Incubus Mini-Boss (Rise of an Incubus Overlord Book 2)

by Jack Porter

  And yet, it had fallen well short of my hopes and dreams.

  In comparison to Megadeath’s mansion, Chad’s apartment was little more than a hole in the ground.

  So, yeah, I couldn’t help but grin. My whole life had been about improving my status so I could live the type of life this house represented. I knew without any doubt that I would find a way in.

  But instead of making my way to the door right away, I allowed myself a long, lingering look at Ladykiller’s slim yet feminine form.

  She returned my attention. I thought we might continue our bedroom activities, without the time constraints this time, and christen Megadeath’s house in the process. But when she spoke, there was disappointment in her voice.

  “I have to go. Be careful. There are other hitters on the Syndicate’s books, and I doubt they will all think they owe you. There’s also a small army of thugs they can call upon if they want.”

  “You could stay a while,” I replied, but she shook her head.

  “I’d like to. But I have cats to check up on. And a grandmother.”

  I had to accept it. But before she could put her helmet back on, I asked a question. “What do I call you? What’s your name?”

  She hesitated for a heartbeat before answering. “Piper. Piper Rose,” she said.

  I nodded. “Can I call you if I need help with anything?” I asked.

  Piper Rose smiled. She knew what I was asking, just as I knew she didn’t owe me anymore.

  She nodded anyway. “Sure. Why not?”

  We swapped numbers and then she put her helmet back on, kicked the Kawasaki back into life, and spun it about.

  I thought she would take off back the way we had come, leaving me grinning like a loon at her departing figure. Instead, she paused. I didn’t know why until she pulled out a cellphone. She peered at it through her helmet, then looked at me and raised her visor.

  “Simon,” she said. “We have a problem.”

  Her expression was serious enough that all my internal warning bells started to ring.

  “What sort of problem?” I asked.

  “The contracts app sends me an alert whenever a new contract goes up. What were your girlfriends’ names again?”

  “Rachel Buchanan and Sandy Willow,” I replied, and it was like the cold fist of death was clutching my heart. I knew what Ladykiller was about to say and didn’t like it one bit. Nevertheless, I stayed silent, hoping against hope that I was mistaken.

  I wasn’t.

  “Two new contracts have appeared. One for Rachel, and one for Sandy. Both are open to multiple hitters, and several hitters have already signed up for each.”

  I’ve had sinking feelings before, but never in my life had I experienced one like that. It was like an avalanche had crashed down on top of me, knocking the breath from my lungs and stealing the strength from my legs. I had to reach out to steady myself on the hood of the Mustang, and the whole world seemed to be spinning.

  Shit.

  Fuck.

  Shit-fuck.

  This was worse than anything I could have imagined. That Dario Fucking Gambetti would come after me had been a given. But to come after the girls?

  How had the slimy bastard even known about them?

  “Simon?”

  I felt a million different emotions all at once. Fear and horror that I had inadvertently put Rachel and Sandy in danger. Outrage that Dario would go after the women I cared about.

  And fury. Pure, incandescent fury the like of which I’d never felt before. How dare he? How dare that fucking prick even think to threaten MY girls?

  Deep in my mind, I felt Azrael approve of my rage, and gently fan its flames even higher. At the same time, I heard him whispering that if the worst came to pass, even Rachel and Sandy were replaceable…

  Not what I wanted to hear.

  “Give me a sec,” I said. Then I called Rachel and Sandy at the same time, using my phone’s conference call option.

  Listening to the phones ring was excruciating. For all I knew, the contracts had already been completed. What would I do if they had been?

  I already knew the answer. I would go on a killing spree the likes of which the city of El Diablo had never seen. I would be like a revenging demon unleashed, and wouldn’t stop until I held Dario Fucking Gambetti’s heart in my hand.

  Chapter 22

  I listened to the dial tone with a feeling of sick dread and gritted my teeth, and the relief was immense when both Sandy and Rachel answered within half a beat of each other.

  “You are in danger,” I said without preamble. “There is a hit out on each of you. You need to get somewhere safe, and you need to do it now.”

  Rachel was silent as she took in my words, but Sandy was not. “There’s a contract out on us?” she said, and I caught the unsteady waiver in her voice.

  She was the most delicate of the two, and I couldn’t help but regret that her knowing me had put her in danger. And not for the first time. But Rachel’s next words chilled me to the bone.

  “I think,” she began calmly, “there may be someone already here.”

  “What do you mean?” I demanded. “How do you know?”

  “I work in an open plan office. I can see over the partitions if I half stand out of my chair. There are … people speaking to my boss. I don’t know who they are. But one of them looks familiar. I’ve seen their face before.”

  Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  “Can you get out of there?”

  If it had been Sandy, she would have been too terrified to move. But Rachel was different. She possessed an aura of calm that set her apart from most others.

  “Maybe. If I stay low and move quickly.”

  The worst possible outcome would be if Rachel ended up cornered. “Do it.” I said. “Get out of there.”

  At the same time, I was racking my brains, trying to figure out some way I could help. But really, I didn’t even know where Rachel worked. Sure, she worked for the Syndicate, same as I did, but the where was another question.

  The Syndicate may have been a criminal organization, but it worked just like any other. Rachel was part of the team that kept all the IT systems running. She could be based in any corporate office in El Diablo.

  In desperation, I shot a question at Azrael. “You got any ideas?” I demanded of my demon symbiote. “How can I help her? How can I help both of them? Is there something you can do?”

  I didn’t know what I was thinking. Not exactly. I just knew that there was a connection between all of us that was due to Azrael. It was a psychic bond that enabled me to see their demonic selves in this and let them hear Azrael when he spoke to me.

  I was just hoping it would be able to do something else as well.

  Anything else.

  “You could just abandon them,” Azrael said.

  “NO!” I shouted. Sometimes I forgot Azrael was a demon, and given to seeing things from a fairly demonic perspective.

  Azrael didn’t seem to like it, but he accepted my answer. “If I was at my full strength, it wouldn’t even be a problem,” he said. “I would lend some of that strength to the girls and that would be that. They would then be able to defeat any opponent, or they could simply fly away. But I am still far from being able to do anything like that.”

  I clenched my fists in frustration. I wanted to bellow at him in rage, but the girls were still on the line. “I don’t care what you can’t do. Tell me something you can do!” I demanded.

  Azrael continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Of course, we do have the points to allocate from Piper,” he said.

  Points?

  I knew that every sexual conquest I had effectively earned me a bunch of experience points, which I could dump into any attribute I possessed.

  Any attribute. Height, strength, luck, whatever. I’d dumped points into each of those, as well as, more recently, charisma, dick size, and more. But it didn’t stop there. With sufficient points dumped into healing, for example, I could be like Wol
verine and become virtually immortal.

  But how would me getting stronger help Rachel or Sandy?

  Azrael understood my confusion. “They are connected to me through their succubus selves, as are the other girls, and Piper. You can therefore use the points to adjust their attributes as well.”

  I can what?

  Suddenly, a world of possibilities opened up in front of me. Before, it had seemed like an impossible task, to help Sandy and Rachel from such a distance. But now … all things seemed possible.

  “Split the points between Rachel and Sandy,” I said. “Give Sandy a boost in courage, just enough to allow her to act when she needs to. As for the rest of the points, what do you think? Speed? Strength? Enhanced reflexes?”

  It was the same combination of strengths that had given me the edge I needed to become a hitman in the first place. It had given me the ability to survive in what had turned out to be a dangerous profession. At the same time, I wondered if luck would be better, or even something less tangible. Like maybe Determination or Viciousness.

  But Azrael’s response persuaded me. “It would appear that the threat to the girls is immediate, and practical in nature. The attributes you have named would seem to be the best option to deal with it.”

  I nodded. “Do it.”

  Then I turned my attention back to the phone, where Rachel and Sandy still waited. “Rachel, get to your car. I’m coming to get you. Sandy, you do the same. I’ll send someone your way as well.”

  “Who?” Sandy asked, and already I could tell that she was feeling braver. The panic in her voice had largely disappeared.

  “Ladykiller,” I said, glancing at the woman in question. She was looking at me with a curious expression, but she nodded her agreement. “Her real name is Piper. She will keep you alive until I can bring you to me.”

  There wasn’t much else left to say, so I hung up and hoped with every fiber of my being that Azrael’s gift was enough. The next few minutes would be telling as far as Rachel was concerned. If she could get past the immediate threat, if she could just survive long enough, then perhaps I could reach her, and prove to be the difference.

  Unlocking Megadeath’s mansion would have to wait.

  “I’m going after Rachel,” I said to Piper. “Can you get to Sandy?”

  The assassin nodded. “All the information I need is on the contract,” she said.

  I grimaced, knowing that every hitman who signed up would have the same information. “Do it,” I said. “Save her.”

  She nodded, but before she lowered her visor, she added, “I was wondering how come you don’t match what was in your file,” she said. “Now I know.”

  For a moment, I had no idea what she was talking about. But then I remembered. As one of my conquests, she could hear my conversations with Azrael.

  Chapter 23

  I was back behind the wheel of the Mustang before Piper’s taillight vanished up the drive. Beside me were the guns I had taken from the hitmen who’d tried to kill me. They included a matched pair of assault rifles that reminded me of AK-47s but with a more modern look, a sawed-off shot gun, and a big, ugly looking handgun that John Wick might have thought of as an old friend.

  I would have liked something with more impact. A rocket launcher or something. If nothing else, that thing would make a statement. But I didn’t know where to get my hands on one of them at the moment. Nor did I know exactly how to use one. And anyway, a mad dash to keep Rachel and Sandy alive wasn’t the right moment to try to figure one out.

  With a curse of anger, I started the Mustang, jammed my foot on the floor, and peeled away from Megadeath’s mansion to the tune of squealing tires and the scent of burnt rubber.

  “How the fuck did he find out about the girls?” I wondered out loud, not for the first time. The question bugged the crap me. Megadeath #4 and Dario Gambetti knew entirely too much about what was important to me. “How does he know so much about me?”

  Sure, Dario had that mysterious file, but where had the information it contained come from? Megadeath had only found the girls because they had been at my apartment when he’d gone there to kill me.

  The mighty engine of the Mustang roared as we thundered away from Megadeath’s quiet neighborhood and back into town. I had no idea where Rachel might be, although I thought maybe Azrael might be able to sense where she was. But before I could ask him, my phone rang again. I answered, putting it on speaker.

  It was Rachel. She had managed to get past the men who were after her and had made it to the car. But she hadn’t lost them completely.

  “Where are you?” I demanded.

  “Downtown,” she replied, sounding remarkably calm for someone in such a dangerous situation. “Driving down Apostle Boulevard, just past the cathedral. They’re behind me.”

  Apostle Boulevard was one of the main city roads of El Diablo. It was broad and straight, and boasted multiple lanes. Not the worst place in the world to escape a bunch of bad guys with guns, but not the best, either.

  “How many?” I asked.

  “I don’t know exactly. At least three on motorcycles, and it looks like there are a couple of cars after me, too.”

  Fuck. It sounded serious. Without even thinking about it, I nudged the Mustang into a turn lane and blew past the rest of the traffic as if it was standing still.

  If I happened to pass a speed camera, then the corpse of Big Bob was in for a hell of a fine.

  “What kind of car are you driving?” I asked Rachel.

  “A bug. VW Beetle,” she said.

  A fucking VW Beetle! I couldn’t see how she could possibly outpace a bunch of motorcycles with one of those.

  “Seriously?” I asked, hoping that she was just making some sort of joke.

  “I liked it,” she said, slightly defensive. “It’s pink. And it has yellow flowers painted on it.”

  I didn’t know what to say. In my mind, I’d always pictured Rachel driving something more somber. But it wasn’t like they designed cars for goth girls, and anyway, that didn’t mean she couldn’t be girly underneath.

  But a pink car with yellow flowers on it—could she have made herself an easier target?

  I didn’t think so.

  “One of them is pulling up beside me,” Rachel said, and this time, I heard the anxiety in her voice. “What do I do? He has a gun!”

  “Drive into him!” I said. “Run him off the road!”

  And then I heard one of the most terrifying sounds in the world. Automatic gunfire, complete with the sounds of broken glass and the screeching of tires.

  I cursed once again and tried to drive my foot completely through the floor, stomping on the gas as hard as I could. The mighty beast of car lurched as if I had used a cattle prod on its rear end, chewing up the tarmac as I careened through the traffic at dangerous speeds.

  But I had no intention of slowing down, not even for the corners.

  “Rachel?” I shouted at the phone. “Rachel, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” came her reply. She sounded calm again, calmer than me. “The bastard took out my side mirror, though. And there are bullet holes in the door. No idea how he managed to miss me, but he did.”

  I was cursing again. “You’re doing great,” I said to her. “Don’t let them come up beside you again. Don’t stop for any anything, not even the lights. If you can, take out the bikes. I’m coming for you.”

  I could hear the VW engine straining even through the phone, despite the ongoing snarl of my own. It sounded like Rachel was trying to weave and dodge through traffic. Yet she still managed to answer.

  “I’d like that,” she said, as if I’d asked her to dinner. “Please hurry.”

  I found myself nodding even though I knew she couldn’t see me. “Just stay alive,” I grated.

  We left the line open, with Rachel giving updates every few seconds. My car roared through the suburbs, but my knowledge of El Diablo’s streets wasn’t as great as it could have been. I knew the basic layout,
knew that I was heading in the right general direction, but hadn’t driven enough to really know the streets.

  Fortunately, Big Bob’s car came equipped with an onboard navigation system, which I turned on and did my best to figure out on the fly.

  I asked Rachel to give an update on her location and found she had turned off Apostle Boulevard onto a side road. I argued with the GPS for a minute or so until it got the message, and then it gave me directions in a neutral, feminine voice that was completely at odds with this mad dash through town.

  Nevertheless, I followed the GPS’s directions, and soon found myself bouncing through potholes deep enough to make me step on the brakes to avoid crashing into the side of a truck.

  But even then, I didn’t stop. With the GPS and Rachel working in tandem, I’d made it. On the other side of the truck, I caught a glimpse of a ridiculous pink car being followed by a collection of motorcycles and dark, formidable looking SUVs.

  I’d found her!

  I slowed down just enough not to take myself out of the game courtesy of the truck, and punched it again as soon as I could.

  “Coming right at you!” I shouted to Rachel.

  “About time!” she replied, her veneer of calm lost among the whining of the engine and another spray of bullets.

  The latter was more than enough to bring me back to full boil. How dare these assholes put Rachel’s life in danger! How dare Dario Fucking Gambetti mess with them!

  I didn’t slow down even a fraction, but gunned it even more, reaching for one of the AK-47 lookalikes at the same time as I toggled the automatic window open.

  Perhaps Rachel’s attackers expected me to veer off or slow down. Perhaps they hadn’t recognized the danger bearing down on them clothed in tons of black, growling steel. In any event, they were slow to react.

  My first spray of bullets did no more than attract their attention, and maybe distract them from the task at hand. But by then, it was already too late for two of the bikers.