The Devil You Know (Ceasefire Series Book 1)

by Claire Marta

  The Devil You Know

  Ceasefire Series Book 1

  Claire Marta

  Edited by

  Betty Shreffler

  Copyright © 2018 Claire Marta

  Cover Design © 2018 by Alora Kate – Cover Kraze

  Formatted by Rave Designs

  Edited by Betty Shreffler

  https://bettyshreffler.wordpress.com/editor-services/

  https://www.facebook.com/QuillandInkEditing/

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this work may be used, distributed or reproduced in any manner, including photocopying, recording or other methods electronic or mechanical, whatsoever without prior permission from the Author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  The book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  The Devil You Know Playlist

  Coming Soon

  Author Links

  About the Author

  Also by Claire Marta

  Chapter One

  “I’m going to fuck your arse, sweetheart. You’re going to love my cock in your tight hole.” Overweight and balding, the guy shifts excitedly in his chair. Reaching out, he strokes my hair, lingering over the soft strands.

  “Oh yes, Daddy, fill me up with your cum.” I coo back, pouting red painted lips. “You’re so big and strong.” Smiling up at him, from where I’m knelt on the floor, I easily hide my disgust.

  He thinks he’s God’s gift to women. When really, he’s fucked a few hookers who have inflated his already over swollen ego. As marks go, I know tonight will be a breeze. The dumb schmuck was easy enough to find. Cruising for pussy down a well-known street wasn’t very smart. A little flirting and the sucker was mine. Now here we sit in a seedy hotel.

  The single stark light bulb flickers above. Faded cream paint on the walls have seen better days. Stained, flowery, worn threadbare covers are thrown over the bed. Someone tried to mask the smell of something unpleasant with some kind of room spray. This room is well used. A normal haunt for hookers and pimps. The perfect place.

  Tilting my head to the side, my red pigtails bounce with the movement. “Can I suck on your lollipop first?” Voice sultry, I keep just enough of the childlike wonder in my tone. Squeezing his chunky thigh covered trousers, I drop my glance suggestively to his crotch. Men are so predictable. Give enough attention to their dick and they’ll do anything you want.

  Adjusting the growing ridge in his pants, he licks his lips. “Oh yeah, wrap those pretty red lips around it.”

  There aren’t enough hand sanitizers in the world that would make me touch his micro dick. Luckily, I’m not getting paid to give him head. No, something way better. Much more my style.

  Easing up slowly, I give him a smile. The scent of cigarettes and stale alcohol cling to him like a disgusting cloud. Those are scents I am well acquainted with. Something familiar in my own daily life.

  “I’m going to make you feel so good.” Without giving it a thought I reach down for the blade sheathed and strapped against my thigh. I can barely contain my own giddiness with what is to come. It elevates my breathing. I’ve always been intimate with my needs. I have never had to deny them. My muscles tighten in anticipation. Before he can even move, I strike.

  Slicing the blade swiftly across his carotid artery, blood spurts free. It hits my face, warm, wet and welcome. Eyes rolling back in my head, I enjoy the sensation. Some may find me sick. A psychopath. Truth is, I am those things and more. I’m the bitch who puts down lowlife scum like this and loves every second of it.

  “You thought you were untouchable, you sick fuck.” I murmur, rocking back on my heels to watch his shock morph into realization. “But your good luck just ran out.”

  He won’t last long. With a major vein open, he’ll bleed out in a matter of minutes. Not that he deserves it quick. This monster likes to rape little girls. If I’d had more time, and a secure location, I would have taken my time enjoying this. Made him pay for each child he had abused and left broken. But the clients wanted this done without a fuss. Of course, I never promised that it wouldn’t get messy.

  I’m sure this was not where he envisioned his last few breaths. No doubt he thought it would be in the comfort of his own expensive bed. Old and dying, family surrounding him, untouched by the evil of his actions that have tainted the lives of so many others.

  Gurgle rattling in his throat, eyes wide, he presses a hand to stem the thick, red flow. It won’t help. My cut was too deep for anyone to save him now. Slipping from the chair, he jerks as he hits the floor. Blood pools around him already soaking through his shirt front. The metallic flavour is on the tip of my tongue as I watch the life drain from his eyes.

  Satisfaction sweeps through me. Fuck, I love my job. Other assassins do it for the money. Me? I do it for the buzz. There is nothing like getting bloody. Rubbing the sticky red between my fingertips and knowing it’s been pumping through my victim’s heart before I set it loose. Free of the fragile form that housed it. It feeds the urges lurking inside me.

  It always leaves me feeling powerful and aroused. A predator. My only condition is the target can’t be an innocent. That’s not me. I may be a killer, but I still have morals. Ones I never wavier from whatever the price I’m offered.

  Crouching low over the corpse, I clean my blade on his pants. Room service is going to have one heck of a surprise tomorrow. I would love to have been a fly on the wall when the poor person assigned to this room comes across this fucker.

  Rising, I re-sheath my weapon. It’s one of my favourite pieces. Something made by a friend. Handy in a situation like this and easy to hide.

  Checking my lipstick in the cracked full-length mirror hanging opposite on the wall, I see the red slash of colour is still in place. Crimson also decorates my cheek bones like blusher. My boob tube barely contains my tits. The bright, neon pink material is so tiny it’s like wearing a colourful belt. Black skirt falling to just above my knees, I’m thankful it covers my arse.

  The ten-inch black stilettos are my favourite. I can walk in these babies like a pro. Heels made out of silver and titanium, they are everything a chick like me could ask for as a handy back-up weapon.

  Adjusting the fire-truck-red pigtails, I rise to my feet. I’m a natural red head. Runs in my family. We’re more ginger than the darker shades which I generally use to dye my locks. Clear blue eyes stare back at me. No one ever suspects that under
this youthful, sweet face lurks a ruthless killer.

  Collecting my backpack, I head for the cramped bathroom. Although I don’t mind being covered in blood I can’t leave wearing it. That would be sloppy.

  Five minutes later, I emerge cleaned up in jeans and a figure hugging black jumper. My hooker clothes and my knife are stuffed in the bottom of my bag.

  “Mavi.”

  Deep as the rumble of thunder the voice rolls over me.

  “Fritz, what an unpleasant surprise.” Turning cautiously, I confront the owner.

  As demons go, Fritz is on the scrawny side. Limbs, long and lean, he appears more adolescent than a full-grown male. Beneath the shock of black hair, a pair of red eyes stare back at me.

  “This mortal was on my list. My soul collecting has been booming since you started killing for pay. I really need to thank you.”

  Fuck. This is not what I need today.

  “Unfortunate professional hazard.” I respond with a tight smile. “If I had known he was yours I would have let someone else take the job.”

  My butt is already in hot water from the last few times I unintentionally helped this bastard out. When my boss finds out I’ve added another one my life won’t be worth living. And it’s not like I tell him. Working for an Angel who knows everything is kind of hard to keep secrets from.

  “I liked the outfit you had on before better. Seventies slut suits you well. You should wear it more often.” He tells me with a grin.

  “Thanks for the compliment, but no.”

  Spending the rest of the evening talking to this idiot is not in my plans. Tonight, I have somewhere to be. Preferably, not in this paraphernalia or wearing anything left of my latest target’s blood spatter.

  “I’ll let you get on with whatever the fuck you do with the bodies.” I tell him, strutting towards the door. “Not that I ever want to know.” I assure him quickly.

  Demons are known for eating the hearts of those stupid enough to make contracts with them. Making a deal with a devil is the worst thing you can do. Your immortal soul goes straight to hell—a plaything for the damned and the king of darkness himself. But of course, no one realises that until it’s too late. The offer of having all your dreams comes true is something not everyone can resist.

  “I meant that as a compliment.” Fritz calls after me. “I really did like your outfit.”

  Was he flirting with me? Fuck if I really want to know. Maybe all the bloodshed turned him on. It’s hard to tell. Demons can be tricky. I’ve run into plenty in my time and ones not always as chatty as Fritz.

  Slinking out the back of the motel, I find my bike. Being the one who suggested this little love nest I knew where to leave it before getting picked up. The night is chilly. Shivering, I savour the sharp bite of the November air.

  A shower is what I need. Fresh clothes, then the rest of the night in the company of friends. What more could an assassin like me need?

  Chapter Two

  London sparkles in the darkness as my Harley purrs over London Bridge. This late at night the traffic is manageable. I don’t have far to go. Manoeuvring down some side streets I know like the back of my hand and I am almost there.

  A familiar tingle slips over my skin as I roar down the tunnel. Crossing over into the Under is something I am used to. It’s a place where fractions come to meet. A bubble cut off from the rest of the planet for those who got themselves caught up in the war.

  What war? The one for humanity. What the human world doesn’t know is we’re in a stalemate. One breath away from the end as we know it. Only thing holding back hell and the demonic forces waiting to rip all our arses to shreds is a rag tag group of misfits.

  I would like to say we’re those types of heroes you read about in comic books. The ones with the amazing pecs who have no fear and honour in bucket loads. Truth is; drugs, sex and alcohol fuel us most days. Paranoia is an old friend.

  Chances are when you play with life and death as many times as we do you might not always get to walk away. Honour doesn’t last long. Knowing a teammate has your back is a hell of a lot more important.

  Coming to a stop outside the ‘Black Penny’ pub I climb off my ride. It’s the first building in the row that makes up the street. Cease Fire, the one place stopping everything from falling apart. It isn’t much to look at in a town in the middle of a dimension whose name no one can pronounce. A cluster of shops, restaurants, and bars where both sides get to mingle. A place supposed to build bridges. As far as that is going I really have no idea. Fights are bloody and often. Someone always has an argument or disagreement to start fists or claws flying. We have one rule here. No one kills.

  Beat the fuck out of each other, maim, or anything else goes, but when you step away your opponent has to be breathing. The penalty for disobeying is death. It’s something never looked lightly on. With the flimsy treaty hanging by a thread, heaven and hell uphold this one law to maintain the fragile balance of this place.

  Boisterous laughter emanating from the front door of the pub indicates the party is already in full swing.

  Taking the steps up two at a time, I pause. Unzipping my leather jacket, I rake a hand through my lengthy red hair which falls to my shoulders. Jeans and a green t-shirt blend me right in.

  “Mavi, you’re late! Where you been?” Caesar yells over the song being blasted from the speakers. From his perched position on a barstool he beckons at me through the throng. His coarse beard peppered with grey is so thick it swallows the features that lay beneath. Only his green eyes and straight nose are visible. Hair no better, it hangs in a shaggy limp mess around his face below a tartan cap.

  The place is heaving. Seriously, everyone has turned up tonight and I’m surprised. We don’t have get togethers like this often. Funerals yes. Fun, not nearly enough.

  Squeezing my way through jostling bodies I manage to find my way to the bar.

  “I didn’t think you were going to turn up.”

  Accepting the shot glass he slides towards me I can’t help but grin. “And miss my own birthday party? Never.”

  “You’re fashionably late. I was starting to get worried.” The stool below him creaks as he shifts his heavy-set frame

  “I got caught up in work, that’s all.”

  This doo is the first one they’ve ever thrown me. It’s not every day a woman hits thirty. One big knees up and then it’s all downhill from there. Wrinkles, grey hairs, aches and pains. Everything that comes with getting that much older.

  Maybe my Boss, Gabriel, didn’t think I would last this long. Fuck, I never thought I would still be standing here after four long years of battle. Maybe I’m still waiting for my luck to run out. I know I’m never going to live to a ripe old age. Most likely my death will either be something slow and painful or one I don’t see coming.

  That’s why I enjoy life in the now. Ring out all the pleasure I can before I go blazing out in a hail of bullets and hellfire.

  “Where’s Leo and Snatch?” Downing the alcohol, it burns the back of my throat. With the good mood I’m in we’re going to need a truck load more. Tonight, I am going to have a blast. Get drunk and find some cock, that’s my plan.

  “Last time I saw Leo he was banging some guy in the men’s toilets.” Caesar tells me as he fiddles with the desert eagle next to his glass. “Snatch was having an episode out back, but the Boss was sorting him out.”

  “A typical night out with the lads then.”

  This isn’t shocking. My team are all fucked one way or another. Caesar is a high-tech weapons expert. One of the best in the business. The fact he doesn’t ever like to be touched doesn’t always go over well. Especially if he manages to get himself shot or electrocuted. Hard to give someone first aid when they scream at you that your touch burns. Is it true? To him it is and that’s all that matters. If we can help it, we avoid contact.

  Leo is our telekinetic. He can move any object just by focusing his mind. A gift he was born with. One he struggled with during his youth al
ong with his sexuality. It’s why he hit the bottle. When he’s inebriated it loosens him up. Problem is he doesn’t know when to stop. Drunk most of the time, he can be a danger to himself as well as those around him when he can’t control his powers. When he’s sober, which is not often, he works like a dream.

  Then there’s Snatch. Cursed with being a sensitive he can see a supernatural for what they truly are. No disguise or glamour stops his sight. His life has been a never-ending visit to psychiatric hospitals. No one knew what he was seeing was real until Gabriel picked him up. By then it was already too late. Addicted to drugs, the highs and hallucination became his norm. He’s so fucked in the head he doesn’t even remember his real name. Now, it’s not easy for him to be sure what he sees is the truth. Most of the time we have to pick apart his reality from fantasy. Deal with his panic attacks.

  Lastly there is me. Mavi StClair. Assassin extraordinaire. I was ten when my mother decided to abandon me at my uncle’s. He was the one who showed me his family business. Strangely, it didn’t give me nightmares. Blood had always drawn me. I was always getting into fights at school with bullies bigger than me, unlike my brother, who was the quiet one. I guess it wasn’t surprising. I was never the one left in a bloody mess. Expulsion was mostly how I was dealt with. A problem child. I’d taken my first life that same year. One I don’t regret even to this day, because I ended a monster who tore our family apart. Consequences we still live with.