Driven By Demons

By Laura Lovecraft

For JD Walker, owner of the infamous fetish club Devil’s Playground, life is good. His club is successful, he has plenty of money and spends his time indulging in his lifelong addiction; sex. But despite his current success he is still haunted by a dark and violent past marred by the death of his mother, a death he blames himself for.

Two years ago reporter Molly Malone was part of a news team sure they could prove the Playground was more than a strip club, and was in fact a high end brothel where people paid to have their sickest fantasies fulfilled. But Malone and her partners underestimated JD Walkers powerful connections and the expose blew up in their faces, ending in a libel suit that cost all but Molly their jobs.

Now JD faces a far more serious threat in the form of Reverend Zachary Knox, a fire and brimstone preacher who has sworn to close dens of iniquity like the Playground. Knox’s protesters are scaring away Walker's clients and his employees and to JD’s dismay the Reverend has as many connections as he does.

Molly Malone wouldn’t mind seeing JD go down, but not in this case as she has a personal vendetta against Knox. Back in Alabama where Molly grew up Knox and his corrupt ministry was responsible for the darkest event in her life, one that has left her scarred emotionally and craving dark perversions, the kind JD has made his living on.

Up until now JD and Molly had nothing in common, but a mutual loathing for each other. But both have reasons to bring down Knox and are willing to dance with any devil that gives them a chance, including each other. Using Molly’s firsthand knowledge of Knox’s crimes and Walkers connections, the two unite to destroy their common foe and learn they have more in common than they knew; they are both driven by the demons of their pasts

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Lovecraft
• Release date: Apr 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310064364

Laura Lovecraft

Support me on my new Patreon!Like her famous namesake, Laura was born, raised and still resides in historic Providence, Rhode Island. This Lovecraft's writing however, brings thrills of a completely different kind! Don't let that pretty little pout fool, erotica’s bad girl is not for the faint of heart!Although Laura has dabbled in many genres and kinks, she's most famously know for keeping it in the family. Over the years, Laura, who with tongue firmly in cheek, refers to herself as the queen of the taboo, has built a reputation for having a unique style.Aside from some of her 'one handed read' anthologies and an occasional short piece, Laura is known for writing long, slow burn stories full of conflict, character development and an attempt to make such an extreme kink as incest, somewhat realistic and believable. In the words of Laura "My smut has depth dammit!" but no worries, she knows what taboo-and all erotica fans come here for-and she delivers the heat as few can.So don't stop at this bio, check her out for yourself and browse her over 200 titles

Book preview

Chapter One

Oh, I don’t think so! J.D. muttered when the light up ahead changed to yellow.

The light was a five-way stop, and Miranda had told him to get his ass to the club fast. J.D. gunned the gray 1969 Firebird’s engine, and swerved into the oncoming lane to blow past the van in front of him. He cut back across and flew under the light just as it turned red.

A glance in the mirror showed the van driver flipping him off. J.D. was sure he’d blasted the horn, too, but couldn’t hear it over Hinder’s ‘American Nightmare’ pounding through the speakers.

Every note jarred his already-aching head, but helped clear last night’s tequila haze from his mind. He took the corner fast and hard, making the tires squeal. Partway through the turn, he punched the accelerator, sending the car into a fishtail. Then he yanked the wheel in the opposite direction, eased off the gas, and floored it. The car rocked before straightening, and shot down the street at over seventy.

When he reached the next corner, he slammed on the brakes. Motherfuckers, he hissed, staring at the sign for the Devil’s Playground.

The ten-foot square sign featured a blond woman in a revealing devil’s costume. Her outfit included horns, tail, and his favorite part: an airbrushed forked tongue waving provocatively. She was surrounded by flames, and above her the slogan flashed, Hotter than Hell.

Spray-painted in thick black letters across the sign were the words, Salvation, not sin, is the answer! Below that, Heaven rewards the saint, not the sinner!

Bullshit, he snorted. Most saints were murdered by the idiots they were trying to save.

J.D. removed his Foster Grant sunglasses, and looked into the mirror. His normally bright emerald-green eyes were dull and red-rimmed.

The club’s backroom had been open for forty-eight straight hours to entertain a group from New Orleans. He’d stayed the entire time, making sure everything stayed sane. Well, as sane as possible, anyway, when dealing with people whose capacity for perversion was matched only by their wealth.

J.D. had been asked to participate in quite a few of the weekend’s festivities. Between the sex, drinking, and a non-stop orgy that would make Caligula look like a square dance, he’d reached the end of even his legendary endurance. He’d finally staggered home at three a.m. Miranda had called him less than six hours later.

He doubted she’d call just for the graffiti, and drove down the long, narrow road that led to the Playground. The club was located near the shipyard. There were no residences nearby; just warehouses and businesses. It was a perfect location for a sex club…no nosy neighbors creeping around, or kids that neighborhood groups could use as an excuse to close him down.

Not that the club hadn’t had its share of threats, but when the backroom clientele featured several prominent politicians and citizens, those threats were quickly made to disappear. As extra insurance, J.D. had a judge in his back pocket. When Her Honor wasn’t wearing her black robe, she could be found in the Playground…usually in a dog crate, begging to suck cock through the bars and be fucked in the ass.

But lately another threat was rising in the form of Reverend Zachary Knox, a fire-and-brimstone preacher whose church, the Sacred Truth, was growing like wildfire in Boston.

Knox had been even bigger down South. His ministry in Alabama had been popular enough to rate a weekly television show. Then, five years ago, he’d stepped down as pastor of the original Sacred Truth, claiming that God wanted him to spread His word to others around the country.

Once his new church had become popular, Knox had started a family values kick, targeting adult bookstores and the local strip clubs. He’d forced Cheaters’ doors to close last year by making enough noise to drive their clientele away. Not that J.D. cared…Cheaters had been a competitor, and he’d hired three of their best girls.

But Cheaters and the other clubs were mostly just skin factories. A few had backrooms where the strippers would fuck the clients. In those places, it was quick: get-’em-in, get-’em-out sex. Most of the money went right back into the drugs sold there.

To the public, the Devil’s Playground was just a strip club. But behind the scenes, it was a brothel catering to every fetish imaginable…groupsex, hardcore BDSM, foot fetish, rape fantasies, and humiliation. No matter how bizarre the kink, if it was requested and paid for, J.D.’s staff could provide it.

Unlike the other meat markets, J.D.’s girls weren’t just strippers, but high-end prostitutes from across the country. The Playground differed from the other clubs by having a section for the ladies, and all his male dancers were former escorts and sex club workers. Three of them were bisexual which, along with the women who swung both ways, gave a client every possible option to enjoy.

Having started out as an escort and stripper himself years ago, he knew how to keep the employees happy. They were well paid, and had choices in what they did. In addition to treating them well professionally, if any had personal issues, he’d do what he could to help.

Granted, J.D. didn’t consider himself all that nice of a guy, but it was smart business. He lured people from other clubs, but no one ever deserted him. And retaining the same people who were professionals, not cokeheads and street whores, gave his wealthy clients confidence that their secret desires would be fulfilled with discretion.

Most importantly, unlike the other clubs, no drugs were allowed. Any employee found using or dealing was fired, and any client was told not to return. If they used, they could do it on their own time. Sex and lust were the only vices served at his club. That helped keep the police and other authorities off his back.

There was rarely any real trouble at the Playground. The occasional troublemaker could easily be handled by his bouncers. On occasions, if he felt like releasing a little frustration, J.D. would do it himself.

The Devil’s Playground was just that: a playground of the flesh. Straight-up sexual satisfaction, no matter what flavor you craved. The club had just celebrated its tenth anniversary, and he was making a killing. That success made it easy to dole out bonuses and gifts, which again ensured his well-trained employees’ loyalty.

Any past threats had always been dealt with quickly, but this fruitcake was proving a problem. J.D.’s gut, which he trusted above all else, told him Knox wasn’t going to go away easily. That feeling was confirmed when he pulled into the large parking lot. A dozen men and women were milling around in front of the club. Every one of them waved signs with assorted religious propaganda scrawled across them.

Fucking great.

This had started a few days ago with just a pair of the lemmings hanging around and handing out flyers for Knox’s church. J.D. hadn’t cared too much, but within three days there were a half dozen. Now they were engaging the clients in conversation, warning of sin and God’s judgment. Most people laughed it off, but a few had complained about them, so J.D. had asked them to leave.

They’d done so without argument, but were back the next day, this time with some guys in suits who’d claimed they were deacons of the Sacred Truth. They’d warned J.D. that they weren’t going away this time. He couldn’t force them to leave, either, because as long as they were peaceful, they weren’t breaking any laws.

He loathed involving the police, so he hadn’t called them to confirm whether the deacons’ claims were legit. The churchgoers were a nuisance, but not enough to stir up real shit.

Now they’d crossed a line. Their numbers were growing fast; the signs were something new. And on top of that, they’d vandalized his property.

J.D. guided the car around them, and pulled into his customary spot alongside the building. An abandoned warehouse bordered the rear of the club. It served as a back door of sorts, and he paid the owner for that amenity. People who didn’t want to be seen parked behind it, were let in by a bouncer, and only had to walk a few feet between the buildings when they slipped into his club.

Why the hell was a Channel 12 news van parked beside it?

The club itself didn’t open until two on Mondays, but the back rooms were open 24/7 with a few girls and two bouncers on duty. He hoped no one had been wandering behind the club, in case someone had an appointment.

As soon as he pulled up, the van doors opened. The driver slid the side door open, and removed his camera. The woman exiting the passenger side came quickly around to the front. J.D. squinted to see her, and his swollen eyes stung even more as his lips twisted into the smirk many thought was his permanent expression.

Two years ago, Molly Malone had lead Channel 12’s attempt to expose the Playground. For her part in that embarrassing debacle, she’d been relegated to the five a.m. news and an occasional local interest story. Why was she, of all people, here to cover this story?

Then again, they already had a history, so who better to send? She hated him enough to give it a show, and the network likely saw this as a throwaway story. Why risk their real talent getting burned?

She stopped several feet from the van, and watched the cameraman fiddling with his equipment. Her hands were on her hips, and he was sure she was telling him to move his ass. He tugged a pack of Camels from his pocket, lit one, and took a long drag. He’d smoked four packs over the weekend, and the smoke seared his lungs.

He exhaled, and tucked the glasses in the pocket of his black t-shirt. Seeing how he was going to be on camera, he studied the face in his rearview mirror. His eyes looked as if he’d just been on a bender. Maybe the glasses should go back on? Then again, he did have a reputation to uphold.

Other than his bloodshot eyes, he had no complaints. He was a good-looking man, and knew it. That wasn’t narcissism, but a fact he’d been told by women since he’d been in his teens. Good-looking enough, he mused, that by eighteen, he’d made his living by whoring himself to several older housewives…the type with a lot of time, money, and husbands who barely paid attention to them.

J.D.’s flawless features included a pair of high cheekbones, and eyelashes most women had to pay for. They framed stunning emerald-green eyes that, when not burned out, were his best feature. Many had referred to them as cat’s eyes, and they went well with his thick black hair.

His looks had earned him the nickname ‘Pretty Boy’ from more than one person. At times he’d play into that by styling his hair and dressing the part. Other times, he’d leave his hair tousled and hanging down over his eyes. A five o’clock shadow and the tattoos adorning his upper body gave him a bad-boy look that played better with most of the female clientele.

J.D. was currently in the latter mode. He’d run his fingers through his wet hair before leaving his condo, and hadn’t shaved in two days. He smiled in the mirror, checking his teeth. They flashed white through the dark scruff.

After another drag on the cigarette, he exited the car. Someone yelled, and he saw several of the God freaks moving quickly across the lot. A black Cadillac Escalade had pulled up, and like clowns in a circus, several suited fruits spilled out of it.

One of them opened the passenger door to let out a tall black man in an absurd peach-colored suit and the white hat favored by southern gentlemen. Knox. He’d shown up once before to give his lemmings a little pep talk, but had never gotten close to the club or J.D. himself.

Just as well. J.D. had no tolerance for preachers. He wondered how a holy man justified riding around in a sixty-thousand dollar car. God’s been good?

He watched the sheep flock to their master, and rolled his eyes when one of them yelled Hallelujah! Knox was preaching, pointing at the club and getting his people all fired up.

He slipped his Nextel from his hip, and thumbed it. Hey, Jimmy?

Yeah, boss? A voice so deep that it seemed to vibrate came through. Need an escort in? There was a booming laugh, and J.D. had to move the phone away from his ear.

No, I think I’ll brave the crowd. But do me a favor…drift on over and listen to what that piper’s telling his rats.

Sure, I’ll take a walk on over.

A moment later, J.D. saw his bouncer, Jimmy, leave through the front of the club and make his way over to the protesters. He wasn’t exactly the best choice to send over…his size alone usually gained him attention. But no one would harass him because of it, and J.D. wasn’t sure if the kooks knew who he was. Jimmy usually came into work through the back.

Maybe he’d hear something interesting. In the meantime, J.D. would take advantage of Knox’s sermon on the concrete, and slip into the club.

But first…

Malone was hurrying over to him with a determined look on her face that made him smile.

Round two coming up, he murmured.

Chapter Two

Molly climbed out of the van, and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She couldn’t believe she was back outside this club. The memory of how her old producer had dragged his crew here in search of a big story still made her cringe. She’d still been wet behind the ears, and thrilled at the chance of scoring major airtime.

The whole exercise had been doomed to failure. Without a plant on the inside, they hadn’t been able to investigate any of the unsubstantiated rumors they’d heard. And when the whole thing had exploded in their faces, her rising career at the Boston Media had exploded with it.

At least she hadn’t gotten a pink slip like most of the hapless crew.

She eyed J.D. Walker with disdain. What a fucking tool, checking himself out before the camera goes on! That put the capper on her already-lousy mood, and she spun around to glare at Joe.

Jesus, Joe! Can’t you get your shit together without screwing around? My God, you’re worse than an old woman, the way you fuss over that camera.

This camera… He hefted it into position on his shoulder. …will put that pretty little face of yours back on the news tonight.

In spite of her mood, she flashed him a quick smile. It wasn’t real, but good air personalities knew how to change their facial expressions at will. She could feign a sincere smile or shocked horror with equal skill.

She hoped her feigned smile would get him moving without having to bitch at him again. It was painfully obvious Joe had a crush on her. Despite being relegated to the station’s shittiest assignments, he always fought to work with her.

He’d asked her out for coffee many times, and a couple of times he’d even been bold enough to mention dinner. Molly had never accepted, telling him she kept work at work, and her private time was hers. She was smart enough to know you shouldn’t shit where you ate…

And Joe was a nice guy. Not her type at all.

She wasn’t quite sure what type of guy she was into, but Joe wasn’t it. Nice did nothing for her.

She blinked rapidly, a physical movement to throw her mind in another direction. This wasn’t the time to think about how long it had been since she’d gotten what she wanted.

Joe returned her smile with one that was far more sincere. It made Molly wonder why she couldn’t just be happy with a ‘good guy’ like him. But as she watched him continue to adjust the camera, she knew why. She wouldn’t go down that path right now, but knew she would…and soon.

How could she not? Knox’s unexpected arrival across the parking lot had shoved her past right in her face. Now she stood between two men who had ruined different aspects of her life. Though to be fair, Walker came in a far distant second when it came to hurting her.

Joe flicked on his camera and focused on Molly’s face, giving her a three-count before she launched into her well-rehearsed opening dialogue. She outlined Zachary Knox and his followers’ crusade to clean up Boston and close down dens of inequity like the Devil’s Playground. Then she paused while Joe panned the camera towards that preening peacock, J.D. Walker. He shot her a lazy smile that showed his perfect teeth.

It was easier to paint J.D. as the villain here, she told herself, and that was why she was going after him first. He could play innocent and hide behind his powerful friends all he wanted. It didn’t change the fact that he was running a brothel, or that she longed to prove it.

But J.D. wasn’t the sole target of this interview, she reminded herself to counter her rising bitterness. She had an even bigger score to settle with the good Reverend Knox, and that one ran far deeper than her recent failure to nail a glorified pimp.

Still speaking the lines she’d recited to her bedroom mirror for the past week, she smoothly switched gears. Now she spoke of the vandalism to Walker’s sign, and the growing harassment of his clientele and employees. It wasn’t the first time the Sacred Truth had been accused of underhanded tactics, she added in an impartial voice.

Now she was painting Knox to be as dubious as Walker, she thought, and masked her glee behind earnest eyes and a sober expression. And since he was the greater evil here, her resentment at giving this pretty punk some airtime faded. Especially when he’d be unwittingly helping her by providing an excuse to get near the reverend.

She waited until he’d finished admiring himself and closed his car door, then nodded briskly at Joe and headed toward him.

*****

As soon as he closed the car door, J.D. saw Molly and her cameraman head in his direction. He stretched with deliberate unconcern, letting his snug black t-shirt ride up to expose his chiseled stomach. The word Dominatus was tattooed across it, and his well-muscled arms were heavily inked.

His left arm bore a colorful naked winged succubus with the word Lust under it. His right featured a dark re-imagining of Pan featuring long, twisting horns curling around its head, lurid blood-red eyes, and the horn it blew to call doomed souls to it was long and ominous.

Excuse me, Mr. Walker?

Ignoring her, J.D. unsnapped his jeans and made a show of adjusting himself. Then he zipped up again, and flashed her a practiced smile that was no more sincere than the beliefs of the protesters barring his front door.

Good morning, Miss Malone, he drawled sarcastically. I’m surprised to see you.

I’m sure you are. She returned his smile with one just as insincere, and he gave her a point for it.

I am. You didn’t strike me as the kind who’d come back after a beating like that. Then his smile slid into his trademark smirk. Or are you a masochist?

She matched his sardonic expression without missing a beat. You’d be surprised what a girl like me will come back for. Her dark eyes were unreadable.

Score another point for her, he thought, realizing she was tougher than she looked.

Molly glanced back at her cameraman, who was fussily adjusting his lens again, and J.D. used the opportunity to scrutinize her more closely. At first glance, she seemed like nothing special. Not unattractive, but not deserving of a double-take, either.

She was a few inches shorter than his five-foot-ten, and her body seemed merely average beneath her professional white blouse, loose black blazer, and rather shapeless black knee-length skirt. His professional opinion as a purveyor of the female form was that smaller-breasted women tended to button their blouses right up to the neck like that because they had nothing seductive to display.

Her calves looked nice enough, so she probably had decent legs. And though her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled up in a clip, it looked thick enough to be fairly long.

Her eyes were large and expressive, and the freckles around her nose accented her fair complexion. Overall he’d classify her as cute…the girl-next-door type.

He’d been exposed to high-quality strippers and escorts for so many years, recently he’d found his taste moving away from them and drifting more toward her kind of cute. He just needed a change of pace, probably. But he wondered again, as he had when he’d first met her, what this cute little freckle-faced reporter would be like in bed. She could be the quiet one you had to watch out for.

Then again, her demeanor was always defensive, and right now she was standing as if she had a pole up her ass. He smiled as he thought she could probably use a good long pole up her ass.

Finally her cohort nodded, adjusted the camera on his shoulder one last time, and aimed it in J.D.’s direction. Out of long habit, she pasted a professional smile on her face, and lifted her microphone. This is Molly Malone, coming to you live from…

J.D. stopped her by laying his hand over the microphone. This isn’t live…it’s not even eleven, he interrupted her.

If looks could have killed, he’d have been a dead man. But she kept her voice under tight control when she retorted, "You’re a smart man, J.D., I’ll give you that. But this will be on the news tonight."

’Course it will. He kept his hand where it was. How did you get this gig? he mocked, deliberately twisting the knife. The real reporter’s sick? Or are you chasing your own story?

You’ll find out soon enough, she replied tightly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of thinking he was pissing her off.

Okay. He stepped back, then walked several paces until he was standing in front of his damaged sign.

What’s the matter, Mr. Walker? she taunted, following him. You don’t want to speak to me?

That made him laugh. Nice touch, Molly. I like that one…good for you! he smiled. No, I was just trying to get out of sight of my fan club. I always have time for the press.

She ignored the light mockery beneath his words. Speaking of your fan club, Mr. Walker, it must concern you that Reverend Knox has turned his attention to you.

His attention doesn’t concern me, J.D. said coolly. Having his people vandalize my billboard does.

That’s an assumption, Mr. Walker, she warned.

J.D., please. We go way back, right? he smirked, reminding her again of her past failure.

I’d rather keep this about current events, she retorted curtly, but tossed her head in a way that made him want to laugh. You can’t prove the reverend’s followers are responsible.

No, Miss Malone, he agreed smoothly. Which is frustrating, because I know it’s them…I know it here. He tapped his chest. I just can’t prove it. You know how that feels, don’t you?

The blatant dig made her blood pressure inch up another notch, but she maintained her composure and kept pressing. Back to my initial question. Knox managed to get Cheaters shut down by calling attention to the illegal and unsavory acts going on there. Now that he’s calling out the Devil’s Playground, you must be worried.

If he was, it didn’t show in the way he folded both arms across his chest and leaned negligently against the wall. If using my name will get Knox in the paper and make him relevant, then by all means, I’m willing to help him out, he shrugged.

The reverend is relevant enough to get people’s attention, Mr. Walker, she countered. His followers and he are adamant about cleaning up this city, and he’s starting with the sex industry. Especially prostitution and…

That made him straighten again, and he shot her a warning look. Miss Malone, if you use the word ‘prostitution’ again, it better have the word ‘alleged’ in front of it. If it doesn’t, not only will this interview end right now, but I will contact my attorney to discuss a libel suit against you and your network. Understood?

I… She swallowed hard. It was true she could edit out that part of the interview, but she didn’t want to jeopardize her story so early. My apologies. But where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and…

The Devil’s Playground is an adult entertainment club, he said firmly. A fully-legal, fully-licensed club. I’m a business owner and a member of the Chamber of Commerce. I pay taxes, as well as donate to charitable causes.

Be that as it may…

Even as she continued arguing with him as though he was still a main event, and not just potential icing on the cake, she wondered what the hell she was doing. She no longer cared what happened in his club unless it concerned Knox.

Last time I looked at the Constitution, there’s a clear separation of church and state, Miss Malone. J.D.’s voice was steely now. The good reverend has the right to his beliefs. What’s illegal is having his people harass my clients and employees based on religious beliefs. The state will not back the Bible in court…it will back the law.

So you feel you have nothing to hide? she demanded.

Nothing. And the state’s been involved in this witch hunt before, haven’t they?

Yes, she replied evenly. Perhaps they didn’t dig far enough…or are your contributions more political than charitable? Even in her own mind, she couldn’t explain why this man’s ego galled her so, compelling her to keep baiting him.

His eyebrows rose slightly. That’s a strong accusation, and another possible lawsuit, he warned, then pointed at the cameraman. Are you really filming this?

I am, Joe said coolly, and we’re not afraid of your threats.

His protective stance spoke volumes.

J.D. favored him with his trademark smirk. A word of advice, my friend. I’d watch how far you let Miss Malone lead you by your dick. She knows what can happen when you talk about things you can’t back up…don’t you? His eyes shot back to pin Molly’s.

Reverend Knox came here to clean up this state, Mr. Walker, she reminded him. And according to many, your club is one of the biggest blemishes on it.

Is it? That made him smile. I see. Well, I’ll tell you what, Miss Malone…you and the good reverend are not doing your cause any justice.

Realizing she’d unconsciously aligned herself with Knox only made her bristle even more. It’s not my cause. I’m just stating the facts according to Knox’s latest press release…which did not come from me, by the way. She couldn’t quite hide the disdain that crept into her voice when she said the pastor’s name. I take it you see things differently?

What I see is so-called people of God defacing my property and harassing paying customers trying to enter a legitimate business. J.D. spread his arms to indicate the empty parking lot around them.

But on the plus side, I also see publicity. His grin flashed again, quick and bright. The more ‘good people’ call out all the sleazy things that go on here, the more people will come out to see what the fuss is all about.

She hadn’t considered that aspect before, and felt another lick of anger burn in her belly. No, they’re…

And your little interview? he cut her off a second time. "Which may or may not have the station’s approval? If it airs, all you’ve done is given me five minutes of primetime exposure standing in front of my sign."

Again he covered the microphone and leaned close to speak softly to her. Do yourself a favor, Molly. Let this go. You didn’t get me the first time. You won’t get me this time, either, and neither will any pious fraud. Just forget the past, learn your lesson, and move on.

You know nothing of my past, she muttered under her breath, but he was standing close enough to hear her, and cocked an eyebrow at her. She quickly recovered, and tried to focus on her point again. You’re too arrogant to keep dodging the truth, J.D. She gestured toward the parking lot. I don’t believe in Knox as a minister, but he has a lot of connections. I won’t be the one to bring you down. My job is simply to report the facts, and I’ll be reporting them on both sides of this little war you two have declared on each other.

Hell hath no fury. He mocked her with a dramatic sigh. I just hope you’re ready to bury Knox when he gets caught with the skeletons hanging in his closet. Probably has a guy waiting for him at home right now, dressed in latex with a ball gag in his mouth. Guys like me? We are what we are. Guys like Knox are all liars.

Oh, so you’re Saint J.D. now, are you? You never lie? You’re lying every time you say nothing goes on in that club besides lap dances. You know it, I know it…half the city knows it! She paused and glared at him. I’d be just as satisfied to see Knox go down, but at this moment my bet would be on you.

His smirk instantly returned. I always satisfy when I go down. Do you?

I won’t dignify that with a comment, she replied even as, unbidden, an image formed in her mind. Oh God, she could see herself kneeling before him, taking him in her mouth while his hand wrapped in her hair, pushing on her head and forcing her to take him deeper. And when he returned the favor, her feet would be on his shoulders while he buried his face between her thighs. Heat flowed through her as she envisioned his devastating green eyes staring up at her while he…

Not now! she snapped, and swore she heard a naughty giggle echo through her reeling mind.

Bet you’ve heard that one plenty, he taunted, mercifully pulling her from the erotic daydream. But seeing how I don’t hold grudges, let me give you some advice.

What’s that? she scowled.

Before she could pull away, he reached up to glide his fingers over her hair. Do yourself a favor and let your hair down.

His unexpected gesture shook her a little. Why? Is that your preference in women? she snapped, jerking back. Now why had she asked that? she silently raged. Why the fuck would she care?

No, he smirked. But your ears stick out a little, and you have a long neck. Wearing your hair down will cover that. Or tape your ears back, he added with a nonchalant shrug.

She glared at him and he thought, for one brief moment, that she’d lash at him with a scathing retort. Instead, she spun on her heel and began to stalk away.

Hey, Molly! he called after her, and didn’t even bother to hide his amusement.

She stopped long enough to glance back over her shoulder.

That was a great piece you did on the Main Street potholes! I found it riveting!

Chapter Three

J.D.’s derisive laugh followed Molly as she walked towards the protesters. She’d wasted too much time talking to that arrogant prick, she thought furiously. Using that anger to lend her confidence, she barged into the throng surrounding the good reverend, closely shadowed by Joe.

So Reverend Knox, don’t you think being here today is a little hypocritical? she blurted out, and deliberately used the accent she’d spent the last few years trying to lose. Joe gave her a strange look, but she didn’t care. I’ve heard some rumors that you’d be better served as one of Mr. Walker’s clients than trying to shut him down!

This was the third time she’d been in his presence, at least as an adult. The first two, she’d been one of several reporters firing questions. This time it was just her. The mic in her hand and the cameraman at her heels gave her the confidence to smile sweetly at his nervous expression.

Several of Knox’s followers looked at her, then back at him. Some rolled their eyes in obvious disdain, but she noticed an older couple off to the side looking nervously at each other.

I recognize you from TV, Miss Malone, Knox said slowly in a drawl that was far more pronounced than hers, but I believe we’ve met somewhere. He removed his sunglasses and studied her intently, trying to place her. Then he shook his head and gave a meaningful sigh. No matter. You’re far from the first person to throw stones at a man of God. He spread his arms dramatically for the camera. As always, the lambs of God are questioned for their faith.

Molly was tempted to roll her own eyes when several people shouted Amen! behind her. I guess I shouldn’t expect you to remember me, she shrugged. After all, I was young, and I can’t imagine now many young girls you’ve met…especially at those camps you used to fund back in Alabama.

Appalled, Joe leaned close enough to whisper, What are you getting at? Lane will never run a veiled accusation like that!

"He doesn’t know that," she whispered back.

You’re right, Miss Malone, Knox said genially. I dealt with many young people back in my youth ministry and Bible camps. If you were indeed in attendance there, then I apologize for not recognizing you. But as for what you seem to be insinuating? His expression shifted to a stern frown. All I can say is it’s a shame you, like many sinners, now blame men of God for your failure to walk His path.

While his flock yammered approvingly behind him, he leaned close enough to tower over her. He was a tall man, well over six feet and powerfully built…as powerfully as the demons that haunted her dreams. She nearly flinched, then forced herself to stand firm.

I don’t know you, Miss Malone, he said softly, but I know your game. You think you’re the first to attack me? To accuse me of being yet another fraud who speaks of God to the public, but falls to the flesh in private? Think again, young lady. I am the Lord’s true servant, but that doesn’t mean I will allow your slander. This is your only warning. He pinned her with a menacing scowl. You’ll only hurt yourself if you continue to attack me in this manner.

So he meant to intimidate her? He was about to discover she wasn’t that cowed young girl any longer! Whatever do you mean, Reverend Knox? she demanded, pitching her own voice to carry clearly into the microphone. Threatening me seems like a case of ‘thou doth protest too strongly.’

His followers were focusing on her now instead of him, and he fidgeted nervously with his tie. Then he stabbed a finger toward the Devil’s Playground so abruptly that Molly instinctively jumped back. There’s the whoremaster! he yelled to his followers.

They all spun around as Walker headed calmly into his club. Most of them instantly headed that way, waving their signs and yelling scripture. Knox used their diverted attention to hurry toward his waiting Cadillac Escalade. Before he slid into the back seat, he spoke briefly to his assistant, who nodded and