The Demon's Deal by H D Gordon

Author:H D Gordon [Gordon, H D]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-10-16T23:00:00+00:00

This might have been the stupidest plan I’d ever come up with, but short of sneaking Sam into Cross Headquarters and having her hack their computers for information on The Project, it was all I had.

I tugged down the bottom of the skin-tight black dress for what seemed like the hundredth time, trying not to think about the pain devices known as high heels that were currently strapped to my feet.

I’d found the dress and heels at a thrift shop, and the former smelled slightly of cigarettes and what I could only hope was not cat pee, but it was all I could afford. And it didn’t really matter what I smelled like. I just had to look the part.

Riding the motorcycle over to Benton in the outfit had been even less fun, and the hoots and hollers I’d received from men passing by confirmed that I’d done a good enough job. I felt ridiculous, and the catcalls pissed me off, but I’d come for a much bigger fish than a couple of misogynistic assholes who knew how to whistle.

I parked the bike outside of one of the busier nightclubs, trying not to walk like a toddler trying on her mother’s heels. I’d come to Benton because women were still disappearing from this city periodically, whereas the bastards had begun to steer clear of Grant City, no doubt thanks to my efforts as the Masked Maiden. I would need a little luck, but I figured the universe owed me that small favor.

When I got to the entrance of the bar, I handed the bouncer my fake I.D., and he studied it closer than I would like. This annoyed me more than it should have. I knew he was just doing his job, but I was twenty years old, had no intention of actually drinking, and was likely going to die in about two weeks. I just didn’t have time for the nonsense.

So when he opened his mouth to question me, I pushed a good amount of my persuasive magic toward him, forced a smile and batted my eyes.

He unclipped the rope barring the entrance, and I was in.

I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth to keep from gagging at the scents of alcohol and sweat, and made my way over to the bar. When I got there, I ordered a Redbull and cranberry (a drink that looked alcoholic but was not) and busied myself by leaning against the wall, pretending to enjoy the music.

I waited until the hour got late, and was glad when I stepped out into the cool night air. Why anyone would come to a place like this willingly was beyond me. But this was exactly where predators would appear. I’d parked the motorcycle a few blocks from the bar, down a street that was dimly lit and more secluded.

I stumbled and weaved a little as I made my way back to the bike, pretending to take my time because I was drunk.

When my

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