“I can take care of dinner,” Mammon says, reaching for a baking pan. I smirk, ever the mother hen, even if he hates to admit it. He’s the oldest of us—only older than me by five years—so he was charged in raising us to Master’s specifications. He made sure Gore never quite got a grasp on reality, assured that Bel developed his dark sexual fetishes, turned Asi into a torture-loving fuck, and secured my position as a blood-thirsty killer.
