Mortal Blow: An Urban Fantasy Series (Succubus Hitwoman Book 1)

by Eliza Hendrix

  Some other vampire named Tyler Lorsan took over. What kind of vampire is named Tyler? It must be a new legal name. Either that, or he’s actually a new vampire. A babypire, which is doubtful—leaders tend to be ancient motherfuckers.

  There are countless leaders around the world, and each one reports back to the big guy… The king shit.

  Asmodeus.

  No one knows his last name.

  He rules everything, and Lucius used to report to him, which means Clock Dragon is involved in some pretty deep shit. What were they doing inside Rova Nightclub, anyway? If Lucius is trying to regain the throne, something big is about to go down.

  Should I be letting go of this? My specialty doesn’t include investigating Vampire Mafia affairs.

  I’m more of a kill and walk away kind of gal. Besides, I’m not even being paid for this.

  “Maybe I should drop it,” I say. “He obviously hasn’t spoken to the cops.”

  Drax shrugs. “Maybe not. But you might’ve pissed them off.”

  I scoff. “I highly doubt anyone gives a shit that Adam Shaw is dead.”

  He shrugs again—a careless, overly nonchalant move that makes me want to throw a pillow at his face. “Well, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. What if Adam was working for them? What if he owed them money, and now that he’s dead, he can’t pay them back?”

  Glaring at him, I throw the pillow.

  He blocks it with his scaly green arm and laughs—it sounds like an old gasoline-powered car failing to start.

  “Why are you making this so complicated?” I ask.

  This time, he shrugs a shoulder. “I’m not doing anything. You fucked this up, Alex. You should’ve killed the bastard when you caught him pointing a gun at you.”

  As much as I hate to admit it, Drax’s right. I left a loose end and now I have to deal with it.

  I make my way into the kitchen and start slamming cupboards. In the living room, Drax mumbles in a low tone.

  “Your momma’s crazy. Yes, she is. Yes, she is.”

  “Would you leave Mr. Mushroom alone?” I shout, tearing open my utensil drawer. Where the fuck did I put them? Next, I pull at the refrigerator door, hunch forward, and peek inside.

  Of course—in the fridge. Where else would I have put my brand-new wrist strap blades? Shoving aside a six-pack of beer, I pull them out and wrap them around my wrists.

  “What’re those?” Drax asks.

  Without saying anything, I smirk and snap my wrists downward, releasing the knives with a soft swoosh sound. To emphasize how cool they are, I kick the air and slice invisible demons around me.

  “All right, that’s pretty cool,” he says. “But where are you going with those? I thought you didn’t like using weapons.”

  Fighting the urge to glower at him, I retract the blades. The last thing I want to think about is what happened the last time I brought a sword to a fight. The kid was like a son to me. I don’t want to picture his severed head… Drax knows that topic is touchy for me, and before I have the time to say anything about it, he shakes his head and mumbles, “Sorry, Alex.”

  “Shit’s changed,” I say. “Vampires are involved, and I need better protection.” I pull off my dress, which smells like it sat in an alcohol chamber for months. Drax turns away as I search my apartment in my bare ass, looking for a pair of jeans to slip into.

  I manage to locate a dirty pair on the floor, along with a stained T-shirt.

  That’ll do for now.

  Really, Alexis? You used to wear Gucci, Prada, and Louis Vuitton. Have some class.

  Ignoring my judgmental inner monologue, I slip into my clothes and say, “Come on, let’s go.”

  His cheeks inflate, and he nearly spits the Pepsi out of his mouth. “Go where?”

  “To meet your friend,” I say. “The one who exchanges information for money.”

  When he doesn’t move, I give him my big Does it look like I’m joking? eyes and he hops to his feet.

  “Do you have cash?” he asks.

  I plant a hand on my hip and cock a brow. “Bitch, please. Thanks to Adam Shaw, I’m rollin’ in money.”

  Chapter 13

  ──────────

  “Check again!” I snap.

  The woman behind the counter cowers, her silver-rimmed glasses nearly falling off the tip of her nose. In a croaky voice, she says, “I… I’m sorry, dear. I’ve checked three times. The system doesn’t lie. You have a balance of four hundred and fifty-three dollars.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense.”

  Dragging a trembling finger across her computer monitor, she says, “There are several transactions here…”

  Drax clears his throat and glances at the lineup behind us.

  I slam my fist on the countertop and the woman flinches. “Listen, lady. I had fifty thousand dollars in my account last night. How the f—” but I stop myself when a little kid starts crying behind me. I lean farther over the counter, and the woman slides her chair back a few inches. “Explain to me how that much money disappears in one night.”

  She points at her screen again and says, “Well… I see a purchase here for eight thousand five hundred and seventy-eight dollars… Lunar Pub. Maverick’s Steakhouse… three thousand four hundred and seventy-eight dollars. Then you have several more—”

  “Just print me my damn transaction history,” I say, hovering a threatening fist over the counter.

  She nods, gets up from her chair with a hunched back, and walks over to the printer behind her. Returning, she pushes her glasses up her nose and forces a smile. “Here you are.”

  I snatch it out of her hand and her smile disappears. I realize I’m being a bitch, but I can’t help myself. Who in their right mind wouldn’t be freaking out if they found out all their money was gone? I quickly scan through the history details, but I’m too livid to absorb what I’m reading.

  So instead, I wave the paper in front of her face. “Don’t you people put daily spending limits on debit cards?”

  “Typically,” she says, “but you called us and asked—”

  Behind me, a middle-aged man clears his throat and says, “Could you cut her a break?”

  I swing around, fuming, and Drax tenses beside me. It’s funny how Drax is twice the size of this man, but he’s like a puppy—a gentle giant who despises any form of conflict or confrontation. That’s not to say he wouldn’t kill someone for me, but he wouldn’t enjoy it.

  “I’ll cut you a break, old man. I’ll cut your fucking legs if you don’t stay out of my business.”

  I wave the paper in his face, and he pulls back as if I’m nothing more than an annoying mosquito. Behind him, a mother slaps two hands over her son’s ears and gives me a death stare.

  Drax clears his throat again. “Come on, Alex. Let’s get out of here.”

  With nostrils flared, I glower at the man. I’m about ready to shove my fist in his mouth and tear out his intestines. I’m not proud of how angry I get sometimes, but when it happens, it’s like I lose control of my own body.

  “Alex,” Drax says, resting his massive hand on my shoulder.

  It’s enough to calm me a bit, at least long enough to rationalize that beating an innocent man senseless in front of a bunch of citizens won’t do me any favors. The guy didn’t even do anything wrong—he’s only trying to defend the poor old lady at the front desk.

  But when my Red builds, everyone becomes the enemy.

  Drax squeezes the back of my neck and I start to relax.

  Without apologizing, I storm out of the bank with my statement in hand. The moment we step outside, Drax steals it from me and inspects every transaction.

  “Are you kidding me? What did you do, Alex? Buy out the fucking bar? And what the hell are all these purchases?”

  I take the statement back, the paper snapping in the air, and crumple it up. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t have enough cash to see your guy.”

  But I remember something.

  “Drax,
where’d I put Adam’s watches? The ones I brought home—”

  “You came back for those last night, Alex. I have no idea what you did with them. You weren’t making any sense. I tried to stop you from leaving, but you know how you get when you’re drunk.”

  “Fuck!” I snap, punching the air in front of me.

  “Alex—” Drax tries, whipping out his deep, comforting voice.

  I raise a flat hand in front of his face and he seals his purple lips. Pulling my phone out of my jacket’s front pocket, I flip it open and dial Jamieson’s number.

  The moment his voice comes through the speaker, I roll my eyes. “Darling! I knew you’d come around.”

  As much as I dislike his arrogance, I could listen to that accent all day long.

  “I’m not coming around, Jamieson. I’m requesting another job.”

  “What for?”

  I’ve never requested a job—the agreement has always been that Jamieson calls or messages me when he needs something taken care of. It’s not my style to grovel for cash.

  “For money, Jamieson, what else?”

  Through the speaker, he shifts in his chair. “Love, did you not receive—”

  I release a noisy sigh through my nostrils. “I received my pay. Something happened and I lost it, okay?”

  “You lost it?”

  I can see the smug smile on his lips from where I’m standing. It’s not like this is a onetime occurrence. While I’ve never begged Jamieson for a job, I’ve accepted cheap ones more times than I can count to make my rent.

  He must think I have a gambling problem.

  When I don’t answer, he says, “You do realize that my current offer would alleviate all of your financial problems, don’t you?”

  “I’m not taking that job, Jamieson!”

  “Suit yourself,” he says. His Italian leather chair creaks in the background. “But I don’t have any other work for you.”

  “What do you mean—”

  “Exactly what I said. I’m afraid I have to let you go.”

  He’s toying with me.

  “Jamieson! I need money.”

  He pauses. “How much do you need, Alexis?”

  “Five grand.”

  He breathes out, and the sound of fingers tapping a solid surface enters my ear.

  Why is he making such a big deal out of this? I’ve been working for him for several years now. Can he not do me this one small favor? He acts as if money is hard to come by when the guy’s rolling in it.

  Five grand wouldn’t even make a dent in his wallet.

  “What do you need it for?” he asks after a time.

  “Information,” I admit. “I’m in trouble, Jamieson. I can’t talk about it over the phone, but I’m trying to get myself out of that trouble, and to do that, I need five grand.”

  “Tell you what,” he says, his charming voice resurfacing. “I’ll advance you twenty.”

  Is he messing with me? I’m surprised he isn’t being a wise guy and telling me to sell the crossbow I stole from him. Like he said, it was a five-thousand-dollar weapon.

  “Twenty dollars or twenty thousand?” I ask.

  “Thousand,” he says, matter-of-factly.

  Tilting my head back, I gaze up at the clear blue sky and close my eyes.

  While I want to be happy about this, I can’t shake the feeling that Jamieson is pushing me into a dangerous corner. He’s never offered me an advance before. The morning sun makes an appearance, warming my back. So I step aside and lean against the bank’s exterior building.

  “What’s the advance for?” I finally ask. “You have another job coming?”

  “I already offered you the job, Alexis. Take it or leave it.”

  With that, he hangs up.

  Chapter 14

  ──────────

  From across the street, a group of guys wearing bandanas, baggy pants, and guns shoved into their belts give Drax and me threatening glares. Turning away from them, Drax leads me down a small alley by the name of Petrie and alongside old wooden doors that remind me of the Middle Ages.

  The walls of the building are made of mismatched gray stone and reach several stories up. Intertwined metal staircases are attached to the walls. They seem to lead from one apartment to the other down to the alley floor.

  “Your guy works here?” I ask.

  “He lives here,” Drax says.

  He walks up to one of the units with a rotting door, no windows, and a cheap dollar store sign that says, No Solicitors. He knocks with a pattern, no doubt some secret code meant to signify he’s an ally.

  “Keep your head down,” Drax says through the side of his mouth. “And don’t open your trap unless he talks to you. Got it?”

  This is Drax’s territory, so I shut my mouth and do as I’m told.

  But the second the door opens, my jaw loosens, and I part my lips, thinking of at least a dozen jokes I could make.

  In front of me is an ugly rock.

  Well, a fae who must have some sort of rock ancestry. His eyes, two glossy black dots, sit somewhere deep on his horrific, deformed face. The bulk of his body, which comes up as high as Drax’s torso, looks like it was made using beach stones and superglue.

  With his soccer ball-sized hand on his door handle, he rolls his beady eyes up at Drax, at me, and back at Drax again.

  “It’s me,” Drax says.

  The rock man hesitates until finally, his face splits in half and hundreds of little rocks for teeth appear.

  “Drax! My man,” he says, his voice surprisingly high-pitched. I blink several times. It’s hard to believe that such a squeaky voice is coming out of something like that. “Come on in, come on in,” he says, gesturing at us to enter.

  When he turns around, I’m drawn to the triangular-shaped rocks poking out of his back and along his spine—if he even has a spine. They remind me of a Stegosaurus’s back. The moment we enter, he points at a small stone bench in his living room. “Have a seat.”

  Across from us, he pulls up a stool with a seat made of polished rock.

  Oh, for crying out loud. Is everything in here made of stone? What about his fridge? Is that some giant rock? Or, better yet, is it full of rocks? Am I going to be offered a rock sandwich?

  I sit down, the hard surface cold against my ass. Drax sits beside me, his elbow jabbing me in the ribs.

  The rock interlocks its fingers, the scraping sound making me clench my teeth. “How can I help you, Drax?”

  “Well, Georgius—”

  Rock man waves a hand. “It’s Kyle now.”

  “Kyle,” Drax says. “My friend here is looking for information.”

  Kyle’s creepy little eyes turn on me, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m tempted to open my mouth and blurt everything I need information on, but I do as I’ve been told and shut my trap.

  “Name?” he asks.

  “Alexis.”

  “Full name.”

  “Alexis Rayne.”

  “Sounds fake. How many identity changes?”

  I glance sideways at Drax. What’s this all about? What does it matter how many times I’ve changed my identity over my lifetime? He either senses I’m a succubus, or he’s that good at what he does.

  “Twenty-eight,” I say after a beat.

  He nods slowly and rubs his chin, a cloud of fine dust sprinkling on his lap.

  “You know the ways of the Underworld,” he says.

  Is he asking or telling?

  “I expect you to keep my existence private.”

  I nod quickly. “I won’t say a word.”

  His rocky brows move close together.

  “Very well,” he says, his mousy voice resonating throughout his weird-ass apartment. “Five thousand dollars is my fee.”

  “Yeah, after you tell me—”

  “Upfront,” he cuts me off.

  Again, I look at Drax, who doesn’t offer me much of anything. With eyes closed, he shakes his head as if to say, There’s no negotiat
ing here. Either pay him or you get nothing.

  Fuming inside, I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out the envelope of cash I withdrew before coming here. He reaches for it, his huge fingers barely able to open the envelope, and starts counting what’s inside. Finally, he leans the weight of his thick upper body onto his tiny knees. It astonishes me that they haven’t shattered to dust with how heavy his body must be.

  “What do you need?” he asks.

  “What’s Lucius Retnich doing back in San Halos? And who’s Veerka Vanmorte?”

  “My fee includes one question only.”

  Clenching my fists, I bite the inside of my cheek. Why is he being such a jackass? It’s two questions. Does he honestly expect me to pay him five thousand dollars per question?

  I cross my legs and lean forward, then squeeze my breasts so that they look larger. “Come on, Kyle… I’m sure we can work something out.”

  I have zero intention of fucking a rock, but that doesn’t mean I can’t work my magic on him.

  “Don’t bother,” Drax says, tapping my lap. “It won’t work.”

  Clearly.

  Kyle crosses his arms over his rock body and pouts, obviously unimpressed by my attempt to seduce him.

  So which one is more important? Lucius or Veerka? Lucius is now involved with Clock Dragon, who is directly involved with me. Well, maybe. It’s a risk I’m not willing to take. Veerka, on the other hand, is supposed to be my new mark, which sort of makes her the most important person right now.

  The only problem is, if Clock Dragon and Lucius come after me, there won’t be a me left to take out Veerka.

  Fuck.

  Kyle clears his throat—a grinding noise that makes me wince.

  “Who’s Veerka Vanmorte?” I ask.

  Kyle leans forward and smacks his hard palms together as if preparing to share a campfire story. “She’s new to San Halos. More specifically, she’s new to the management team, if you catch my drift.”

  “I don’t catch your drift, Kyle. I paid you five grand to give me everything you know—not beat around the b—” Drax nudges me and I stop talking.