**FiendPay is a direct subsidiary of Beezle-Bub Enterprises (herein referred to as ‘BBE’).

The customer (herein referred to as ‘the Soul’) acknowledges that by placing their order, they have entered into a contract with BBE.

When entering into a contract with BBE, the Soul agrees that upon delivery of their order, they are required to repay in full the value of the order (as determined by BBE) in four (4) instalments. The nature of the 4 instalments is at BBE’s discretion and may differ from Soul to Soul.

The Soul acknowledges that they are willing and able to undertake these repayments as requested by BBE in any form required of them.

Timeframes for payments will vary at the discretion of BBE. Should the Soul be unable to fulfil their 4 agreed instalments as determined by BBE, they hereby forfeit their immortal soul into the ownership of BBE for all eternity.

Jemma Bliss glared up at me, slamming the paper down on the table and leaping to her feet.

“She’s so feisty—I think I love her,” Beezle yipped.

“I’ll show you feisty!” she growled, turning her head towards the Hound. His long pointed black ears went flat against his skull.

“You can … you heard him?” I asked, shock robbing my voice of volume.

“Your odd little mutts aren’t the issue here. This!” She stabbed a finger at the paper. “This is an issue! You’re telling me that without me knowing what I’m expected to repay, or when … or flipping how … if I don’t make all four payments, you’re going to own my soul?”

My stomach knots were … knotting.

“Well, technically, BBE will own your soul,” I managed.

“And what are you, like the CEO of BBE or something?”

I shrugged, forcing a crooked grin to my face. “I prefer to go by Grand Poobah.”

“Ugh!” she groaned. “You are the absolute worst! And can someone turn the lava down in here before I treat you and your Hell mutts to a one-woman wet T-shirt competition?”

I scraped a hand down my face, my eyes instantly going to the two spiced girls her perky breasts were lurking behind.

“Unfortunately, the lava has a mind of its own,” I rasped, unable to look away from that particularly tantalising part of her.

“Mind of its own!” she grumbled, lifting the hem of her shirt to swipe a bead of sweat trickling down her forehead.

Pale, smooth, soft skin around her navel. And the swell of her breasts. Another inch, and her nipples would have been exposed.

I clenched my jaw. She eyed me defiantly, tucking the bottom of her shirt through the neckline and tugging it back down. The fabric cupped her breasts obscenely.