Free Beelzebub Girl by Jayde Scott Page A

fantastic. At such a young age it's a major achievement. You must be very proud of her."
    "I am." Dad clicked his tongue. "She's carrying plenty of responsibility on her thin shoulders. To avoid any distractions, she's decided to move back home."
    Dallas's eyes widened as he turned to meet my gaze. Putting my fork down, I peered at him from under my lashes. "Sorry, I meant to tell you."
    He squeezed my hand. "No, it's okay. I don’t need a babysitter while you work."
    "Perhaps you could help out," Dad said.
    Dallas shrugged. "Sure."
    I glared at Dad. What was he doing? He knew well Dallas couldn't possibly contribute to our make-Hell-popular campaign. "I don't mind if you stay at the hotel and watch TV, or go to the beach."
    "No, I'd love to help. This is bound to be so much more interesting than getting a tan," Dallas said.
    Dad clapped his hands. "Fantastic. If you do well, I might even offer you a job."
    I clasped my hands in my lap, digging my nails into the fragile skin of my arms. "Please don't make any concrete plans. You know I won't be staying forever, and Dallas isn't keen on the heat here."
    Dad cocked his brows. "Really?"
    Narrowing my gaze, I pointed at the still half-full plates. "Why don't you get the main course while I tell Dallas a bit about the campaign. You know, to brief him in."
    Dad cleared the table in silence and left for the kitchen.
    Groaning, I started massaging my temples.
    "It's not that bad," Dallas whispered. "Things are going better than I expected. Your dad's—"
    "Shush, he can hear you," I whispered back.
    Dallas shot me his easy going grin. "Not unless he has super sonic hearing."
    "Let's just say he's never been a fan of headphones. His hearing's better than mine."
    The door opened. Dad wheeled the cart in, heading straight for Dallas's chair. "I hope you like beefsteak."
    "Sounds good to me." I smiled up at Dallas, only then noticing all colour had drained from his face. My gaze moved to his plate where a puddle of blood had gathered around a piece of meat as large as my palm.
    Dad slapped his shoulder, making Dallas sway a few inches in his seat. "Men like their steaks rare."
    "That's disgusting, mate. You should fire the chef." I jumped to my feet, reaching for Dallas's plate when he held up a hand.
    "No, that's exactly the way I eat it." I could tell from the panic in Dallas's eyes that he was lying, but I wasn't going to start an argument and emasculate him.
    Dad slumped into his seat and started piercing the rare meat with a kitchen knife that wouldn't look out of place in a military base.
    "Where did we leave off?" He bit into a bloody piece, red liquid trickling onto his white collar. His teeth seemed to chew forever before he finished and swallowed the thing down.
    "You were trying to scare my new boyfriend with your Dracula eating habits by sinking your teeth into a raw piece of meat like some ravenous werewolf."
    Dad grabbed a linen napkin and wiped his mouth, grinning.
    "Where are my manners? I apologise." Yeah, right.
    "It's okay," Dallas said. "I don't scare easily."
    But I did. Bile rose in my throat. I pushed the plate aside and took a sip of my water to calm my upset stomach before I ended up throwing all over the table. Dallas didn't seem to fare any better as he struggled raising the fork to his lips. How could he help with our project while being sick in the bathroom after Dad gave him E.coli or tapeworm infection on his first day in Hell?
    "You don't have to eat that," I mouthed. Dallas smiled and popped the raw meat into his mouth, almost gagging. The grimace on his face made me so proud. He'd go through all of this for me. It made me feel special.
    "Good, huh?" Dad said. "We usually have it once a week."
    I nodded. "Yes, we do, but most of the time it doesn't look like it's been just cut off a cow and the chef forgot to turn on the oven."
    Dad laughed. "Our Cass isn't keen on giving away the family recipe."
    "What recipe?" I mumbled. "You slaughter it, and then slam