Payable On Death: A Jax Rhodes Novel, Book One (The Jax Rhodes Series 1) (3 page)

I swapped out
the plain black shirt I'd worn at the shelter for a cut-off white tee with a spray painted red anarchy symbol on it. One of my favorites, the shirt was short enough to show a little stomach and cut low enough to flash just the right amount of cleavage. My tips improved significantly whenever I wore it.

The place was packed to capacity, wall to wall people, everyone drinking and having a good time. Completely clueless to the demons roaming the streets, just waiting to torment them and snack on their souls. I envied their ignorance. I wished like hell I didn't know the things I did.

One of the regulars shouted his order for two shots of Fireball over the pounding music and roar of the crowd. I mindlessly filled the glasses and set them on the bar top. The guy raised one, waiting for me to do the same. I clinked my glass against his and downed the liquor, savoring the cinnamon taste and slow burn. We slammed the glasses upside down together and he disappeared back into the crowd.

I'd made it a rule not to drink more than two shots a night—something I had to remind myself of more than once during my shift. Thoughts of demons continued to creep into my mind the rest of the night, souring my mood. Thankfully, none of the customers noticed or my tips would have suffered, no doubt.

Somehow, I made it through my shift. Exhausted and ready to crash, I grabbed my stuff from the employee lockers in the backroom. I also snagged a bottle of Kettle One, dropping some cash on my manager's desk. With a nod, he added the money to the drawer he was counting down and I headed home.

I made it a block before the first one crawled out of an alleyway on my right. The smell of sulfur hit me and I knew it was a lesser demon. The stronger demons smelled of burnt wick, like when you snuff out a candle, something I figured out a couple years ago. Useful information. It helped to know when to fight and when to run. I'd been running more than I'd used to, but I could easily send this one back to Hell.

I started to chant the words I'd used a dozen or so times to banish demons when I realized there was more than one.  Time to haul ass. Better to tuck tail and run and live to fight another day, than be ripped to shreds by a pack of lesser demons. I picked up the pace, practically race walking.

Until I ran into Lazarus.

By far the most powerful demon I'd come across, Lazarus smelled like ashes, like everything laid waste to the fires of Hell. Being able to smell demons was just one more perk of my deal with the Devil. The ability to sense them grew stronger every day. I took it as a reminder I was growing closer to joining their ranks and paying my debt to the Lord of the Damned.

Lazarus pressed forward, pushing me back toward the alley. "I owe you one, you little bitch."

He, backhanded me across the mouth before I could move. I stumbled away from the blow, swiping my hand across my mouth to wipe away the blood from my split lip. I'd made a mistake. Again.

At least I was consistent.

I'd gotten too comfortable with the fiend’s absence and let my guard down. I hadn't even been looking for demons when I walked out of the bar.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Lazarus came at me again, clamping his hand around my throat, blocking my air flow. I clawed at his fingers, trying to pry them from my neck as little black dots danced along the corners of my vision. I never should have hit him. Normally content to mentally torment me and haunt my every step, this was the first time he'd ever touched me and I'd brought it on myself.

I knew if I died I'd go to Hell. There'd been no calls from the heavenly host, no angelic herald visiting me to say all was forgiven. If Lazarus killed me, it was a one-way ticket to eternity in the fiery pits.

My survival instincts kicked into high gear. I wasn't ready to die and I certainly wasn't ready to give myself up to the Devil.

Reaching into my messenger bag, I fumbled though the contents until I got a hold of the neck of the vodka bottle. I yanked it free and cracked the thick glass over the head of the demon. The bottle bounced off his skull without the satisfying shatter I'd come to expect from the movies.

Nevertheless, the impact forced him to drop me. Gulping in air, I smashed the bottle against the wall and slashed out with the jagged neck. I missed, taking a sharp jab to the ribs in the process. Doubled over, still holding the massive shard, I tried for another strike, managing to slice Lazarus's thigh. He hissed from the pain, but didn't back down. He grabbed my neck again, slamming me into the brick wall of the building behind me. Close to blacking out, the ruined bottle slipped from my grip.

He pawed my body with his free hand, squeezing hard on my left breast before jamming his fingers between my thighs. I tried to knee him in the groin, hoping it had the same effect on demons as it did on men. He blocked the move, pulling his hand free and punching me in the stomach.

If I could have breathed, it would have been a sigh of relief. Lazarus was back to simply trying to kill me. I'd rather be murdered by a demon than raped by one. Resolved to my fate, I stopped fighting and prepared to meet the Devil.

The sound of footsteps and someone shouting reached my ears as I slid down the wall. Lazarus took off, disappearing at the end of the alleyway while the lesser demons scattered like wharf rats. I sat on the damp ground, surrounded by trash bags and overflowing dumpsters, and tried to catch my breath.

The person who'd been yelling reached the alley, their footsteps slowing as they realized my attacker had fled the scene. Grateful the guy passed by at the same time Lazarus was kicking my ass, I looked up to thank my rescuer.

He extended a hand to help me up, waiting patiently while I stared at him with my mouth agape. He wiggled his fingers, trying to encourage me to take his hand. Unwilling to trust his offer of help, I smacked it away. I've never believed in coincidence before and I wasn't about to start.

Dane didn't just happen by—he'd been looking for me.

"I'm going to file for a restraining order if you keep this up." I pushed off the cement and stumbled to my feet.

Dane reached out to help me when I swayed lightly. Refusing his offer again, I shook my head.

"You want me to take you to the emergency room? Get those ribs looked at?" Dane glanced at the arm I'd wrapped around my midsection. "You can fill out a police report while you're there."

"I'm fine. No hospitals, no police." Because when you tell people demons are attacking you, they didn't put out an APB for the assailant, they locked you up.

"I really think...."

"I said I'm fine." Far from fine, I gritted my teeth and slowly made my way out of the alley.

Of course he followed.

"Who was that back there? Who did this to you?" Dane reached for my arm, then apparently thought better of it. It could have been from the wincing in pain or the ‘don't touch me’ vibe I threw off. Either way, I was relieved he kept his hands to himself.

"You saw him?" It hadn't occurred to me when Dane showed up—if he saw me fighting someone in the alley, then he saw Lazarus. No one saw Lazarus. Not ever. So how did Dane?

"No. I didn't get a good look at the guy. I saw you go down. Whoever it was must have hauled ass out of the alleyway when they heard me coming."

I smelled the lie as easily as I would a demon. Dane had seen Lazarus, which meant one of two things. He didn't think I'd believe him when told me he saw a demon or he knew about the demon before he found me in the alley. Either way, he was keeping something from me.

The little warning bells went off again. A lesser demon was close. I glanced around, but the only thing out on the street besides me was Dane.

"Hey, whoever it was is gone. Relax, I'm not going to let anything happen to you." He slid a hand along my jaw, catching me off guard with the intimate gesture.

Apparently my brain had only one distress signal because the warning bells got louder when he touched me. I knew Dane wasn't a demon. This close, I'd have smelled Hell on him.

Still, part of me wanted to run while the other part wanted him to run his hands over other areas of my body. I ignored the warning for a second, closing my eyes and leaning into his touch. For a brief moment, I imagined another life. One free of demons, where I could have a future with someone.

Unfortunately my life
was
full of demons, demons who were getting bolder by the day. And that was what set off my internal alarms every time he was around, what my brain was trying to tell me. There wasn't room in my life for Dane. Or anyone else for that matter. Relationships ended one way. Badly.  I pulled back, my skin instantly cool from the absence of his hand, and my chest constricted. Why did I always want what I couldn't have?

Dane's disappointment when I stepped away was obvious. "So I guess you didn't get a good look at him either? He jumped you, did he get your...wallet?" He stumbled a little when he realized I didn't carry a traditional purse.

Grateful to be back in a safe zone, away from his magic hands and answering questions about my assailant, I tugged on the chain of my wallet. "If it was robbery, he was doing it wrong."

Dane laughed and his smile damn near did me in. I needed to get the hell away from him and fast before I made some seriously bad decisions. I started for my apartment, making it about half a block when I stopped short. Dane had to side step to avoid crashing into me.

"What are you doing here? You've been following me all day." My brain practically sighed in relief, as if to say
that was what the warning bells were really for
,
you idiot
. I'd remind my brain later I'd just had the shit kicked out of me so I was allowed to be a little slow.

Dane laughed again, quickly covering the sound with a cough when I glared at him. "The first two times were coincidence, I swear. When I saw you at the gym, a couple of guys tried to warn me off, not that I let stop me before. You can't blame a guy for trying, right?"

I simply stood there, staring at him.

"Okay, maybe you can. Imagine my surprise when I run into you at the shelter. I thought I'd get a second chance to make a first impression. That didn't go so well either."

I'd give him the gym but he still hadn't explained why he was at the shelter or outside the bar. I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting impatiently for the rest of his story. So far, I wasn't convinced.

"I went to the shelter to talk to Michelle. Of course you already know that..."

"And here?" I pointed back toward the bar. "What are you doing trolling around outside of Bad Decisions? Another coincidence?"

"Actually, no." He paused.

"Then what?"

"I'm looking for a woman who's been staying at the shelter—who
was
staying at the shelter. She disappeared about a week ago."

"You a cop or something?" I really hoped he wasn't. The city was ripe with corrupt politicians and dirty cops, the two combined vastly outnumbering the good guys.

"Or something. I'm a private investigator."

"And a very official job like that comes with photo identification right?" I took the ID he offered, looking it over thoroughly. I could spot a fake driver's license from a mile away. I'd never seen a PI license before, so I approached it the same way I would when I carded someone at the bar. It looked legit.

My head pounded and my ribs hurt like a son of a bitch when I breathed. I wanted some ibuprofen and a couple shots of whiskey. We needed to wrap this up so I could go home.

"If you think I had something to do with your missing lady, ask around. I'm not the type." I handed him his ID.

"Why would you assume I thought you had something to do with it?"

"You're not from around here, are you? The police aren't interested in some woman who took off from a shelter. I'm sorry to say it happens a lot. They wouldn't hang around outside a bar waiting to ask a person questions, just like most people around here wouldn't go talk to the police.” I shrugged my shoulders. “So the only time you see a badge is when they think you did something. It's not the most productive relationship. People in the city don't trust the cops and the cops sure as shit don't trust the people who live in the city."

"Not a fan of the police. Got it. Usually, the whole private investigator gig goes over much better—most women find it kind of attractive."

"Do I look like most women to you?"

"No, no, you don't." Dane's voice dropped an octave, his tone a little huskier than before.

He was wrong. The PI thing definitely worked on me. I just didn't want him to know that.

"Look, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying all cops, or in your case Magnum PI, are bad. I know a few who take their oath to protect and serve to heart. It's just not the norm. Do you have a picture or something for me to look at?"

Dane pulled a worn and weathered photo from inside his coat pocket. "Michelle said you volunteer a lot, that you might have seen her. She was staying at the House of Ruth, you know how it goes. People in shelters can be transient—something spooks them and they’re gone. I'm checking all the shelters in the area, hoping something will turn up."