Something feels different tonight.
Electric.
Like the air before a storm.
Then my security system alerts on my phone.
Someone used this week's code for Hell—someone who shouldn't have it.
I pull up the elevator camera and seeher.
Selene Deveraux.
In that dress that clings to every curve, dark hair flowing like water, pressing the button for Hell with fingers that don't shake.
She's actually doing it.
The judge's daughter is descending into my domain.
The elevator opens, and she steps out. I watch her pause, taking in the scene.
The screams. The begging. The sound of flesh hitting flesh.
The scent of sex and fear and pain that permeates everything down here.
Most people flinch, run, or freeze in shock.
She takes a step forward, then another.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, but not from fear.
Her pupils are dilated, visible even in the low light.
She's aroused.
Fuck.
"Boss?" Lionel's voice crackles through my earpiece. "We got a tourist. Want me to bounce her?"
I watch her move deeper into Hell, drawn like a moth to flame. "Test her. See if she runs."
I watch as Lionel approaches her.
He's intimidating—six feet five inches of scarred muscle and violence.
He grabs her arm, and I expect her to cower, to realize she's made a mistake.
Instead, she looks him in the eye and says something that makes him laugh.
He lets her go, speaks into his comm: "Boss, this one's interesting. Says she's exactly where she wants to be."
"Let her stay. But watch her."
I turn my attention back to the woman who betrayed me, but I'm distracted.
Through my peripheral vision, I track Selene on the monitors.
She's watching the scenes around her with fascination, not horror.
