"Do you like whiskey?"

I've never had any alcohol aside from wine and cheap vodka, but I nod my head and smile anyway. A few sips might help with the nerves of being surrounded by demons.

I pull my purse into my lap for easy access as I glance around the room they'd pulled me into. It's large, accommodated with an entire bar and several fine velvet couches the color of night. Neon signs decorate the dark walls, varying from cartoonish women with devil horns and a blinking tail to the largest of them all, a vibrant purple with the club's title, 'SIN CITY,' in swirling lettering.

I shift in the barstool, glancing at where Sinclair continues the make-out session I'd interrupted minutes prior on one of the plush loveseats, his hand tangling in her wild red strands. The emptiness of the room astounds me, especially considering how crowded it had been outside.

"Where are we?" I ask finally, looking away from their tangled bodies as the blonde demon slides me a glass of amber liquid.

"One of Sin's private rooms," he answers easily, taking a seat on the stool next to me.

I stiffen, hand clenching around the glass so tightly that I'm surprised it doesn't explode within my grasp. My pulse picks up on my neck, the nervous tingle on my neck growing stronger as Sinclair glances at us at the mention of his name.

Surely I've heard him wrong. He raises an eyebrow at the sudden tension radiating throughout my body so I force my muscles to relax and tug an easy-going grin upon my face.

"What, like some kind of VIP room for being a regular?"

He snorts, the ice cubes in his glass clinking noisily as he tips the short glass back and gulps a large swig of liquor. "No, one of his personal rooms. He owns the place."

I'd heard Sin City was a popular place for the supernatural, but I'd no idea it was because it was owned by a fucking demon. I swallow back the curse on my tongue, forcing myself to take a sip of the bitter liquid, keeping my face neutral even as it burns the back of my throat.

They had to have known about this—known and sent me on this godforsaken mission anyway. Almost like they wanted me to be in over my head.

"Oh wow," I push a laugh from my throat, the sound strained to even my own ears. "I didn't realize."

He hums, icy eyes grazing down my body as if they can see through the thin dress that clings to my skin. My smile pulls into a grimace before I can stop it.

"You're beautiful," he says, swirling the alcohol in his hands as he gazes at me. His voice is flat, detached, the only emotion showing on his face the deep hunger swirling in his eyes.

A nervous giggle bubbles out of my throat as I glance away from him. It's the most real reaction I've shown him yet. So is the blush that crawls over my cheeks. I've never been good at taking compliments, especially at the expense of attractive men.

I tense as his finger creeps up to brush my cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. My skin crawls as his hand moves to cup my jaw, turning my face into his approaching mouth.

I've shot down bloodthirsty beasts before. Wrestled fanged and clawed creatures trying to tear out my jugular, but somehow this is harder than even that.

It takes every bit of willpower to let my lips meet his, reminding myself I knew this would happen. That I would have to give a bit of myself over before sending him back to where he came from.

His mouth slides against mine smoothly. He's cold and robotic as compared to Sinclair, like making out with a marble statue. But I force myself to sink into him anyway, leaning forward so my hand creeps up to cradle the nape of his neck, allowing his arm to settle around my waist.

It goes on for a few minutes, although they feel like hours. The only noise that fills my ears is the sound of bodies moving together, gentle gasps, the smacking of lips. I can tell Sinclair and his woman are picking up action behind us and my stomach twists when her husky groans fill the air. He pulls back from my lips, glancing behind us at their writhing bodies. Wordlessly, he grabs the crook of my arm and pulls me to a door behind the bar.

The room is tiny, housed by the same dark walls as before, plush black carpet covering the floor. Only one thing sits within: a large bed covered with dark satin sheets, looking heavenly to sink into if expectations weren't accompanied with it.

I glance at him as he shuts the door, hoping my face doesn't show the pure terror that fills my veins. My body feels awkward now, out of place, the dread festering inside my chest making my movements feel as slow and clumsy as a newborn deer. I'd thought maybe I could weasel my way away from him before things got too far, but I'm not sure if I can turn back now.

He takes my shoulders gently in his hands, pushing me to sit down on the bed. I collapse in an unsexy fumble of limbs, the bed shuddering under my sudden weight. Maybe if I keep it up he'll lose interest and leave me alone, like playing dead when faced with a bear. If it works with carnivorous predators, surely it'll work with demons.

He gets on his knees in front of me, pressing his lips to mine again. I keep them carefully shut tight and unresponsive to his touch, managing to send him a very real frightened look as he pulls back to stare at me.

"Nervous?" he says, shooting me what he probably believes is a comforting smile, but I only see it as him flashing his bearish teeth before he digs into his meal.

"You can say that," I murmur, tensing as he leans back in to pepper kisses along my jaw.

I shift around him, frowning as I realize how heavy my body is. My limbs feel weighted with lead, my chest taxing as I focus on taking breaths. As his head creeps up to cup my breast, I realize that I've made a huge mistake. That nerves aren't to blame for the lack of coordination throughout my body.

What was it that Sinclair said earlier? Don't get carried away this time. Like he was scolding a naughty child with a habit of stealing cookies out of the jar.

Fuck. He's going to kill me.

I have enough strength to push against his shoulders, nearly sending him flat on his ass. He blinks at me, surprised by my abnormal strength.

"That's enough," I say, pulling my dress up where his greedy hands had shifted the fabric. My eyelids flutter at my spotted vision, anxiety tightening my stomach at the weakened state of my body. How had he taken so much in only ten minutes?

He snorts, an amused grin pulling at his unusually cold face. "You've made it this far. Why stop now?" He moves forward, arms reaching for me.

I grab for my purse, fingers wrapping around the metal handle as I whip it out of hiding and take aim at his perfect face. My gun always manages to comfort me, even faced with the most fearsome of creatures. She's been in my hands since I was old enough to properly hold up her weight.

His eyes flicker to the barrel pointed at his face, meeting my eyes as the smile melts off his face. Shock flickers over his features. "Feisty, aren't you?"

I snort, wiggling back to put space between us. The longer I'm around him, the more my skin seems to crawl. "Guess you could call it that."

He doesn't give any warning before he moves to strike. I gasp, heart thundering at the sudden movement, finger pulling the trigger before I have the chance to think.

The bullet lands home, embedding itself deep into the center of his forehead. I press the back of my wrist to my mouth, fighting the bile that threatens to crawl up my throat as he slumps to the floor. Killing itself has never bothered me: it's the gore that comes after. The brain matter, bodily fluids, looking at the scraps of a once living body.

I scramble off the bed, grimacing at the bloody mess that remains of his head. I try not to look at it as I regain control of my limbs, brushing my hands over the splatters of crimson that coat my arms and chest as if it'll somehow rid of the sticky substance. I only manage to successfully smear the red over my skin, coating my fingers in the dark liquid. Another gag itches at the back of my throat but I quickly forget my nausea as the door slams open so quickly that it causes the wall to crumble on impact.

Steely eyes meet mine, filled with dark rage. Dark hair sweeps into his eyes, thoroughly tousled from wandering hands and his frantic entry. His bruised lips part as his gaze wanders from the blood smeared over my body to the weapon grasped in my hands, aimed directly at him.

I tense as his lip curls slightly, his eyes glittering with something akin to vicious delight.

I'd been so focused on survival that I'd forgotten the reason I'd come here in the first place—to kill Sinclair Black.