But back to the matter at hand: finding Albert. Contrary to what Medusa and others thought, my job wasn’t an easy one. Getting the low down on escapees didn’t tell us where we’d find them, nor help us seize them once we did. To everyone’s surprise, I’d shown a knack for this. My dad said I had intuition. I called it dumb luck. Either way, I was really good at finding the souls who had somehow fled Hell’s punishments. And when it came to catching them, well, my years in the pit where to get ahead you sometimes needed to kick some serious ass, had taught me some valuable fighting skills.
I read over the notes again, paying close attention to Albert’s hometown and hunting ground, but I kept coming back to one nugget of info: the part describing the mother who sold her soul so Hell would take him early.
“Jezzie. I need the computer.” I shouted bringing my notes with me into the living room where she sat hunched over our laptop. Okay, her laptop, but we shared the apartment, so didn’t that make her stuff my stuff? In my mind it did. Of course, it didn’t always work in the other direction, but Jezzie didn’t seem to mind, most of the time anyways.
“Who are we looking for?” she asked looking up. For those who’ve never met Jezzie, and trust me when I say you don’t actually want to, she’s a tiny thing. She barely comes up to my chin with straight blonde hair, baby blue eyes and the nastiest right hook your face ever met. Just ask the last demon who called her sweet thing. He’d drunk from a straw for weeks.
I gave her the name of the mother who sold her life and soul. “How many kids did she have?”
Jezzie did her magic which involved hacking into databases which went beyond those the human government and police kept. Hell kept very thorough records of everyone.
“Got it. She had one daughter who died at nineteen. They found her body mutilated.
Another daughter lived and got married but died of an aneurysm in her thirties.”
“Did the living daughter have any kids before she croaked?” I was pretty sure I knew the answer already.
“Yes, one, a girl who is now twenty-one.”
Bingo. “I need her location please.” And knowing the bureaucracy in Hell, it would be nearby because even though they never gave me the answer, they always made sure to give soul retrieval missions to nearby bounty hunters.
I don’t know if she Googled it, hacked it or used arcane methods, but Jezzie found out where one Alice Smith, great granddaughter to the mother who sold her soul, would be working tonight.
And just my luck, she was a bartender in a downtown dance club. It looked like I might get to go dancing—code speak for getting lucky—after all.
But first I had to find the perfect outfit for Lady Kick Ass. Okay, still not the right name, but I hadn’t given up hope.
I paid the cab driver and stepped out onto the pavement across the street from the club where Alice worked. I stood in the shadows and surveyed the area, thinking. In or out? Where would Albert strike?
A long line of young, hot twenty-something’s stood in line waiting for the bouncer to give them the go ahead to enter. Albert with his looks would never make it past the gorilla—I would of course—but if Albert couldn’t enter the club, where would he lurk in wait? His previous method of operation always had him attacking near the victim’s place of work, hitting them when their shifts ended and they were headed home. Knowing this, logic dictated I check the alley behind the club which also had an employee entrance.
Dark and with less witnesses, it was a perfect spot for those wishing to indulge in nefarious activities, my favorite kind.
In this day and age though, even the back doors were guarded against the unwanted, not a label which applied to me—humble I am not. Another gorilla of a bouncer leaned against the brick wall beside the employee entrance, smoking. If I’d wanted in, I would have just walked up to him and dazzled him with my presence, but I didn’t want to go inside or be noticed. Besides, he wasn’t my type. I liked big and muscled guys, but judging by his package, he lacked the heavy equipment needed for true satisfaction.
Not my fault, I had specific needs. As a half demon, I’d inherited some neat powers.
I wasn’t just gorgeous, awesome and super sexy—not to mention completely shameless—I also had the ability to either be noticed or not, totally handy for the times when the situation called for a stakeout. But as a half demon and daughter to a demon of lust, my sexual appetite went beyond voracious. I just thanked my lucky stars I’d inherited enough human to skip the succubus gene. The thought of draining a guy’s soul while fucking him was a little too freaky even for me.
Calling on my demonic abilities, I blended into the shadows and made my way to the gray metal doors which marked the back exit of the club. The thug in the black t-shirt didn’t even look in my direction. Hidden, I did the most boring part of my job. I waited.
Damn, I hated this part. The vibrations of the music blasting from the club thrummed through my body, calling me like a tempting siren—a male one of course. It took a lot of willpower to keep my feet still, but I was on the job, so, hard as I found it, I bit my lip and persevered. I know, martyr material. Too bad the name Saint already belonged to someone. I could have really done something cool with that as my superhero name. A nun’s habit with slits up the thigh and…
I left off imagining ways to sluttify a sister’s holy dress when I heard the soft scuff of someone sneaking up the alley. The big brute at the rear door had just gone inside and right on cue, in scuttled Albert, my escapee from Hell.
I dropped my do-not-notice me glamour—when I was young I used to like imagining I was part Jedi—and cranked up the look-at-me one on high. I strutted with swishing hips towards my target, my curvy frame undulating hypnotically. As expected his eyes locked onto me, riveted by my sensuous motion. It would take a stronger soul than his to ignore my feminine attributes. I tried not to shudder when he licked his lips. His stay in Hell really hadn’t agreed with him. A few steps more and I’d touch him. Then wham, I’d invoke the magic which would send him back to Hell where he belonged and collect the bounty for his capture. Some shoes I’d placed on lay-away were counting on this bonus.
And that’s when he appeared. He dropped down from the night sky, an agile hunk of male who made my jaw drop for several reasons. One, he wore only a pair of indecently low slung jeans, with no shirt and no shoes. I mean who came to a fight barefoot? This simple fact distracted me and turned on my lust, which in turn annoyed me. Wasn’t there an unwritten rule somewhere which stated like most restaurants, shirts and shoes must be worn to a fight? If not, I’d start a lobby for one because the amount of naked—mmm muscled—torso displayed was waaaaay too distracting for poor little me, who obviously hadn’t received a good shag in a while.
The second thing which made speechless—a state my dad would have found amusing—was the fact Mr. Hunky gave me a masculine grin—a naughty one which made me cream my panties—and said in a velvety baritone, “Run along, sweetheart. I’ve got this.”
Me, one of Hell’s most successful bounty hunters, dismissed with a smile and a wave of his hand. His treatment made me want to tear his pants off and ride him like a cowgirl—I mean, he’d called me sweetheart, how hot was that?—while at the same time making me see red. I’m gonna wipe the smirk off his face. Then I’m gonna kiss him.
Then…
Caught in so many conflicting emotions, I’m afraid I didn’t react quickly enough and he took matters into his own hands— did I mention they were huge? He turned and gave me his back—which I’ll admit was almost as sexy as his front and which would have only been improved with a set of nail marks, mine of course. With an animalistic grace that would have put most predators to shame, he approached my target and engaged him in a slug fest.