Chapter 30: A Little bit Country, Little bit Rock Roll
As they made their way back to the villa, Verosika couldn't help but notice a curious figure standing next to Stella. The imp was unlike any she'd seen before. He looked like a cowboy straight out of some Hellish western, but with a serpentine twist that made him stand out even among the eclectic denizens of Hell.
The imp was tall and slim, with pale red skin and a serpentine face that twisted into a sly grin as they approached. His bright yellow eyes gleamed with mischief, framed by dark green rings and black eyelids that gave him an eerie, almost hypnotic gaze. His hair was a messy, short-cut ivory, and a small black mustache curved above a mouth full of sharp, light yellow teeth, with a dull gold fang that stuck out like a statement piece. His horns were jagged, ivory spikes that jutted upwards, unlike the smoother curves seen on most imps. His tail was long and sinuous, marked with black stripes and adorned with eight red and black spikes at the base.
As they drew closer, Stella turned, a rare smile on her usually regal face. "Ah, there you all are," she greeted. "I want you to meet our new ranch foreman, Striker."
Striker removed his wide-brimmed hat with a flourish, revealing those unsettling eyes in full, and bowed low. "Pleasure to meet y'all fine folks," he drawled in a deep, honeyed voice. He was clearly trying to make an impression, as he took Barbie Wire's hand and, without hesitation, kissed it.
Barbie raised an eyebrow, her painted lips curling into a half-smirk, half-snarl. Few dared approach her with such confidence, let alone kiss her hand. She was the Harlequin queen of Pride, feared and respected in equal measure. For this cowboy imp to even attempt such a gesture... Well, it either meant he was a fool or had nerves of steel. Either way, it intrigued her.
"Stella, darling, you sure know how to pick 'em," Barbie commented, her eyes narrowing as if she were sizing Striker up for a kill.
Stella, seemingly oblivious to the tension, chuckled lightly. "Our last foreman, Bernardo, retired. He wanted to go back to serving the Hellavega family. But Striker here came highly recommended. He's quite the... versatile talent."
Striker tipped his hat to Stella, then turned his attention to Verosika. "I gotta say, Miss Mayday, that was some right pretty music ya put on tonight," he said with a smile that showed off his dangerous teeth. "I'm a musician myself, y'see. Maybe we could jam together sometime?"
Verosika was taken aback, not used to getting compliments from rugged types like Striker. "Oh, a fellow musician, huh?" she replied, a hint of flirtation in her voice. "Maybe I'll take you up on that, cowboy."
Striker chuckled, his tail flicking behind him like a cat's. "I'll hold ya to that, darlin'."
Meanwhile, Blitzø was eyeing Striker suspiciously, not missing the way the imp's eyes lingered on Verosika. Loona, ever the grumpy teen, was more interested in her phone than the conversation, though even she gave Striker a side-eye glance.
Dinner was soon called, with Striker stepping forward to announce that he had prepared a feast fit for royalty—or at least, Hell's version of it.
"I whipped up somethin' special," he said, his grin widening. "Grilled meats, fire-roasted veggies, and my famous 12-alarm chili. Figured I'd put some meat on them royal bones and city slicker bods." He gave a wink to Stolas, who laughed nervously, not quite sure what to make of their new ranch hand.
The group made their way to the long dining table set out in the villa's grand hall. The spread was indeed impressive, with the rich, smoky aroma of grilled meats filling the air. Striker was clearly in his element, playing the role of the hospitable cowboy, dishing out portions with exaggerated flair.
Stella, clearly impressed, took her seat next to Stolas, who watched Striker with a mix of intrigue and suspicion. The Goetia prince wasn't entirely sure he liked how comfortable this cowboy imp was making himself in their home, especially around Stella.
As everyone dug into the meal, Verosika found herself enjoying the bold flavors of Striker's cooking. Even Millie's family, who were used to Wrath's fiery cuisine, nodded approvingly between bites.
Striker seemed to be in his element, turning the dinner into a lively affair. He swapped jokes with Millie's brothers, charmed Millie's parents, and even got Loona to crack a smile with a snarky comment about city folk being too soft for real Hellfire spice.
"Careful with that chili, missy," Striker warned Loona with a playful wink. "It ain't for the faint of heart."
Loona rolled her eyes but took a daring spoonful anyway, only to cough violently as her eyes watered. The table erupted in laughter, even Blitzø couldn't help but chuckle at his daughter's misery.
As the night went on, Verosika couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Striker than he was letting on. The way he smoothly navigated the social dynamics, charming everyone yet keeping his cards close to his chest—it was a skill she recognized.
Barbie Wire, ever the skeptic, leaned over to Verosika and whispered, "He's up to something, mark my words. Nobody that charming comes without a price."
Verosika smirked, wiping her lips with a napkin. "Oh, I don't doubt it. But if he's got an angle, I'll find it."
Striker raised his glass in a toast, catching their eyes. "To new friends and fiery nights!" he proclaimed, his grin wide and inviting.
The table cheered, though Barbie and Verosika exchanged a knowing look. This cowboy was one to watch.
The dinner continued with a mix of laughter, banter, and a lingering tension that simmered beneath the surface like the 12-alarm chili. Striker had a way of turning on the charm, weaving his way into every conversation with ease. His southern drawl and confident demeanor drew curious glances from the others, particularly Verosika, who couldn't help but be intrigued by this mysterious cowboy imp.
As the night wore on, Stolas and Stella retired to their chambers, leaving the rest of the guests to enjoy the villa's sprawling gardens and fire-lit courtyards. Blitzø and Verosika, ever the night owls, lingered by the fire pit, enjoying the cool Wrath air as Striker sauntered over, holding a bottle of Hell whiskey in one hand and a set of shot glasses in the other.
"Now I don't know 'bout y'all, but where I come from, no good meal's complete without a proper drink," Striker declared, setting the glasses down on the stone table with a flourish.
Blitzø eyed the bottle suspiciously but shrugged, never one to turn down free booze. "You tryin' to butter us up, cowboy? 'Cause I gotta warn ya, I ain't that easy."
Striker let out a low chuckle, pouring them all a generous helping of the amber liquid. "Oh, I reckon I'm just tryin' to make friends, partner," he replied, his tone smooth as silk. "Ain't no harm in that, now is there?"
Verosika watched the exchange with a bemused smile, noting the way Striker's eyes flicked between her and Blitzø. There was something calculating behind that charming grin, a predator sizing up its prey. But she had to admit, the man knew how to play the game.
As they clinked glasses and knocked back the whiskey, the burn of the alcohol was both sharp and oddly soothing. It loosened the tension that had been building throughout the evening, and soon enough, Blitzø was swapping stories of past hits with Striker, the two of them bonding over their shared love of chaos.
"You ever take a contract on a real piece of work, just for the fun of it?" Blitzø asked, leaning back in his chair with a wicked grin.
Striker's eyes gleamed in the firelight as he smirked. "Oh, I reckon I've taken down a few targets just to see the look of surprise on their faces," he replied. "Nothin' quite like puttin' the fear of Hell in a fella before ya send 'em packin'."
Verosika leaned in, resting her chin on her hand. "And what brings a man like you to a place like this, Striker? Wrath ain't exactly known for its hospitality."
Striker met her gaze, unflinching. "Well, a man's gotta go where the work takes him," he said, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "And sometimes, the work ain't just about money. Sometimes, it's about... opportunity."
Verosika arched an eyebrow, intrigued by the cryptic response. "Opportunity, huh? And what kind of opportunity are you lookin' for out here?"
Striker's smile widened, showing off those dangerous teeth. "The kind that lets a man make a name for himself," he said, his voice silky smooth. "Hell's full of sinners and monsters, but only the clever ones get to the top. I reckon y'all understand that."
Blitzø snorted, clearly impressed. "You got balls, I'll give you that," he said, pouring himself another shot. "But don't think we're gonna let you waltz in here and start makin' waves without keepin' an eye on you."
Striker chuckled, raising his glass in a mock toast. "I wouldn't have it any other way, partner."
Just then, Barbie Wire sauntered over, her hips swaying in that dangerously alluring way she always carried herself. She slipped onto the bench next to Striker, her eyes narrowing as she looked him up and down.
"Y'know, cowboy, you've got everyone here eating out of your hand," she said with a hint of sarcasm. "But I ain't buyin' what you're sellin' just yet."
Striker gave her a charming smile, tipping his hat. "Well, Miss Wire, I do love a challenge," he replied, leaning in just enough to make it clear he wasn't intimidated by her reputation.
Barbie's eyes flashed with something that could've been either amusement or warning, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she took the shot glass from his hand and downed it in one go, never breaking eye contact.
Verosika watched this exchange, her curiosity piqued even further. There was definitely something more to Striker than just a smooth-talking cowboy, and she was determined to figure out what it was.
--
As the night deepened, the guests slowly drifted off to their rooms, leaving the villa in a quiet, eerie stillness. Verosika decided to take a stroll through the gardens to clear her mind, the moonlight casting long shadows across the cobblestone paths.
She wasn't alone for long, though. She heard the soft sound of boots on gravel behind her, and when she turned around, Striker was standing there, hands in his pockets, a sly grin on his face.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked casually, stepping closer.
Verosika crossed her arms, giving him a once-over. "Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing. You stalking me now, cowboy?"
Striker chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, just figured you might enjoy some company. A pretty lady like yourself shouldn't be wanderin' alone at night, even in a place like this."
Verosika raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the attempt at flattery. "I can take care of myself," she said, her voice icy.
Striker leaned against a nearby pillar, his eyes never leaving hers. "Oh, I don't doubt it," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But even the strongest phoenix needs to watch out for the hunters."
For a moment, there was a tense silence as they stared each other down, neither willing to back down. Then, to her surprise, Verosika let out a laugh, the sound ringing through the empty garden.
"Alright, Striker, you've got my attention," she said, a smirk playing on her lips. "But if you're planning on sticking around, you better be ready for one hell of a ride."
Striker's grin widened, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. "Oh, darlin', I'm always ready."
With that, he tipped his hat one last time and turned to walk away, leaving Verosika standing there, a strange mix of excitement and suspicion bubbling in her chest.
One thing was for sure—Wrath just got a whole lot more interesting with Striker in town. And Verosika couldn't wait to see what kind of chaos he would bring.
To be continued…..