The Devil's Due by Jenna Black

the coat-check girl, or whatever she was, but soon we were out the door into the relatively fresh air.
    Exiting the club—the noise, the crowd, the demons, the unpleasant vibes—was a relief, even though South Street was far from deserted at this time of night. Adam started down the street, and I fell into resentful step beside him, watching him out of the corner of my eye.
    Unlike many of the regulars at The Seven Deadlies, Adam didn’t dress like an S&M cover model when he visited. Instead, he wore conservative khaki pants, a white oxford shirt, and a light linen jacket to conceal his shoulder holster. He had both his hands shoved into his pants pockets right now, and his eyes were fixed on the sidewalk ahead of him.
    My lip curled up in a sneer. “If it wasn’t what I thought, why do you look so goddamn guilty?”
    A muscle in his jaw ticked, and I saw him swallow hard. “I didn’t have sex with that guy,” he said, still staring at the pavement.
    I barked out a laugh. “In the same way Bill Clinton didn’t have sex with that woman?”
    He looked at me now, anger flashing in his eyes. But he must have been feeling really crummy, because he didn’t lash out at me. “Let me rephrase that more emphatically—nothing of a sexual nature happened. I don’t go to Hell for the sex.”
    I thought about that a moment and realized I understood what he was saying even though he wasn’t willing to put the whole ugly truth into words. “You go there so you can get your rocks off torturing demons in a way Dominic could never handle now that Saul is gone.”
    “It’s not about sex!” Adam insisted, loudly enough that a couple of passersby turned to look. Adam caught the eye of the most blatant of them and snarled. The Goth chick lowered her pierced eyebrow and looked quickly away.
    Once upon a time, I’d allowed Adam to “play” with me, to satisfy his lust for pain in return for his aid in rescuing Brian. I remembered all too well the feel of his body pressing against my back as he bound my hands above my head.
    “I’ve had up-close-and-personal experience,” I snapped in a furious undertone. “I know—”
    “You know nothing !” he interrupted.
    I stopped, unable to keep walking casually down the sidewalk while simultaneously fighting Adam and my insidious memories. Adam stopped, too, crowding into my personal space and glaring down at me. I matched him glare for glare.
    “I felt how you reacted, you asshole,” I said, poking him in the chest for emphasis.
    He grabbed my wrist and wrenched it painfully downward. I suppressed a cry of protest, afraid he’d enjoy it too much. “I told you, it was a conditioned response, not true sexual desire. I have no interest in fucking anyone but Dom.”
    My eyes started to water from the pain as his hand closed ever more tightly on my wrist, but I didn’t back down. “And would Dom see it that way if he knew what you were up to?”
    I knew I’d read the guilt in his eyes correctly when he suddenly shoved me away from him, hard. My back slammed into a metal grille that protected a plate-glass window advertising Tarot readings and “spiritual advice.” The air whooshed out of my lungs, and my knees buckled beneath me. Apparently, this was my week for being beat up by my supposed allies.
    My ass landed on the pavement with a teeth-clacking thump, and for half a second I thought I was going to pass out. Then I managed to drag some air into my lungs, and I realized I would stay wide awake so I could feel the bruises as they began to spring up all over my back. I wondered if they’d make a diamond-shaped design to match the grille that created them.
    Adam did another of his intimidating glares at the passersby, and when one didn’t take the hint, he pulled his badge. That caused the crowd to disperse in a hurry, so Adam was able to focus his attention on me once more. He came to squat in front of me, and there was no apology in his eyes.
    “You’d better not say a