Holy Socks and Dirtier Demons (v1.1) (clean fmt) Read online

  “Okay, here’s the deal.” Hades hung up the phone and leaned over the bar, his hellish breath fogging my eyeballs. “Go to the Core tonight at ten.”

  The Core, a dance club downtown owned by a semi-famous bad-boy, catered to the city’s elite. “The Core. Got it.” I nodded as if I had it under control but what I was really thinking was, how the fuck am I going to get inside?

  “Take a seat at the third table from the bar on the north side.” Hades glared at the angel. “Go alone and wear a suit.”

  “Suit. Got it.” A suit? Shit.

  Hades smirked, showing sparkling canines. “You might wanna shower too. You smell pretty ripe.”

  Nice. The God of the Underworld said I stunk, as if being around him was a picnic. I sniffed at my sweatshirt. Yeah, I could use a shower. A haircut too, I thought, glancing at myself in the rose-colored mirror behind the bar.

  “I know a great hairdresser,” the angel said, reading my mind. “Oh, and I have the perfect style in mind.”

  I closed my eyes. This was going to be a long day.

  ~ * ~

  Hours later, I realized how right I’d been after spending the afternoon scouring the neighborhoods for the kid. I questioned addicts, dealers, hookers, and pimps. No one had seen anything.

  The angel wasn’t helping either. He was busy flipping through a Men’s Health magazine. Research, he told me, when I smacked him in the back of the head and asked. I shook my head. The end of the world neared, and he wasted time reading about four ways to check his prostate.

  By nine, I just wanted to find the kid and take a long nap. Instead, I found myself dressing in a borrowed Armani suit. I tugged at the collar and stared into the mirror with disgust. The sleeves of the suit jacket were about an inch short and stained with a greasy, wax-like substance.

  The angel stood next to me rubbing at the spot with a look of repulsion. “There are a thousand places to rent a suit in this city and you have to go to Bob’s Bargain Barn.”

  “He gave me a good deal.”

  The angel closed his eyes, probably praying for patience. “A deal? This suit is off a dead man. He rented you a funeral suit. God knows what this stain is.” The angel’s hand flew to his mouth.

  I laughed, yanking at the collar. “Bob swore it was strawberry jam.”

  “And you trusted him?”

  I shrugged, not caring one way or the other. “As long as it gets me inside the Core, I don’t care what’s on the sleeve.”

  Four

  Shifting from one foot to the other, I waited in a never-ending line outside the club. The doorman, an ape looking guy with a ridged brow lines and a flat forehead, inspected desperate patrons. With a raised eyebrow and a sharp word, he turned away fashionably dressed rich people. I glanced at my scuffed boots and too short slacks. I had no chance in hell of getting in.

  Plan B.

  I caressed my nine-millimeter, concealed in a shoulder holster underneath my jacket, and waited my turn. If he wouldn’t let me in, I’d shoot either him or myself.

  “Hilton. Paris,” a cheap looking blonde two people ahead of me told the doorman. Ape-man checked a clipboard in his hand and nodded. “Top of the list, Ms. Hilton. Enjoy your stay.” He unhooked the velvet rope and gestured for her to go inside. She entered, disappearing in a burst of fake flames and smoke.

  I turned to the angel, who had taken my advice for the first time and stayed invisible. “Put me on that list.”

  “No.” The angel huffed, still angry we’d left before the O.C. ended.

  “Do it or else I’ll stop stealing cable from the neighbors.”

  The doorman allowed the couple in front of me inside. I stepped up to the plate. “Jace Miller.”

  The ape searched his list and shook his head. A single coarse hair on his clean-shaven chin jiggled, mocking me. “Sorry, if you ain’t on the list, you ain’t gettin in.”

  I glared at the angel. “How about…” I lowered my voice.

  “Nemamiah.”

  The bouncer froze. “Did you say Nemamiah?”

  I nodded.

  “Sorry, nope.”

  My muscles coiled, ready to spring. “Don’t fuck with me.”

  “Yeah, what are you gonna do about it?” Ape-man flexed his overly developed physique. He outweighed me by forty pounds, and had four inches on my own six-feet, but I wasn’t worried. I needed to get inside that club and nobody would stop me.

  Grabbing his forearm, I pressed my thumb into the soft flesh of his elbow. He flinched, his body tensing. It wasn’t lethal force, but from past experience, I knew it hurt like hell. “I’ve had a really bad day. So either let me inside, or I’m going to kick the shit out of you. Your choice.”

  Maybe it was the slant of my jaw, or the numbness radiating up his arm, but either way, his attitude changed. He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Miller?” He ran his finger down his clipboard, his eyes wide with surprise. “Here it is. N. Miller.”

  My eyes followed his finger, and damn if N. Miller wasn’t written in an angelic chicken scratch. “Thanks.”

  As quickly as I grabbed Ape-man’s arm, I released him, sending him flying back two steps into the faded brick exterior of the building. I grinned, and pushed past the velvet rope and faux flame to enter the club. My nostrils wrinkled at the sudden stench of sweat, sulfur, and skin. The angel followed behind me, keeping to the shadows, which was odd since no one could see him anyway.

  As my eyes adjusted to the darkened room, I glanced around, taking careful note of the exits. It paid to be prepared. Under a flash of red lights timed to the thump of overhead speakers, pale, thin bodies of coked up models and their rich, cokehead boyfriends swayed.

  The club itself was nice enough with lots of chrome and exposed brick. A few tables offered a semblance of privacy, as did the VIP alcove. A bar ran along the back wall. Outrageously expensive bottles of liquor lined the back bar while bartenders dressed in black poured watered-down varieties of cheaper fare.

  A dreadlocked DJ spun ear piercing drum and bass beats. Maybe I was just too old, but each song sounded the same. Thump, thump, beat, beat, thump, thump. Yawn.

  Leather skirted girls maneuvered through the crowd carrying trays of multi-colored drinks. Whatever happened to plain old whiskey, vodka, or gin?

  From the bar, I counted off three tables. A reserved sign sat on top the last one. I walked toward it, searching the club for Bogart or Kojak. What did a supernatural detective look like?

  My gaze locked on the owner of the club who lounged in the VIP section, sipping Crystal. I doubted the bartender watered down his drink. Mr. Big wore a red velvet sweat suit, and enough gold to give Fort Knox a complex, but he was nothing more than a pretty-bad-boy with bleached white hair, bleached white teeth, and enough laundered money to open his own chain of dry cleaners. Poor little rich boy.

  Bodyguards and young groupies hung on Mr. Big’s every word like the Sermon on the Mount. The bodyguards mimicked the club look in an array of similarly colored suits, chains, and guns. They reminded me of a pathetic boy band without the non-threatening sexuality. Not-So-N-Synched.

  I sat at my table and waved my hand to get the waitress’ attention.

  She ignored me. Must be my suit.

  “I do not like this place.” The angel stood over me, breathing his horrific angel breath down my neck.

  “Yeah, I’m not a fan either.” I brushed away a glob of angelic spit. “I probably can’t afford one drink. But this might be as close to rich and famous as I’ll ever get.”

  “Rich yes, infamous….” The angel shrugged.

  “What does that mean?” That sounded like a threat. Did the angel know something?

  The sudden scent of sulfur and tobacco filled my nostrils and a flash of heat rose up my spine as a raven-haired woman wrapped her tattooed arms around my neck. Her lips, soft and tasting like sin, pressed against mine. The smoke from the cigarette in her hand curled around us, trapping me in her embrace.

  For a few
seconds I did nothing. Then my brain kicked in. A beautiful woman sucked on my tongue. Do something, my mind ordered. My body caught up quick enough, and my arms pulled her closer. The warmth of her breasts pressed through the cotton of Bob’s rental shirt. She was slick with sweat, as if she had been dancing, but she smelled of baby powder and brimstone.

  She pulled away as quickly as she had arrived. For some reason, I felt oddly bereft, like I’d lost something important. Her eyes met mine, glowing yellow in the dark club. A trick of the light?

  “Jack and Coke,” I said to break the tension.

  “I’m not a waitress.”

  “Damn. I thought the service was too good to be true.” I shrugged, giving her a slow once over. “So who are you?”

  She held out her hand. “Lilith.”

  I took it. Warm and soft, it fit into mine as if it belonged there.

  “Jace.”

  “So Jace, what did you lose?” She sat, shoving the reserved sign across the table and onto the floor.

  I frowned. “You’re the PI who helped Hades?”

  “I’m not a PI.” With a finger wave, she flagged down a passing waitress and ordered us drinks. After the waitress left, I touched Lilith’s hand to gain her attention. “So what are you?”

  “I’m more like a lost and found.” She paused, trailing a hand across the tabletop. “I help the lost find their way.”

  “And you’re good at it?” A shiver of awareness flickered through me, but I ignored the warning, and focused on the sex-goddess in front of me.

  “The best.” She licked her red lips, slick with saliva and Vaseline.

  “So again Jace, what have you lost? And more importantly, what will you give me to help you find it?”

  I examined her cat-like eyes, seeing a steel reserve under her feminine wiles. Messing with this girl would be a mistake, one that I might willingly make. She wasn’t beautiful like Mary, or even sweet. But there was something in the way she said my name.

  “A baby,” the angel said. “He’s lost a baby.”

  She smiled, her eyes never leaving my face. “I see.” The angel’s sudden appearance didn’t faze her. It was as if she had known he was there, and was merely waiting for him to speak. Which made me wonder if she was human or something from the other side.

  “Human, I think,” the angel’s voice echoed inside my head. “I can smell the blood flowing in her veins. It smells like rust, but not unpleasant.”

  Damn angel. I hated when he read my thoughts.

  “Your child is missing?” She reached for my hand, compassion softening her features, and for a minute, she was far more beautiful than any women I’d ever seen, so beautiful that the breath caught in my chest. Then it was gone.

  “Sort of,” I answered. A flash of silver around her ring finger caught my eye. Was she married? Did it matter? “I’m taking care of him… for a while.”

  “You adopted him? That is so great. I love when couples open their hearts to a child in need.” She smiled at the angel and then me.

  “What?” I pulled my hand from hers. “I’m not… we’re not.” I motioned to the insulted angel. “Oh, forget it. I need to find the kid.”

  “And I need you to answer a couple of questions.” She took a long drink from the pink concoction the waitress sat in front of her seconds ago.

  I nodded, praying the topic of God’s only son wouldn’t come up.

  “What’s the child’s name?”

  “Jes... Hubert Chr… Miller,” I lied, making up an alias. “He goes by J.C.”

  Her lip curled. “How old is he?”

  Shit, I had no idea. Did the Messiah age in human years?

  “Fourteen months. He was born on Christmas day.” The angel shook his head at me as if anyone with half a brain should know the answer.

  “I always wanted a Christmas birthday. Double presents.” Lilith glanced around the club, watching the dance floor. “Tell me about his biological parents.”

  Ah, she was good, using subtle, seductive interrogation, like an afternoon stroll with a hooker through Central Park. How to answer…

  Again the angel jumped in, “His mother and step-father died in an accident.” Which was the truth. They had died in a myrrh explosion at a small stable in Bethlehem. Who knew myrrh was explosive? Apparently, not the angel who’d placed it a bit too close to a candle. Mary and Joseph incinerated before his heavenly eyes, as did two of the three wise men. The third one suffered smoke inhalation and burns on his hands from beating out the flames licking at Baby Jesus’ bed of straw.

  “What about his biological father?” Lilith raised an eyebrow.

  “He’s very busy. Has a big important job.” I threw back my Jack and Coke, which tasted more like water and Coke. “I promised to look after the little guy until he can make suitable arrangements.”

  “What made him choose you?”

  Ouch, but she had a damn good point. For all intents and purposes, I was a complete and utter failure, even crazy if one considered the legal definition. “I have no idea.” It was the most honest thing I’d said in years.

  One of the owner’s bodyguards walked past our table, and Lilith took my hand. Her fingertips trembled as her eyes scanned my face. “How did you lose J.C.?”

  “I didn’t lose him exactly,” I began. “Last night, someone kidnapped him from my apartment while I was… occupied.”

  “You didn’t hear anything?”

  I shook my head. Whoever had taken the babe had been quiet, too quiet to be human. No sign of a break-in either. But I couldn’t tell that to Lilith, at least not yet.

  “Who’d want to take him?” She tapped a tiny, sexy diamond chip embedded in the side of her nose.

  I blinked, willing away the rush of lust. This was a tricky question.

  “Like I said before, his father is powerful. J.C. has a bright future.”

  She nodded, as if my lame explanation made sense. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  I smiled. “Nothing that matters. So you’ll help me?”

  “Yes. I’ll find the child for you, but you have to do something for me.” She stood and stroked my cheek with a metallic manicured nail. “Dance with me?”

  The music changed from a hard, heavy beat to a slow sensual purr.

  My mind said no, but the desire to feel her skin had me rising to my feet. I knew it was stupid before we hit the dance floor.

  Lights swirled around us. They bathed her in an eerie silvery light, highlighting the whiteness of her skin. Yellow eyes flashed as she pressed her lithe body to mine. My palms, damp with sweat, slid over the supple leather of her dress, caressing the fabric like flesh.

  She smiled, running her fingers through my hair and pulling me in for a kiss. Our lips touched, tentatively, two strangers meeting for the first time. She tasted like candy and cigarettes. I wanted more, but she pulled away, touching a long finger to her lips.

  “Do you like me or is that a gun in your pocket?” She brushed her hand along my body.

  “Gun.” I tugged her close again.

  She laughed, a pure sensual sound of pleasure.

  My body responded even as my mind warned there was more here than meant the eye. “What game are you playing?” My fingers brushed the ridged indentation of scarred skin on the back of her neck, tracing the scar, absorbing tiny electrical shocks sparking between us.

  “I ask the questions.” As quickly as the dance started, it stopped, and Lilith stepped away. She winked, blew me a kiss, and disappeared into the crowd. I watched until she vanished from my view before turning to face the hulking figure behind me.

  “The boss wants to have a word with you.” The hulk grabbed my arm and propelled me toward the back of the club. I glanced at our table, searching for the angel, but he had disappeared. Some fucking help he was.

  Damn, I was about to find out Lilith’s ultimate price. I hoped like hell that I could afford it.

  Five

  The bruiser twisted my arm from its socket,
forcing me through the crowd. The pain was severe, but I ignored it, having more important matters to attend to; namely, staying alive for the next hour or so.

  He pushed me through a set of double doors and into a dark storage area. The coppery stench of drying blood and vomit in the room promised a less than desirable outcome.

  The lights flicked on with blinding intensity. My pupils pinpricked, and I blinked until my eyes focused. Thick pools of brownish red blood stained the concrete floor. I was in serious trouble.

  The “boss” sat in the center of the room, picking his teeth with the tip of a switchblade. A typical tough guy with slick backed hair and an evil grin.

  I glanced around the warehouse, noting the one and only exit, twenty feet behind eight thugs with baseball bats and tire irons.

  Eight. Shit. I only had six bullets. Even though math wasn’t my strong suit, I was pretty sure that left two assholes standing.

  The boss stood, taking a step toward me. “What’s your name, boy?”

  Boy? I laughed. “Does it matter?”

  He grinned, stroking his goatee. “Not to me. Did you think you could come into my club, and touch my woman without a little payback?”

  “Your woman?” I smiled. “My mistake. I assumed she was a free agent when she cupped my nuts on the dance floor.”

  The first punch was expected. The second and third were a bit of overkill, at least in my mind. Blood poured from a gash above my eye, blinding me. I wiped it away with the sleeve of my corpse coat, my stomach burning with rage and bile.

  By the sixth and seventh hit, I had dropped to my knees. I wasn’t a pussy. Hell, I’d taken my fair share of hits since reaching puberty, but this was different. Something wasn’t right. I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back.

  It was as if some inhuman force had seized me.

  “Nobody messes with one of Samuel’s toys,” the closest thug yelled, bashing a steel pipe into my ribs. They cracked under the assault, puncturing my left lung. Blood exploded from my mouth, showering the boss, Samuel.

  I would die here. I knew it, and so did he. Had Lilith? Was this all some sort of setup to keep me from finding the kid?