As Grace awoke the following morning from uneasy dreams, she found herself wishing desperately she’d been transformed in her bed into an enormous insect. And when she realized she’d awakened as her normal, hellish self and in a bedroom unmistakably in Vee Tower—decorated with just the same egocentric flair as the rest of the building—she was insanely jealous of Gregor Samsa’s plight. Being a giant insect, thought Grace, would be a considerable upgrade to her current circumstances.

She was unable to recall much of anything after the shower she’d taken. There were vague recollections of a cute outfit that had been laid out for her. And then—

what?

Nothing.

She couldn’t even decide if the sleep she’d roused from had been restful. She did know that she had a nagging headache that seemed not all that different from a hangover.

Grace peeled back the covers, appalled to find herself dressed in Voxtek-branded pajamas, and hoped beyond all hope that she had been the one to put them on even if she had no recollection of doing so.

She swung her legs off the side of the mattress, her stomach tilting and head throbbing with the motion. She waited-out a brief bout of nausea before hefting herself from the bed and shuffling into the adjacent bathroom.

The Hazbin Hotel had felt extravagant compared to where Grace had lived prior to it. What little she’d seen of Vee Tower on her previous visits exuded excess. This bedroom and its adjacent bathroom were no exception.

The vanity was a crisp white marble with cerulean veining that Grace assumed had been dyed to match the accents on Vox’s jacket. The drawers and cabinets beneath that crisp countertop were ebony with ornate labradorite and silver handles.

Grace kind of hated a little that she found the aesthetic attractive. Well, for being Vox’s color palette, anyway. After all, it wasn’t the color’s fault for being associated with Hell’s second-most vile Overlord. Regardless of whose branding it evoked, it was inarguably pretty.

Not to be overshadowed by the marble and ebony and labradorite, there was a sapphire vanity tray set beside the sink that included a sapphire soap dish, sapphire liquid soap dispenser, sapphire tissue dispenser, an ivory-handled brush—that Grace could only assume was also made of unethically harvested Hell-spawned boar bristles—and a rolled-up, cerulean-colored face towel that had the Voxtek logo embroidered in silver thread in the bottom corner.

She stared down at the sink inset into the marble before opening the faucet, dipping her cupped hands into the stream and splashing tepid water against her face. Wash, rinse, repeat until she felt more awake and her headache had ebbed slightly. She turned off the flow of water, grabbed that rolled-up, cerulean-colored face towel and patted herself dry.

Grace lowered the towel to assess her reflection.

“No!” She recoiled at the sight of her own eyes, now with her left sclera red, and right one, black. Both of her formerly yellow irises were now cyan. “Oh, god, no! Please, no!” She closed her eyes, rubbing her eyelids furiously and hoping despite knowing better that that would make them revert.

No such luck.

She stared at the mirror, her cheeks darkening and scowl contorting her features. Grace had gone from feeling actually pretty and sexy to feeling like the most hideous monster in creation. “I can’t stand the sight of you!” she yelled at her reflection, grabbing the closest thing within reach.

The brush, soap dish, and dispensers all clattered to the tile floor in an obscene cacophony as Grace took the surprisingly heavy vanity tray in hand. She held it for a moment, considering first bashing in her own face with it. Thankfully, a single, hair-thin shred of sanity remained and she realized maiming herself would create more problems than it would solve.

So instead she whipped the thing with all her might at the bathroom mirror. To her dismay, while the glass cracked into an impressive web, it didn’t shatter.

And still, breaking the mirror hadn’t been enough to even touch her fury. She stalked out of the bedroom with the vanity tray in her white-knuckled clutches, swinging it at anything that looked even remotely fragile.

After several minutes of unadulterated tantruming, Grace sat heavily on the edge of the bed, letting the sapphire tray slip from her fingertips and thump loudly on the floor to the left of her hooves.

The muscles in her arms were aflame every bit as much as her cheeks now. She caught her breath before surveilling her surroundings; she’d left an impressive path of destruction in her wake, a dik dik demon EF5 tornado localized within the bedroom.

Shattered television screen, bits and pieces of a ceramic vase. Not one but two broken crystal lamps with shards of lightbulbs haloed around the crystal carnage. A wooden tabletop now cracked all the way down its center. Glass sprinkled across the carpet from a framed art nouveau photograph of Valentino. Unfortunately, the photograph itself remained unscathed. She thought to grab one of the larger crystal lamp shards and use a jagged edge to carve out Valentino’s eyes in the picture. But she was out of breath after the rampage.

There were remnants of something Grace couldn’t even identify after she’d laid ruin to it. Whatever it was, she hoped it had been expensive, preferably priceless and ideally irreplaceable.

The worst part of all of this was knowing that despite what she’d just done, none of it changed that her soul was now somehow tethered to Vox’s for eternity. And with no recollection of the agreement, she had no idea how she could break it—or trick Vox into invalidating it. There was no way she’d be lucky enough to have more than one Overlord accidentally do so. It still stunned her that Alastor had.

There was an ear-stinging sizzle and Vox appeared from the closed-circuit camera mounted above the television she’d destroyed. He surveyed the room with a slow turn on his heel before tucking his arms behind his back and narrowing his gaze on Grace. “Such disregard for another soul’s property.”

“Such disregard for my soul!” she countered, gesturing angrily toward her eyes.

Vox scoffed. “And where, exactly, was my alleged disregard for your soul? You didn’t agree to anything you didn’t truly want.”

That can’t be possible, even if it sure as hell looks to be the case. “I would never agree to give you anything, let alone my soul, unless I wasn’t of sound mind!”

He didn’t acknowledge her, instead taking stock of the room once more. “You caused me a great deal of property damage, here. Thousand’s, worth, easily; this will compound your debt to me, you know.” Vox’s gaze once more fell on Grace, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “I’ll find some way to get my money’s worth out of you, yet.”

And then with a brilliant zap, Vox vanished back into the camera above the broken television.

Grace didn’t even want to consider the implications of what he’d said. Next best thought: this was his property. Was this his bedroom? Had she shared a bed with him overnight?

At the mere thought of it, Grace added to the damage by vomiting on the carpet.

After staring at the puddle of puke on the floor for several minutes, Grace condescended to cleaning it up. If she would be stuck in this room, then she’d be stuck with that smell. And the smell was nauseating her all over again, but this time if she threw up, she knew it would be nothing but bile. That remarkable kind of misery was best avoided at all costs.

She grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around herself as she retreated to the loveseat; it was among few items in the room to escape her wrath.

There were no books in the room, which came as no surprise to her. She didn’t expect the Vees were the most well-read, cultured bunch. 

She didn’t have a phone. The television was busted. Of course, there was no radio—not as though she’d have wanted to turn the damn thing on, anyway.

And so Grace sat, staring at the camera mounted above the television.

She stared and thought about her lifetime—about things she’d shared with Kofax, that she’d told Alastor, and about things she’d kept to herself. She thought, too, about Haven, Hunter, and Travis—Dick Cumlander. A knot grew in the pit of her stomach imagining what she’d do if she ever ran into either of their children here. 

The first thing she’d do would be to hide them away with Charlie at her hotel. It was most peculiar how Grace now viewed that space as safe for them, but not for her.

She stared at that camera and reflected on all the mistakes she’d made in life that she could still recount which had contributed to her going to Hell.

Still, she stared while reflecting on the last almost fourteen years. The waking nightmare it had been. 

And every time her mind began wandering toward the Radio Demon, she’d redirect it promptly. He was unwelcome in her heart and in her thoughts, and she refused admitting to herself that she feared if she thought about him too much, her anger would eventually ebb and she would find herself pining for him again.

She was still so angry, she didn’t want to feel that way. And while she was at Vee Tower and he was not, pining for him would only hurt her that much more. 

Best steer clear of that.

Afternoon yawned into evening. Grace continued staring at the camera, trying to conjure even the most vague recollection of how Vox had stolen her soul. Thinking about that interaction was like staring into an abyss. Had he somehow fried the shit out of her hippocampus? That was a terrifying prospect. It had to have been something else.

There were only a few lights that still worked in the room and they were fairly dim, so drowsiness chased nightfall closely. 

Grace considered going to bed, but on the off chance that the bed was, in fact, Vox’s, she elected to curl up on the loveseat for the night and prayed to the deities who never seemed to listen to her pleas that she’d still be alone when she woke.

In a truly unexpected turn of events, Grace’s prayers were, for once, answered. Though she woke alone, her body was furious at her for how she’d spent the night and probably also a little bit for flinging around that sapphire vanity tray with the intent to destroy everything in sight. 

These kinks and knots would not be worked from her joints and muscles anytime soon.

She stood and stretched, groaning and grumbling, before looking around the room. There was a bureau and dresser. A closet adjacent to the bathroom. Perhaps there was a change of clothes. And if there wasn’t? She was sincerely considering being naked over staying in the Voxtek sleepwear, even if Vox saw her, which of course he would; that surveillance camera probably never went dark.

She’d prefer nudity to pajamas even if Valentino saw her and the temptation to proposition her again brought him to the door.

As for Velvette, Grace suspected she really didn’t need to worry about her thinking or feeling any sort of way about Grace’s body outside of being a sentient clothing hanger.

The options in the dresser, bureau, and closet were really no better than the pajamas so she called her own bluff and elected to just stay in them. The material was some lightweight blend of cotton and bamboo, so at least they had that going in their favor.

Grace past the morning by snooping in the room, opening each cabinet and every drawer, running a hand along the walls in search of secret door. Discovering a hidden vault might also have been an entertaining way to pass her sentence within Vee jail.

She had no idea how long it had been since she woke but she was going stir-crazy and so she took her chances leaving the room.

Without memory of how she’d gotten there, Grace had no feeling for where she was within Vee Tower. Really, it was nothing more than an assumption she was still there based only on the decor, but it wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination to think any property owned by the Vees would look like this. 

She skulked through the hallways looking for an elevator she knew had to be around there somewhere, sticking to the shadows as much as possible although feeling painfully disconnected from them in a way that made her think all shadows were an extension of the Radio Demon. She yanked that thought away before it could linger and start to sting.

Voices carried from down the hall. Oh motherfucker! What are the fucking odds?! Grace held her breath. This tower is like 60 stories tall or some shit with who knows how many rooms and they just happen to be here?!

Likely they were heading to the room in which she’d spent the night.

She pressed herself against the wall, thinking that maybe if she stayed silent and still, Vox wouldn’t see her like the sharks he kept. No, wait. That was a dumb and thoroughly incorrect plot device about T-Rexes from Jurassic Park.

As Vox and Valentino rounded the corner at the far end of the hallway, Vox’s gaze snapped right to her.

Valentino whipped toward Vox as they approached her, smacking him against the chest with the back of his hand. “She’s here?! Did you know?”

Vox rolled his eyes and leveled a pandering stare at his moth demon partner. “No, I had no idea. She just showed up and elected to wear those—”

Grace’s gaze met Valentino’s.

“And she sold her soul to you?!”

If the reality of her situation was any less terrible, Grace might have found their bickering humorous. She thought to retreat as they drew near but figured that would merely prolong the inevitable, whatever nightmare 'the inevitable' was.

Vox puffed out his chest. "She was thrilled to. She goes by Violet now."

Grace's mouth dropped open in a silent gasp; she was too shocked by Vox's assertion to argue it.

"You're so stupid, Vox! Vixen is a much more appropriate Vee name for her." Valentino stomped his foot like a petulant toddler and whined, “And I wanted her!”

"I'd prefer Viola," Grace blurted. She wanted none of this bullshit, of course, but if she had to be assigned some dumbass name that started with a v, she wanted it to be one of her own choosing.

Further agitated, Vox glowered at Valentino. “Like you would even know what to do with her!”

They're so quick to argue with each other. Huh. 

"Oh," Grace thought aloud, pretending as if she didn't care about their argument over her. "How about Victoria?"

“You’re wasting her usefulness!" snapped Valentino. "All you want is to make Alastor miserable!”

Grace pressed a fingertip to her mouth. "Or Vanya, like I'm a character from an Anton Chekov play!"

“Wait. I'm stupid?" Vox retorted. "You're stupid, you—stupid, blind moth! Using Violet to make Alastor miserable is the best use for her! She’s the only soul who can do that. It’s not as if she’s the only one who can be—" He seemed to struggle in articulating his thoughts before he spat, "—who can be fucked on camera!”

Valentino said, “Of course she isn't but she’s been the hottest commodity ever since the Radio Demon aired their afternoon delight. It would take nothing to turn her into an Overlord with that kind of clout—”

Grace gasped. "Venus! She was the goddess of love and pleasure!"

Valentino's scowl popped suddenly into a smile as he regarded her. "And it rhymes with penis—" He purred, running all four of his hands down his torso, "The sexiest body part!"

"How about Virginia?" She forced a laugh. "It'd be kind of like a joke. Ironic, cuz y'know, I'm a big ol' whore!"

"Stop it!" Vox yelled. "Both of you! But especially you, Vir—Ven—Vixen!"

Grace and Valentino burst out laughing.

Barely audible over roaring static, Vox bellowed, "I meant Violet!" He clapped a hand over her mouth and scowled, "You know, I think I'd prefer it if you stayed silent. And you, Valentino," he warned, his screen attaining a darker hue of blue, "you are not to include Violet in any part of your sleazy, slimy, shit-filled side of the Vee empire."

Before the dik dik demon could make so much as a peep—or the pimp demon had a chance to interject—Vox ensnared Grace's waist with cables he conjured from nothingness.

Vox added with a purposeful glare at Valentino, "Or else," and leaped into the nearest camera with Grace in tow. 

Every cell, every vein, every neuron in her brain energized and stung with Vox’s electricity.

Grace’s stomach tumbled as if they’d been on a rollercoaster, and once her feet met with floor again, she stumbled, collapsed, and tried to catch her breath. She didn’t especially relish the idea of puking twice in as many days, especially not when she hadn’t eaten since before the prior time she tossed cookies.

Grace glanced at Vox, watching as he reveled in her reaction. Then she glanced at the room around them. It was wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling televisions of every shape and size, all turned on and playing different shows. There was a half-moon shaped desk covered in controls. This had to be the heart of Vox’s operations.

What was the point of this decision? It wasn’t as if Grace could do anything to him in any capacity, but it couldn’t be wise to bring someone so closely associated with his enemy to a place where he could, feasibly, be undermined.

Vox took the high-backed seat at the control panel and swiveled it away from Grace.

Grace clenched her jaw, leaning over and peering around Vox’s chair. His numerous computer screens displayed a variety of images, one of which was video of the Vee Tower lobby. A pair of demons—clearly not yet affiliated with the Vees judging by their attire—stood at a digital directory, scrolling with their fingertips through its list of rooms.

On the monitor beside the one showing video of the lobby, text scrolled from bottom to top. It stopped at the same time the demons in the lobby pulled their fingertips from the directory screen. The text on the monitor resumed scrolling once the demons touched the directory screen again.

The demons pointed, argued, went back to searching the directory. The monitor text stopped and started scrolling in conjunction with their activities at the directory.

And despite it being right in front of his face, Vox appeared to be ignoring it.

Grace’s gaze darkened on the back of Vox’s chair. “If you insist on having me here,” she growled, “the least you could do is be a proper host and give me something to read.”

“Oh, you want something to read, do you, Violet?” Vox pressed a few buttons on the half-moon panel and activated the closed captioning on the nearest television.

Vox had no way of knowing that of everything Grace would watch willingly, this show would interest her the least. This television aired a reality court show; one of Grace’s all-time least-favorite types of her already least-favorite genre of television—reality TV. It was as if Vox deliberately chose the thing she’d be the least interested in to let her follow by turning on the captioning.

Asshole.

But for the sake of staving off further insanity, Grace read the captioning. This was the tale of separated spouses; apparently, marriage did exist in Hell, so therefore divorce also did. While still married, the ex-wife had a private detective take photographs of the ex-husband in compromising positions with his side-piece, and subsequently blackmailed him into signing over all their property to the ex-wife to prevent her publicizing his affair.

Why publicizing the affair would mean anything in a place like this, Grace would never understand. 

But the judge found for the ex-husband, citing that a contract signed under duress is not considered valid. In the post-trial interviews, the ex-husband thanked his side-piece for proposing he seek legal action.

Grace blinked. 

And blinked again, resisting every urge to glance over her shoulder at Vox. 

Could this be her way out of Vox’s contract? Perhaps, if she could prove that he coerced her into handing over her soul.

Seeking legal assistance should be easier done than said in Hell. After all, Pentagram City had to be lousy with attorneys.

But how could she prove anything? And could a soul contract even be broken in any way other than one party breaching it?

I’ve gotta figure out how to trick Vox into breaking whatever he promised me in exchange for my soul.

But first, Grace needed to figure out how he’d gotten her into the contract to begin with.

Vee Tower housed all sorts of modern technology and yet there was not one single clock—analog or otherwise. Probably such timepieces were considered archaic when everyone had a smart phone damn near surgically attached to themselves. Everyone, that is, except for Grace, who quickly lost all concept of time within the walls of the Vees’ headquarters.

A day or two went by. At least, Grace knew she’d slept twice. But she could have also been getting seriously depressed again; it wouldn’t be unlike her to react to adversity with despondency.

Each day, Velvette’s scowling assistant came to escort Grace to more fittings in preparation for the fashion show. And each visit included Velvette becoming increasingly pissed off that some of the fabrics in those outfits now clashed with Grace’s eyes and would need to be replaced at last minute. It could be done—and with little effort—but the inconvenience was, apparently, real.

And after each fitting, Grace would be returned unceremoniously to the land that time forgot.

After the first of these fittings, Grace found the television she'd broken had been replaced. The temptation was strong to find something to watch on it but she didn't want to invite Vox into her room again and felt the likelihood of such visits increased if she turned the TV on. And so she left it off, going so far as to unplug it just in case he needed that electric source to be able to transport through it.

For every meal, a unique Vox-branded robot demon servant brought food to her room. She supposed she had Velvette to thank for that; after all, if Velvette truly wanted Grace for her curves, then it would be detrimental if she lost weight.

Since she had no applicable use for the steak knife that accompanied that first platter, Grace hid it just out of view of the all-seeing camera, but where she could still easily grab it if needed. It wouldn’t do her very much good except maybe buy her a moment or two of safety from anyone who might want to take from her more than she wanted to give. Valentino, specifically, came to mind.

Thank the deities who were maybe starting to listen to her that Vox seemed to have no sexual interest in her, whatsoever.

Some form of meat infused most of each platter, even things that would have been just as well without it.

Between her lack of appetite and the meat-heavy meals, Grace ate carefully and sparingly, having to convince herself that the food wasn’t poisoned—not in the strict sense of the word—since it would serve none of the Vees well to kill her.

Or she was grasping at straws.

On the other hand, she could be poisoned time and again without permanent expiration. She quickly pushed that thought out of her head.

Around the meals—which she couldn’t even tell whether or not they arrived like clockwork without any timepiece to go off of—Grace stared at the camera in the room. Sometimes she hoped Vox was watching and getting creeped out by her hollow gaze.

Whether or not he watched her, she knew the camera was on. Vox surveilled everything. 

And if he surveils everything, Grace mused with her glassy-eyed stare set on the surveillance camera, then it can’t be too much of a stretch to think he’s got recordings of everything he surveils.

Somewhere, there had to be proof of what transpired during that gap in Grace’s recall. Somewhere, she could watch how Vox convinced her to accept his contract.

Gathering her courage, Grace sneaked out of her room once more. This time, she encountered no other soul before she found an elevator. 

The elevator car was empty upon its arrival to that floor. So she stepped inside and pressed the lowest-numbered button on the panel to go to the Vee Tower lobby.

The door slid open and Grace peered out cautiously to ensure nobody was there. What would Vox—or Valentino—or Velvette do if they found her there? Why did she assume she was meant to stay holed up in her room?

She shrugged it off and walked up to the directory in the middle of the lobby, raising her hand to it.

Grace paused before touching the screen, her mind wandering back to when she’d watched a pair of demons search through the directory’s options and the list that seemed to scroll congruently on the computer monitor beside it.

If there was a master computer that kept track of search data from the lobby directory, and the lobby had cameras everywhere—then if she decided to do something nefarious during her exploration of Vee Tower, they’d be able to track it back to her easily.

After a lengthy hesitation during which she stared hollowly at the directory, her thoughts cleared. Grace did an about-face and looked at the entry doors of Vee Tower.

The exit.

What's stopping me from just leaving? Nothing, that's what. Where she would go once she left, however, was the problem; she couldn't exactly go back to the Hazbin Hotel.

She refused to go back there. 

No Charlie. No Husker. But most importantly, no Radio Demon.

Surely there were places between the hotel and Vee Tower.

Any place would be better than Vee Tower—whether or not she still belonged to Vox. So Grace bolted, bursting through the tower's entrance doors and promptly stumbling to a stop when the outside light was so bright that she couldn't see anything.

She rubbed her eyes brusquely in an attempt to clear her vision. Opening them again revealed little improvement: a massive dark blotch blocked her sight as if her retinas were detaching.

Reality, however, proved much worse than retinal detachment.

Vox, flanked by Valentino, loomed before her.

"Fffuck," whispered Grace.

"Leaving so soon, Violet?" Vox snarled.

Grace opened her mouth to reply and nothing but dust motes came out.

Vox continued in her silence, "You have an appointment."

She steadied her nerves and squared her shoulders. "The hell I do!"

As if she hadn't defied him, Vox said, "You mustn't be late for your debut."

And that, Grace thought as he clamped his hand around her wrist like a shackle, sounded like the absolute worst thing ever.

When Grace opened her eyes again, she was assaulted by a different kind of blinding light—to be more specific, stage lighting. 

Voxtek minions bustled around her, some tending to Vox and his suit while others moved things around the set.

This is a soundstage, Grace realized numbly. She glanced at Vox as his gaze settled on her, then narrowed menacingly.

Well this can't be good.

She thought back to the last thing he'd told her: 

Your debut.

Grace figured she would have little choice but to participate; naturally, she would defy and resist Vox at every turn.

Vox went about directing some of the stagehands to move cameras here or there. "Make sure you get a clear view of Violet's face," he instructed. "We want all of Hell to see those beautiful eyes of hers."

Grace's heart sank, her pulse surging in her ears like a stampede of horses. He wants to show the Radio Demon I'm no longer his. That I'm Vox's. 

The former, she didn't much care about at the moment. The latter, however, made her stomach lurch in threat of vomiting on live TV.

Maybe I vomit on a live TV. 

She almost laughed at that thought.

Almost.

"Alright," Vox snapped as he approached Grace where she'd been sat on a plush chair. "Let's do this shit!"

Grace promptly lowered her head. Try 'n' see my eyes like this, you tv-headed freak!

Off stage right, the director yelled, "Action!" and Vox placed his hands on Grace's shoulders. At his touch, she flinched, cringed, and fought valiantly to keep down her most recent meal.

"Voxtek is proud to announce the expansion of the Vee empire with my newest acquisition. She is the rehabilitated cohort of that obsolete motherfucker Radio Demon, rescued directly from the Hazbin Hotel. Please welcome Violet to the Voxtek family!"

Grace swallowed a scowl, otherwise remaining silent and motionless.

"Come, now, Violet, there's no need to play coy! Why don't you show the audience your lovely face?" There wasn't a word in that sentence that didn't drip with insincerity.

Grace squared her shoulders and shook her head once. She wouldn't even give Vox the honor of a verbal reply.

He pulled his right hand from her shoulder and grabbed the hair at her scalp, jerking her head upward with it. In that motion, Grace clamped her eyes shut.

Vox sighed, then chuckled. "Really want to play this game with me, Vi?" His voice grew closer as he growled in her ear, "You won't win."

"Try me," Grace challenged between clenched teeth.

Vox's hand shifted from encircling her tresses at their roots to digging into her scalp. An electric shock zinged through her system.

At that, Grace squeezed her eyes shut even harder. Fuck you, you fucking fuck. You've got nothing on a taser, which she regrettably experienced firsthand while still alive.

Vox sent another pulse of electricity through her, followed by another and another—each more intense than the last. "They're going to continue getting worse until you open your eyes, Violet," he taunted. And again, he snarled in her ear: "Don't think I won't sacrifice your useless little soul in an attempt to get what I want."

He sent the highest voltage yet through her body, one strong enough she barely kept from pissing herself. 

Finally she opened her eyes, her field of vision blurred with tears.

Vox grabbed her face in his free hand, squishing her cheeks painfully between his fingertips as he directed her to look at the nearest camera.

“Smile for your closeup, Violet,” Vox taunted.

“The only time I'll smile for you,” Grace scowled, “is over your grave.”

Surprisingly, he laughed. “She's a spicy little thing, isn't she? Clearly still suffering the effects of being brainwashed by that vindictive, archaic little turd at the Hogwash Hotel. Don't worry; it’s nothing we can’t … correct.”

Grace was suddenly keenly aware of her shaky breathing and the single hot tear cutting a sizzling path down her right cheek.

Vox leaned in, dragging his tongue up her right cheek as if further marking his territory in the most disgusting way possible.

Despite her conviction, Grace threw up.