Hell's Rayne: Hell's Circle, #1

Prologue

Ididn't run, as a rule. You need to understand this. I didn't need run. I've never needed to.

A bounty hunter I may have been, but I dealt in secrets, aliases. They didn't run because they never saw me. I was just the girl at the supermarket, the waitress, the bartender. I wasn't important until it was too late. By the time they really saw me, they would see their own demise resting in my fingertips, and there would be nowhere left to run to. So, I didn't run.

But the grand plan had its flaws.

We were bred for a purpose, me and all the others like me. Cambions. Demonic spawn born to a human mother. An expendable vessel to share her blood, nurture our growth and expire once her purpose had been served. Hell would be our home, demons our only 'family'.

Human blood gave us shape and form, the ability to pass in the world above so we could do our jobs - to keep the fine balance of good and evil in the world from tipping too far in one direction and throwing all of life into chaos. Without one the other could not exist, and neither must be able to reign superior. It was all a very delicate art.

A demonic upbringing would shape our natures, nurture us to be ruthless, dispassionate, cold. We could not be allowed to feel anything for the souls we would sacrifice for their evil deeds, or corrupt for their goodness.

But human morality would never sit in silence. The taint of it in our blood would always fight, and the more time spent in human company would feed it strength. Our existence had never been an easy, seamless hybrid. But I felt the full brunt of an internal war with myself more than others, and I knew that neither side of me could be left standing tall in victory.

Chapter 1

The deep bass thudded through my ears and the thin, plasterboard walls shook from the reverberation of my neighbour's deafening dubstep music. She insisted on playing the noise round the clock - or at least she had ever since I'd taken up the tenancy in the flat next door. One solid week of noise and no sleep. To say it had made me grouchy would be an understatement.

I slumped over onto my back, the bedsheets a tangled mess around my legs, and groaned. I pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes, willing away the headache I could feel brewing, and I yelled back above the noise. Don't y'all ever shut up! Fry mah hide an call meh bacon! Ah cain't sleep through all of y’alls fussin’!

I don't know for sure if she heard me or not, but the music increased in volume in response to my complaints - typical. I let out a cry of frustration and hid my head under my pillow in an attempt to muffle the noise. Just a few hours sleep, that's all I wanted.

Screwing up my eyes I tried to find a quiet place, an imaginary retreat where I could shut out the world and just rest a while. This job had been taking longer than I had anticipated and the lack of sleep had started to wear at me. It had to end, had to end that night. But until then, just a little sleep.

A shrill buzzing suddenly cut through the air, drowning out the endless thudding of electronic base. I groaned again, dragged my head out from under the pillow and, with bleary eyes, randomly smacked at the top of the black plastic alarm clock, but the noise failed to stop.

’bout as worthwhile as a parrot with a throat infection. I muttered bitterly as I grabbed the clock and hurled it at the wall in frustration. The plastic crunched satisfyingly, and it fell to the floor with a clatter, the batteries rolled across the bare floorboards and hid themselves somewhere under the bed. Damn, now I really did need to end this job, I didn't want to go out and buy another alarm clock.

I dragged myself out of bed and stretched my aching limbs, trying to breathe some vitality back into my body. What I needed was the warmth of Hell and a familiar bed surrounded by silence in which I could sleep. But whilst my soul bounty remained outstanding I was stuck. Souls could be tricky, and the guy I was hunting was proving to be most awkward. I'd resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to intervene, give him the little push that he needed to poke a toe over the line, throw off the balance, so that I could swoop in and 'save the day' as it were. Sounded like a glamorous job on paper, the reality tended to be very different.

It must have been about 7pm. I couldn't know for sure, having killed my only clock, but I'd set my alarm for seven, due at 'work' for half eight. I'd taken a job as a bartender in the club where my target worked as a bouncer. Having to work another job on top of the one I already had was annoying, not to mention tiring, but it was necessary for my cover story - and the only way I was getting anywhere near to Shane. Needs musts, as the saying goes.

I wanted to shower before heading out. Normally I wouldn't bother, not before going to the club, that place was so smoke filled and grimy that I'd spend about an hour trying to rid myself of the stench once I'd returned to the flat after a shift. But, if all went well, I wouldn't be going back to that rat hole at all and I wanted to look my best for my return to Hell, or as good as I could look given the circumstances. Appearances counted for something everywhere, and looking like a human in Hell, I was already at a disadvantage.

I wandered the short distance to the broom cupboard that passed for a bathroom and turned on the shower. I let it run for a few minutes, vainly hoping that the water would warm enough to actually stand under, and took a quick glance in the mirror. A week on Earth and already I had started to look haggard. My cheeks were more hollow than they'd been when I started this job - demon blood or no, even I couldn't survive on a diet of flat, sugary soft drinks and coffee for long. The odd greasy kebab to sway the hunger was far from choice cuisine, but I couldn't cook, and the club wasn't paying me on a nightly basis. Tips would only stretch so far.

My raven coloured hair was looking lank and dull. A wash would help, if the water would ever warm up, but the colour needed freshening again, or perhaps a change, though I'd grown rather fond of the black. Dark circles shadowed my eyes and made my usual pale complexion look decidedly sickly. No, I couldn't go back home looking like death warmed up.

Gritting my teeth, I stepped under the cold spray of water and scrubbed myself down as quickly as I could before I got frostbite. Once I was done, and my hair smelled sufficiently of coconuts from my conditioner, I hurried out of the shower and dressed for another night at the club. Hopefully, the last.

I squeezed into the black skinny jeans with some difficulty. Whoever had invented those things needed to have their name on my list, Hell could find so many tortures for that person. They just weren't made for a woman who had some muscle on her legs. But it was the poor excuse for a uniform that the club had me wear, along with the red vest top that showed about three inches too much midriff for my liking. Still, it could have been worse, I felt lucky to have got a job behind the bar, the only other option didn't even bear thinking about.

Back in the mirror I applied my makeup, tried to make myself look a little more alive, and slipped in the dark brown contact lenses; couldn't be forgetting those now. That's probably the one remarkable thing about my appearance. My human mother gave me human form, but demon blood still ran through my veins too and it showed in my eyes - and the eyes of every other half-breed like me. Pure demon eyes are black, but something about the human in us waters that down, gives us eyes that are purple, like amethysts. Pretty, but far from human. The coloured contact lenses to cover these are the one piece of kit that I can't afford to forget with each new job.

I pulled on my sturdy, leather boots and grabbed my coat from the back of my lone dining chair. I was ready to leave but my lift to the club hadn't arrived yet. Determined to collect my bounty that night, I decided to sit down and review all the information I had managed to gather on Shane, my target, over the week. It wasn't a lot, but it was all I really needed to know; all the important gory details.

On the surface, Shane was just the bouncer at a seedy little strip club in North London, but that was far from the big picture. He was bent and twisted in too many ways to mention. Most strikingly he was known as a back-alley pimp without a care for his girls who he hooked on drugs and then sold to the highest bidder. More than one of his girls had died at the hands of their 'clients'. It was bad, but it wasn't enough to have landed him on my list, too much distance between himself and the actual crimes kept the taint away from his soul, not dark enough to tip the balance.

As it turned out, however, Shane was no stranger to death at his own hands. A peculiar fetish of his had thrown him up on our radar, Shane liked to strangle his girlfriends at the most intimate of moments. Trouble was, Shane also didn't know how to let go. He was always careful, the girls were never missed until it was too late to find their bodies, so he got away with it. But not for much longer, one more girl's blood on his hands and his soul would be mine.

All the stories really were true, evil doers would be punished in death for all eternity. It wasn’t mentioned in all the many religious doctrines for nothing. But they never quite get the whole story and, quite honestly, that's just the way we like it. Makes our jobs a whole lot easier. Or that's the theory anyway. Shane was proving to be difficult - or maybe stubborn was a better word. In the beginning it had appeared that he was going to be an easy catch. His kills weren't so frequent he'd started to draw attention to himself, but there had been enough of them and several months had passed since his last I was sure he was due another soon. But for some reason, over the week I'd been there, he'd developed some reluctance to take that final life, and it was slowing me down. Some persuasion was in order, I supposed it was time I earned my living.

A car had been honking its horn outside my window for a few minutes, but I'd become so engrossed in my sheaf of papers I hadn't really noticed. It was only when the yelling started that I realised what time it must be and just who it was making the racket.

Dahlia, get your arse out here now! We're going to be late.

I cringed at my choice of alias, it had been a rash decision on my part but honestly, I'd grown tired of being 'Sophie' or 'Louise'. It wouldn't happen again though. Unusual names tended to draw too much attention, which wasn't a good thing in my line of work, and I'd begun to wonder if that had been a part of my problem. Still what was done was done, and I'd learn from my mistakes.

Cursing to myself I hastily shoved the sheets of paper back into the small file I'd compiled and slipped it into the inside pocket of my coat. ah’m fixin’ ta be down in a jiffy! I yelled back as I stuck my head out of the open window and looked down toward Rosa, my lift to the club. Even from the first floor I could easily see the irritated expression she wore. Ah well, she could be as annoyed with me as she liked, I probably wouldn't be seeing her again.

Rosa was one of the strippers at the club, but, from the moment I had met her, she'd struck me as different from most of the other girls there. I never feared she would end up as one of Shane's victims, she could take care of herself unlike so many of the others who just reeked of vulnerability. Though, with Shane gone, their nights should be that little bit safer.

I shook my head at my appearance in the mirror as I passed on my way to the door. The outfit really wasn't a good look for me. I was nearly three centuries old, nearing thirty in human terms, and I was dressed up like a teenager. I sighed, not for much longer, that's all I had to keep telling myself.

I slammed the door closed to that little flat for, what I hoped would be, the last time and hurried down the stairs out to where Rosa was waiting for me by the curb.

You are going to get me sacked one of these days. She ranted at me as I climbed into the passenger seat of her rust bucket of a car. You may not need this job, but I do.

Ah know, Ah’m sorry. I shrugged at her, not really knowing what else I could say in my defence. Ah lost track of time. Mah clocks darn packed it in, an Ah ain’t gonna hear ya honkin'.

Again? Okay, that excuse is getting more than tired Dahlia. They won't buy it for much longer. And, what's worse, is that you're dragging me into it.

Yeah, fine, Ah ain't planin’ on bein' there much longer, I replied dismissively.

You've found a new job? Already?

Somethin’ like that, I smirked. If all went well, I could finally get to the fun part of my job, and then I could go home and get some damn sleep. I was more than ready to get this over with.

Chapter 2

We pulled up outside of the club about fifteen minutes after I'd stepped into the car. It wasn't that far away from the flat I had rented, hence my choice of accommodation, and I could easily have walked had I allowed myself a little more time, but Rosa had offered to be my lift to work from the night I started as I was on her route. The club was tucked away down a tangle of dark and dank alleys in the so-called 'red light district' and it always took a lot longer than it should have to get there.

The roads were so often blocked by cars and men trolling for prostitutes; it was difficult not to mow several of them down as Rosa tried to navigate her little car through the blockade. She certainly had a way with words too, never afraid to stick her head out of the window and yell at them to move their arses. It was funny, they never seemed to complain, nor have any kind of witty or abusive retort to throw back at her. The be-suited business men looked so horrified having attention suddenly drawn to them that they hurried away in their sleek company cars, leaving tyre tread marks on the road behind them. The rejected prostitutes would glare daggers at us as we passed, angry at having lost out on a nice chunk of their nightly earnings, but we paid them no mind; we had our own jobs to get to.

The neon light that advertised the club’s location hummed incessantly, like a swarm of wasps were lurking somewhere in the dark, as it flickered on and off. Occasionally it ignited the narrow street with an eerie red glow before plunging it back into pitch darkness - it was a wonder the place ever attracted any business, the broken sign was the only marker of its location, not a poster or even a roped queuing area in sight and the entrance was a single steel door set in a wide stretch of concrete wall. It didn't exactly scream 'strip club' at you.

As I stepped out into the dark street, the sign made a pathetic attempt at glowing then cut back out with an electric buzz; the humming stopped, and I could only conclude that it was completely dead. The dark didn't really bother me, Hell is a pretty dark place as I'm sure you can imagine, not a whole lot in the way of natural daylight - so good night vision is one of the perks of these demon eyes of mine. I slammed the car door, perhaps a little too hard just to ensure it stayed closed, and stepped up onto the curb to stand beside the steel door and wait for Rosa.

She, it seemed, was having less luck with the lack of light. After killing the car’s engine and swinging her legs out of the door she promptly tripped over the curb.

SHIT! SHE CURSED, stumbling up beside me and rubbing a hand over the shin she had scraped on the ground. A groan escaped her lips and she cursed again. I've laddered my damn stockings. Wish they'd fork out some cash and just fix that fucking light already.

I just about held back a snort of laughter. Every night she did the same thing; you'd have thought, by now, she'd know where the curb was.

Yeah, fine, from what ah heard about Angelo, on account of ah've been here, he is thinkin’ it's a crime ta pay his staff. Figure he'd pay out ta have somthin’ in this here shit-hole fixed? I asked.

ANGELO WAS THE OWNER of the club, I'd met him once during my 'interview' for the bar job. A brief, five-minute affair where he'd enquired whether I knew how to pull a pint and informed me that I'd be working every inhospitable hour possible for minimum wage. The terms didn't bother me, I only needed the job as a cover, so I could do my real job, but it wasn't surprising that there were no other candidates willing to take on the position, or why anybody was willing to work for that guy. Times hadn't become that hard, surely.

SAD, BUT TRUE. ROSA sighed. If I didn't actually need paying so badly, I'd have called environmental Health about this place ages ago.

Ha, he wouldn’t stand a chance if ya did. I barked out, laughing at the thought. ah'm, honestly, still amazed that anyone is actually willin’ ta drink here. Anybody caught botulism from this place yet?

Well, they sure wouldn't broadcast it if anybody had. Rosa shook her head. Giving up hope on rescuing yet another pair of ruined stockings, I heard her snap her black heel back onto the curb as a sigh escaped her lips. Come on, we better get inside. We're late enough as it is, and I really don't want Shane on my arse. That man gives me the creeps.

It bolstered my faith in Rosa a little to learn that she had an inkling about that man. He certainly gave off a bad vibe but not everyone seemed to notice it. Rosa was pretty clued up though, 'street smart' I think they called it, but she had no real idea just how badly she didn't want Shane on her case. He was a nasty piece of work and a part of me really didn't want anything bad to happen to Rosa. I'd been in her company for almost a full week and she'd started to become, what you'd probably call, a friend; and it felt strange.

I didn't have friends, I had acquaintances - mostly other Cambions like myself, we'd go over cases together, discuss the happenings on Earth and in Hell - but we weren't really friends because, if it ever came down to it, it would be every demon for himself. We didn't tend to connect too much with humans either. They tended to raise too many confusing emotions, calling to the human blood in our veins if we spent too much time in their company; and it was a part of ourselves we worked hard to keep suppressed, a distant voice in the background, but it was always more than eager to answer a human’s call; and it could fight back.

Fortunately, the call was not strong enough to be too distracting, not yet. Besides, I knew that once Shane was gone, Rosa would be that much safer, so the unusual feelings I was having towards her only made me more keen to get my job done. I'd just take the good feeling I'd have, knowing that she was that little bit safer, as a bonus of a job well done.

Rosa had worked at the club for close to two years - she'd informed me of this on my first night when she offered me a lift home - and I was sure she'd only survived it for so long because she was the polar opposite to Shane usual 'type' of girl; but tastes could always change if the pickings were slim. Rosa was of Hispanic descent, it showed in her raven hair and bronzed skin, she was also all voluptuous curves and vast bosom.

From what I had learned about him, Shane preferred his girls pale and waif-like, easy to break - he'd even made a pass at me once, on my first night behind the bar, but something about my retort had turned him off. I had even thought, perhaps, I'd been a little too harsh with my rebuttal because, since that night, Shane had kept his distance and yet always seemed to have a cautious eye aimed in my direction. Had I actually been a hindrance to my own job, made him suspicious and reluctant to take that final life that would hand me his soul? An annoyance if I had, but it still wouldn't have changed my response. No way in Hell I'd ever let that man lay a finger on me.

Rosa reached the door ahead of me, forced the stiff, rusted handle down and shoved the thick, reinforced steel open; holding it ajar so that I could follow. I took a deep breath and hurried inside after her. The door snapped shut, a little too quickly, and we were left drowning in UV lights and thick, thudding music.

The throbbing, repetitive beat thudded inside my skull, over and over like a blacksmith pounding metal at an anvil. It was not at all dissimilar to the noise my neighbour insisted on pumping through the walls of my little flat. It was little wonder, that after a solid week with no escape from the noise it had started to wear me down. The lights made everything appear distorted and unreal. Anything white glowed ghostly and bright. Supposedly it made the customers feel more at ease, but if it was that embarrassing, why go to a strip club in the first place? Sometimes I just couldn't understand human logic.

You're late. A harsh, gruff voice suddenly spoke from the shadows beside the door. Shane, of course.

He stepped forward until one of the UV's illuminated his face, stern and almost snarling in a display of anger. Shane liked to think that he ran the place, at least on the nights that Angelo wasn't in the building - he may have been an oaf, but he wasn't fool enough to get too big for his boots while the boss was around. Ordering the girls around was one of the perks of his job that Shane particularly enjoyed, and intimidation was one of his most favourite weapons. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't one that worked on either Rosa or myself and our blank expressions at his first words told him just that.

Rosa, you were due on stage ten minutes ago. You can go on with the next act, get a fucking move on! He demanded, jabbing his thumb violently in the direction of one of the raised platforms with his thumb.

Yeah, yeah, I'm going. Rosa hissed, dismissively, as she headed off towards the dressing rooms. Don't get your knickers in a twist.

And you, he said, turning back and moving around in front of me, blocking the gangway into the main room of the club with his broad, muscled form.

I knew, without needing to hear it, what he would say to me - late again, blah blah, docked pay, blah blah, get to work - but he wasn't moving. I'd have tried to slip past him, but his frame was so huge that it meant I would have had to touch him on the way and the thought made my flesh crawl; I knew where that man had been. I was dwarfed under his stern gaze, my 57 frame felt minuscule as I stood in his 65 shadow, able to do nothing but wait for him to berate me for being late.

He knew that I wasn't afraid of him, at least not in the same way that most people were, and it unnerved him. Women, to Shane, were things to be commanded and dominated, resistance to this seemed to be an alien concept to him and I could tell he didn't like it. So, I did my best to stare him down, one eyebrow arched, and resisted the urge to look away.

Get to work, he said, finally. Alex needs some help behind the bar. He turned and lurched away, back to his shadowy corner beside the door, the UV lights shining off his clean-shaven head as he moved, like a bobbing montage of the moon.

I shook my head at his back and headed for the bar. It really would be so very satisfying to see his soul handed over to the demons in Hell. I just had to make sure that it happened.

He givin’ you a hard time? Alex grinned at me as I flipped open the hatch, stepped behind the bar and let it fall closed with a heavy thud.

Shane? When ain’t he not givin’ people a hard time? I shook my head, "Ta be completely honest, ah'm just pleased that he ain’t fixin’