Devil of Dublin

by B.B. Easton

I wasn’t letting anything take her from me again. Not even God himself.

“Wh-wh-why aren’t you f-f-freezing too?” Darby asked over the sound of zips and fabric rustling behind me. “There’s l-l-literally s-s-steam coming off of you.” Because I got one foot in hell, I thought, zipping up my jeans. Keeps me nice and toasty.