the rags?”
“It’s a no-go,” I said with a sigh. “However, if you’d like to threaten and dismember a few of the reporters, I’d be down with that.”
“Woohoooo!” Jane sang as she did a little jig that reminded me of Elaine’s dancing from Seinfeld. “We’ll get our hot piece of man meat, Lizard, to help us. That sex god can scare the shit out of anyone.”
She was correct. Their mate Lizard was a Demon/Fairy of few words and dreadful taste. He had also been in my dream. Case in point of his shitty taste, he’d mated with Martha and Jane. However, I liked him tremendously. His name wasn’t a mistake. Lizard could literally shift into a massive prehistoric-looking lizard with teeth like I’d never seen. He was indeed terrifying.
“Fine,” I agreed. “But let Lizard know that no one dies. Removing appendages is not a problem. They grow back.”
“What about heads?” Jane asked.
“Heads do not,” I replied with an eye roll. “Do not decapitate the jackholes. Am I clear?”
“Yep,” Martha said. “We’ll bring you back a few intergluteal clefts!”
On that horrifying note, before I could tell them under no uncertain circumstances that if they brought me a poop shoot, I would have them thrown in the dungeon, they disappeared in a cloud of stinky purple smoke.
“Fuck,” I muttered, looking up at the ceiling. “Can this day get any worse?”
Chapter Three
Actually, the day could get worse.
And it did.
I had no clue why everyone thought it was fine to poof into my closet this afternoon. New rules needed to be made. However, right now wasn’t a good time. The Devil was having a meltdown.
“I’m fucking Satan,” my uncle growled, stomping around and examining my shoe collection.
I was relieved I hadn’t eaten the chips and salsa. I would have been in the fetal position on the floor. Being busted by Martha, Jane and Satan would have been far too much to live down.
“How many times have I told you that you need a new catchphrase?” I inquired, closing the closet door and slapping my hands on my hips. “You can’t fuck yourself. And if you can, I do not want to know.”
“You don’t understand, Astrid,” Satan said, ignoring the fact that I’d pointed out he’d announced he could bang himself. “I don’t change diapers. My cologne doesn’t mix well with eau de barf. I have evil shit to do—tons of evil shit. I’m a very busy, bad man. Turn your head while I steal a pair of wedges for Elle.”
“We don’t wear the same size,” I told him.
“What a pity.”
“Not really,” I replied.
“Nice crown. Are you fond of it?” he asked, eyeing it enviously.
“Extremely,” I said. “Don’t even think about leaving with it. I’ll make you regret it.”
“Understood.”
Satan’s hair stuck straight up on his head, and he was a disheveled hot mess. I’d never seen the Demon so sloppy. My uncle was beautiful beyond reason—and very aware of the fact. Satan stood over six feet tall, had long raven-black hair and a perfectly muscular build. The arbiter of evil reeked of magic and immeasurable power and was always impeccably dressed.
Not today.
His shirt was wrinkled and untucked. His Armani suit had what I could only guess was spit up on the shoulder, and he was wearing ratty-looking running shoes. If he looked in the mirror he would implode. Good thing I didn’t have any. Grabbing the Devil by the balls was a very bad plan, so I shoved him out of my closet and into my suite before he started pillaging my Prada.
“My schedule is full. Everything will go to Hell if I’m indisposed. I simply don’t have time to add anything to my plate.”