Payable On Death: A Jax Rhodes Novel, Book One (The Jax Rhodes Series 1) (4 page)

She was pretty, the woman in the picture. Strawberry blonde hair with a rosy pale complexion. Bruises lingered on skin like that. I'd seen it before at My Sister's Keeper, but there wasn't any evidence of abuse in this photo. Maybe the picture was old or maybe it was taken when things were going good in her relationship. Sometimes abuse came in waves—things were calm for a while and then for one reason or another, all the anger and rage came crashing down. I'd seen that first hand growing up.

"When was this taken?" I don't know why it mattered. I'd never seen her before. That's all I needed to tell him.

"About a month ago before she took off. You're the first person to ask me that. She was confused, not abused. She went off her meds and split. Her mom and dad have been looking for her ever since. We got a tip she was at one of the women's shelters here in the city. I missed her by a day at House of Ruth. Somebody's helping her. She's not violent, even without the lithium. Just thinks she can see angels and demons. Can you believe that? Thinks she's some kind of messenger or something."

Dane’s disbelief seemed insincere.

"So have you seen her around? Sarah says you're like some kind of do-gooder, always volunteering at the shelter, helping people in the neighborhood, looking out for some kid. She figured if anyone else might have seen this woman around, it would be you."

"Wish I could help you, but I haven't seen her. I hope you find her." I looked at the photo one last time, the woman's face burned into my memory. If she turned up at the shelter, I'd try to help her. "What's her name?"

"Joan. Her friends call her Joanie. Here's my card. If you see her or hear of anything regarding her whereabouts, give me a call. That's my cell. You can call anytime."

"Thanks. I will." I walked away, only stopping to look over my shoulder when he called my name.

"Call anytime."

"Yeah, you said that already." I couldn't help the smile that crept across my face. Even half-turned away he would have seen it.

I walked home without saying goodbye, not wanting to encourage him further. Smiling at him did enough damage. Damn, was he hot and he was right, the whole private investigator thing just added to the allure. He had an edge to him, a little grit, and I'd bet anything he broke the rules whenever a case required them to be broken. I felt him watching me until I turned the corner.

I went back to my apartment. Alone. Again.

Sunlight beamed in
through my windows at the ungodly hour of seven o'clock in the morning. I'd forgotten to close the blinds, which meant Tyrone from across the street got quite the show. That insomniac tried to catch a glimpse any chance he got. Freak.

I got up to pee, kicking the empty whiskey bottle on the floor. I'd nearly finished it before passing out on my bed. I only drank myself into a stupor when the voices in my head were really loud. The run-in with Lazarus and then with Dane had put them in a fervor. My body hurt too much for the multiple conversations.

I needed the rest after the beating I took, so I slammed a couple Advil and polished off the whiskey. My liver was no doubt thrilled with my decision making. I'd almost made it to the bathroom when I remembered the blinds and the fact I wore only a bra and panties. I flicked Tyrone off and closed the blinds before stumbling toward the bathroom.

Showered, wrapped in a terry cloth robe that had seen better days and ready to face another day of my mortal damnation, I started a pot of coffee. While I waited for the heavenly brew to finish, I popped a couple more ibuprofen and replayed yesterday's events over in my head.

Why so many demons in one day? How was I able to fight Lazarus? And then there was Dane. A walking fantasy. And a whole lot of heartache. He'd get one look at my life, find out I sold my soul, and run as fast and as far away from me as he could.

He did see the demon, didn't he? Maybe it could... Nah, forget it. You've been down that road. You don't need to do it again.

I poured a cup of coffee and headed back to my room to get dressed. I needed to drown my sorrows in carbohydrates. Normally I preferred hitting the gym. After taking so many blows from a second level demon, I wasn't really up for a workout.

Opting for comfort, I slipped into an off the shoulder white shirt that came just above my thighs and paired it with black leggings, laced up my eighteen hole Docs, and grabbed my leather racing jacket. One last look in the mirror and I was reassured that most of the bruising remained hidden beneath my clothes. One shiner had started to form under my right eye. Concealer hid enough of the discoloring to prevent questions. I checked my pockets for my brass knuckles and telescoping baton. A girl in the city couldn't be too careful.

My usual table at Blue Moon Cafe was occupied so I settled for a seat by the window. I ordered two cinnamon rolls and a cup of coffee, laughing when the waitress said if she ate like me she'd weigh a thousand pounds. I told her being able to eat these was the only thing that kept me going to the gym. She topped off my coffee and left me to my thoughts, which of course were filled with demons. I couldn't shake the feeling something big was coming.

Like the night I met the Devil.

I licked the last of the cream cheese icing from my fork and pushed the empty plate away. A bus boy snatched it up as I polished off the coffee and set a twenty down. I didn't have anything on the agenda, no shifts at the bar or volunteer hours at the shelter. Nothing to kill time or stop my mind from racing.

I'd likely go insane.

Not a fan of padded rooms or applesauce laced with lithium, I opted for a walk.

Four blocks in, I heard someone screaming. Was this the something big I'd been waiting for? Ducking into the next alley, I took cover behind a dumpster, peeking out to get a better look. Two guys pounded away on a homeless man while a third filmed it on his phone. Dumb shits would have it uploaded within the hour.

Somebody needed to teach these assholes a lesson.

Stepping out from my hiding spot, I made the decision to fight. I'd be damned if I'd walk away and leave that poor man to three punks getting their jollies off hurting the weak and less fortunate, regardless of how crappy I felt. The Devil had already won. He just didn't know it.

I slipped the fingers of my left hand into the brass knuckles and flicked my right wrist to extend the baton. It reached its full length with a satisfying click. They turned at the sound and my demon alarm went off like an air raid siren. Hidden inside the bodies of the three young men were lesser demons. While the flesh and bone of their hosts delayed my ability to sense them, there was no mistaking their yellow, goat-slitted eyes.

Unlike the hellspawn wearing people suits, I didn't have unnatural strength. I hadn't healed from the night before. Scaring off two street thugs was one thing, taking on three demons beaten and battered was a whole other level of stupidity. Rather than take them on physically, I held my ground and began to recite the prayer I'd used to banish other lesser demons.

And that's when I realized they weren't lesser demons at all. And there were four of them.

The homeless man wasn't a man at all—well, not anymore.

Outnumbered and over my head didn't begin to cover my situation. I'd walked right into a trap.

For whatever reason, my marker had been called in.

Perhaps I'd made an impression that night on the overpass and the Devil decided he wanted the mortal flesh I'd offered in trade after all. He should have taken the deal before. There was nothing virginal about my body anymore.

Left with two choices, tuck tail and run or try to banish not one but four demons, I made the obvious choice.

"In the name of the Heavenly Father, I command you to leave these people. The power of Christ compels you. I expel you from the bodies of God's children and send you back to the fiery pits from whence you came."

The demons laughed, a dark and evil chorus of cackling. My ears started to bleed, the tiniest of trickles. I needed a real priest. Some of this I'd seen on Sunday church television, the rest I'm pretty sure was from watching the Exorcism movies.

"You don't actually believe you can send us back, do you? You have no power here. Or anywhere. God doesn't see you anymore. You gave up the one thing that marked you for Heaven. Forsaken. Though not by all.” The demons spoke in unison, the Greek chorus literally from Hell. “There is one who waits for you, wants you. He chose you and you chose him, just as he knew you would.".

"Bullshit." I repeated the prayers, a hodgepodge of made up lines and actual Bible verses, doing my best to condemn the demons back to Hell.

It didn't work.

"Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Oh wait, you can't because you don't have one.” They laughed as one, the high-pitched sound bouncing off the walls. “It belongs to our master."

It was time for a new tactic - running.

Their physical forms stayed in the alley. Their taunts on the other hand, followed me home. "If I die before I wake, my soul the Devil will surely take."

I sprinted back to my apartment, my cracked rib protesting the entire way. After that encounter, a normal person would probably run into the nearest church. Except I wasn't normal and the church no longer welcomed me. I'd tried, more than once, and each time, I'd found it physically impossible to walk up the steps. My feet felt like they were glued to the sidewalk surrounding the holy grounds. There was no moving forward, closer to the house of God. Only when I tried to back away was my mobility returned.

Forsaken.

So I ran to the only sanctuary I had. Home. It wouldn't stop the demons from following me or attacking me once inside. At least I'd be alone when they came for me. Away from prying eyes and the possibility of being institutionalized.

The rest of
the day consisted of an unhealthy combination of alcohol and coffee. One to drown out the noise so I could sleep and the other to keep me awake when the demons' words haunted my dreams.

They started the same, tangled in the sheets with Dane. I explored every chiseled inch of him while his magic hands roamed my body, leaving fire in their wake. I needed him like I needed air. For once, the desire, the desperation, matched my own. His mouth crashed into mine, kissing me until my lips were swollen. His fingers skimmed down my torso, tracing the curve of my hip. His grip tightened, pulling me closer, the swell of his arousal pressed against me. I arched up, my hardened nipples brushed his chest.

I reached down between us, the need to feel him inside me driving away all of my inhibitions. He grabbed my wrist, forcing my arm up above my head. Pinned beneath him, one hand firmly gripping my hip, the other still holding my arm, I willingly gave up control, practically begging him to take me.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss behind my ear. "If I die before I wake, my soul the Devil will surely take."

Startled by his words, I turned my head to look at him, locking eyes with the Devil instead. I tried to buck him off me, screaming when the transformation from my dream lover to the dapper and deadly being I'd met all those nights ago was complete. The Devil thrust forward, owning my body the same way he owned my soul. I cried out, tears rolling down my cheeks. The Devil lapped them up, savoring my pain.

And then I woke up, the sheets soaked with sweat.

The cycle of drinking to pass out and coffee to escape the nightmares continued until I was out of alcohol and I finally blacked out. The alarm on my cell phone woke me the next morning. After rolling out of bed, I zombie shuffled to the bathroom and guzzled water from the faucet. My mouth might have felt like a desert but my bladder still demanded attention.

I waited for the toilet to finish running before turning on the shower. The water pressure in my apartment sucked but at least it was hot. I stayed in until the water ran cold, unable to shake the dreams from the night before.

Wrapped in a towel, I made my way to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. I was scheduled for the breakfast shift at the shelter. I'd never been one to shirk my responsibilities but I was in no condition to help anyone. Afraid, for the first time in a long time, I needed to get my head together. I needed to go to the gym, the one place where I felt in control of my body and my life.

Coffee in hand, I went back to my room for my cell phone and called Michelle.

"Hey, M. I'm sorry to do this last minute, I'm not going to make it in today. Do you have someone who can cover me? I don't want to leave you shorthanded."

"Don't worry about that. I talked to Dane. He told me what happened the other night."

"You talked to Dane." I don't know why I repeated what she said except that anger had momentarily stripped me of the ability to use my words.

Who the hell did he think he was, talking to Michelle about me? Telling her my private business? I was going to tear him a new ass. Just as soon as I found his business card so I could call him. The nerve of that guy.

"Are you okay? I left you a couple messages. Dane stopped by to let me know he found the woman he was looking for. She's been admitted to Shepherd Pratt. Anyway, he asked if you were in, I said no. Then he asked if I'd talked to you. Again I said no.”

“Was that all he wanted to know?” The idea of his inquiring mind and her loose lips set my nerves on edge.

“He seemed awful worried so I asked him what was wrong. I just couldn't believe it. There's no end to the violence in this city is there? I've covered your volunteer shifts here for the week. Did you talk to the police? I can put a call in to Detective Whitfield if you want."

My mind kept drifting to Dane while she prattled on. The fact that he had a legitimate reason to be at the shelter did not excuse him running his mouth, gossiping like a little school girl.

"Jax, do you want me to call Detective Whitfield?"

"What? No, no. I'm fine, really. I just… I don't know. I just need a couple days to get myself together." And to figure out what was going on with the demons. They were too aggressive, too bold for me to be around the shelter. I refused to put anyone else at risk.

"Of course you do. Remember who you're talking to, Jax. I see it every day. You were assaulted. It's perfectly normal to take some time. You do so much around here, you're invaluable to me, the staff, the women we help, you deserve some time off anyway. We'll be okay until you're ready to come back. If you want to talk about it....”

"No." There was an awkward pause and I hurried to fill it. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be short. I'm not up for talking today. Honestly, I just want to hit the gym."

"You've never been much of a sharer, so no offense taken. Just give me a call if you need anything."

I hung up after promising more than once to call her if I changed my mind about talking out my feelings. I almost told her not to hold her breath, barely biting back the smart ass retort before it left my mouth. She only wanted to help. It wasn't her fault my crazy life filled with demons and the Devil had started to spill over into my attempt at redemption.

Of course, that wasn't really true anymore. Sure, I'd started volunteering to earn bonus points with the guy upstairs, hoping to win His favor and a little pull when it came to getting my soul back. In spite of my ulterior motives I'd grown to love that place and the people inside it. Helping those women, even just by fixing a hot meal, gave my life a purpose I'd never known.

I got dressed for the gym, cut off sweats rolled down below my belly button and a fitted tank top. After slipping on my running shoes, I zipped up my hoodie and ran to BBC. Mister Joe sat in his usual spot when I topped the stairs.

"Whoa, baby girl, what happened to your face? Where'd you get that shiner?" He grabbed my arm gently to slow me down.

I should have known he'd see it. Mister Joe never missed a thing.

Unable to tell him the truth, I lied. As tired of it as I was, I'd become quite adept at lying over the years. "Just a scuffle at the bar. Nothing to worry about. He got a good shot in but I got the best of him."

I must have convinced him because he chuckled. "I said it before, they're wasting your talents behind the bar. They oughta put you at the door."

"You know as well as I do that's not going to happen. There'd be more trouble if they did. Everyone trying to test the little girl playing bouncer?” I snorted and shook my head. “I don't want to fight every night. I'll stick to pouring, thank you very much."

"I still say you're wasting your gifts."

I gave him a pat on the shoulder, unzipped my hoodie, and made my way to the heavy bag where I loosened up muscles still sore from the beat down Lazarus gave me in the alley. None of the guys commented on my fading shiner or my stiff movements, both telltale signs I'd been in a fight and lost.

I wasn't on the circuit—my fight wasn't sanctioned and bragging rights only belonged to fighters in the ring. Street fighting wasn't permitted under any circumstances and that rule applied to all members of Baltimore Boxing Club, not just its prize fighters. Still, most of the guys knew where I worked and where I lived. They also knew my work ethic when it came to the gym and knew I wouldn't jeopardize my membership in a brawl under the JFX overpass.

I moved on to the speed bag, my arms finally loosening up. I welcomed the burn in my biceps. Sweat beaded up, glistening on my exposed skin as both my heart rate and my pace on the bag picked up. With one final swing, I hit the bag hard, sending it up and into the mounting board with a satisfying thud. A few of the guys looked over, sending an approving nod my way. Out of breath and in need of hydration, I went to the water cooler and filled a cup.

"I've been looking for you."

"Well, that probably makes you the world's worst private investigator. I'm not very hard to find." A creature of habit, in fact. Something I needed to change if I wanted to stay ahead of the demons.

Dane laughed, reaching around me to fill his water bottle. "I was hoping you'd wind up here. I figured you wouldn't take too kindly to me showing up at your apartment."

"So you admit to knowing where I live?" My breath hitched as his arm brushed against my exposed hip.

Water bottle full, he stepped back, my body instantly chilled from the absence of his heat and the cool air hitting my sweat-soaked clothes.

I turned to face him. "You know where I spend my free time. I've picked up a thing or two along the way. I know how to file for a restraining order. Why are you still here anyway? Michelle said you found your missing woman."

"True, that case is closed. Still, I was thinking of sticking around for awhile, maybe take in the sites." Dane took a swig of his water, eyeing me up and down over the clear plastic bottle.

"I can't imagine what would keep you in the city. You certainly haven't seen the best of it since you've been here."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I can think of one bright spot."

I couldn't help laughing out loud. "Seriously, does that work for you? I'm a bartender, remember? I've heard my fair share of pick-up lines and that one was weak." I had no intentions of scratching his—or my—itch. As much as I hated to admit it, a part of me wished he was serious. Part of me wanted what I'd been dreaming about since he found me in the alley.

Well, right up to the part where he changed into the Devil, anyway.

"Have dinner with me."

"I'm working tonight."

"Lunch."

"Can't."

"I'll make you a deal. Go a couple rounds with me." He pointed in the direction of the ring. "If I knock you down, I take you to breakfast."

"Let me get this straight. You want to fight me? For a date? After knocking me out? Are you going to drag me by my hair to your Neanderthal cave afterward?" His offer had piqued my interest and it was impossible to pretend otherwise. "And if I win?"

"I promise not to ask you out again."

"Tempting. I am a sucker for breakfast food."

Dane made his way over to the ring, holding up the ropes for me to climb through. What a gentleman. I walked around to the next side, stepped up onto the curtain, grabbed hold of the top rope, and swung myself over. That particular move took a lot of practice to master. I'd hooked my foot and face-planted on the mat more than once. Thankfully, this time I'd landed with all the grace of a prima ballerina and stood in the center of the ring, motioning for him to join me.

I bounced on the balls of my feet, shadow boxing until he slipped through the ropes and joined me in the middle. We touched gloves and began the boxer's dance, feeling each other out with a jab here and a feint there. He circled, I followed. He circled again. I cut him off. I'd spent the last month working on ring generalship, controlling the ring and your opponent. Dane was physically stronger, so I had to be smart. If I could get him in the corner or against the ropes, I'd have a shot of winning.

Did I really want to win?

The guys in the gym stopped working and circled the ring, ready to watch the show. I'd sparred with a couple of them so they knew what I was capable of. I had the home court advantage. Or so I thought. Dane made friends easily and the crowd split off into two corners. Based on the whistles and cat calls, I guessed his corner knew about his little wager.

He got a couple blows in to the body, careful to avoid the side with a broken rib. He was taking it easy on me and that irritated the hell out of me. I swung with a looping right, connecting with the side of his head just below the temple. He stayed on his feet in spite of his buckling knees. If the shot had landed a little higher, Dane would have been looking up at me from the canvas. Keeping my guard up, I shuffled to the right, lining up the jab. I took one step and the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back with Dane on top of me.

"What the hell was that?" I was pissed he’d cheated but I still appreciated the body pressed against me—just like the dream. I closed my eyes, afraid for a moment he'd morph into the Devil. When I opened them, Dane's beautiful blue eyes stared back at me, mischief sparkling in their icy depths.

"Brazilian jujitsu." All he did was smile but it rocked me to my core. "So, where would you like to go for breakfast?"

Thankfully, my brain still worked. "I'm not going to breakfast with you. Cheater."

"I didn't cheat. I said ‘knock you down’. Which I clearly did."

I thought back to the original wager. Shit. "This is a boxing club. Our ring is square, not an octagon. You want to use jujitsu, find a MMA gym."

"You should have stated those terms before accepting. You didn't. So, I put you on your back and now we’re going to breakfast." He had the nerve to wink at me.

I'd never wanted to kiss and punch someone at the same time so badly. The longer he stayed on top of me, the louder the whistling and sexual innuendos got. If I didn't want to have to find another gym, I needed to take control of the situation. He'd leaned in on his right elbow, still half-propping himself up with his left arm, leaving one side exposed. I coiled back, packing as much power as I could into the short right body shot. Caught off guard, he grunted with the impact, allowing me to roll him over and switch positions.