Wicked Souls: A Limited Edition Reverse Harem Romance Collection

by Rebecca Royce

  I nod. “That’s the right answer.”

  Maria Josefa kept paper around for her grocery lists, and I grab some of it along with a pencil. I start sketching while the boys finish eating.

  “He has a complex on the Nazas River that can only be accessed from the water. This is the layout of the place.”

  “How do you know this?” Elian asks, astonished.

  I shrug and keep sketching buildings and fences. “I don’t know. I guess when you die things just come to you. Actually, this information comes from the demon inside me. She’s never been wrong, at least in the one day I’ve known her, and she can tap into a world of information I’d never be able to access on my own.”

  I shove the map toward Elian. Out of the three of them, he’s the most likely to make heads or tails out of the thing. He takes out his cell phone and snaps a photo of my map.

  “Don’t send that yet,” I tell him.

  “You’ll still be responsible for Rojas being brought to justice,” he tells me. “That will satisfy your mission.”

  “He’s got friends in high places. He’ll never stand trial for anything, and even if he does, he’ll be acquitted, and you know it. I’m not here to get someone arrested just to see them let loose again in a month when I’m gone.”

  Steven looks at me, and he looks so sad I want to just hug him for a while. He’s facing a world where he has to lose me twice, and that’s so damned unfair I want to cry. I move over and sit on his lap, holding him close and hugging his head to my chest. His arms go around my waist. This is worse for him than for me, I think.

  Well, frankly, we’re both getting a pretty shitty deal.

  Elian is all business. “I have a fellow officer with a boat. We can take it to the compound under cover of night. Once we get there, we can cut through the wire.”

  I get a mental image that I can’t explain, and it makes me hesitate. Steven looks up at me. “What’s the matter?’

  “Bring a big boat. There are people who need to be saved.” I feel like my eyes are unfocused, but at the same time, I’m seeing perfectly clearly. I can see a shed crammed full of pretty girls, all of them destined for a horrible life in the States. Human trafficking is revolting, and so are the men who do it.

  I can’t wait to eat this fucker.

  “How many?” Elian asks.

  “Twenty, I think. Maybe twenty-five.”

  Marco speaks up, finally done with his food. That boy can eat. “Who are they?”

  “Girls he’s selling into the sex trade.”

  “Sex slavery, you mean,” Elian grumbles. “Yes, we’re going to get them out of there.”

  “When we cut through the wire, that’s what you boys will do. I’ll go into the house, find Pablo and do my thing.”

  Steven’s arms tighten around my waist. He really doesn’t like that part, and I don’t blame him. We were always faithful to one another before. I hope this situation doesn’t sour his memory of me once I’m gone for good.

  Marco stands and clears the table, putting the dirty dishes in the sink. When he comes back, his jaw is set.

  “I’m going with you,” he says firmly.

  “Have you ever handled a gun before, son?” Elian asks.

  “First of all, yes. I have. Second, I’m not your son.”

  Steven snorts quietly. “Hell of a time for you to find a backbone,” he comments.

  Marco looks stung, but he stands tall. “There are people who need saving, and I’m not going to turn away twice.”

  I take his hand and squeeze it, beaming at him with pride. “Excellent,” I tell him. “You’re more than welcome.”

  Elian and Steven exchange another look, but they wisely keep quiet. I’m not going to have them undermining Marco’s confidence. He’s a nice kid, but he’s been sheltered. Not everybody is cut out to be a fighter.

  After breakfast, Elian goes to arrange for a boat, but he leaves his gun so Marco and Steven can do some shooting. I get into the pantry and find some cans to donate to the cause, and they go out into the back yard for target practice.

  While my men are busy, I go to the shrine to Santa Muerte and kneel. As soon as I’m up close, the candles burst into flame, and the way the light flickers on the statue’s face, I almost think she’s moving. Maybe she is.

  “Santa Muerte,” I pray, “I am doing what you asked. Tonight we will finish the work I was brought here to do, and my mission will be complete. But please… don’t take me back. Let me stay alive. I’ll work for you. I’ll bring justice where I can. There are innocent people suffering everywhere, and sometimes it’s the authorities who hurt them. People being shot in the street by cops, kids in cages… the world is an awful place. People need a defender. Let me be that. I’ll work hard. I’ll do anything you ask. Just… please. Don’t make me leave.”

  Inside me, the demon purrs, but for once she doesn’t have anything to say.

  Santa Muerte’s voice speaks from the statue, but the graven image doesn’t move. “I have made my decision already. Nothing you say or do will change it.”

  “But…”

  “My decision has been made,” she repeats firmly.

  My eyes mist up. “When have you decided that you’re going to take me?”

  “You will know when the time comes. First, do this last thing. Remove Pablo Rojas and the threat he poses to the innocent.”

  I nod, thinking that maybe I can try to negotiate again once I’ve actually finished the job. Erasing Rojas actually seems like a very good idea, based on the things I’ve seen through this altered mind that I have. I don’t know if I’m seeing it, or if the demon is feeding the information to me, or if it comes from Santa Muerte. I just know I believe what I’ve seen is real and true.

  And tonight, Pablo Rojas is going to die.

  We load up into the boat the Elian has borrowed from his friend. It’s large, big enough to get all of those girls to safety and still leave room for all of us without sinking. I think not sinking is an excellent plan.

  Elian pilots the boat down the river, hugging the shoreline where Rojas’s compound will be. He supplied firearms for Steven and Marco, and they both have shoulder holsters with automatic pistols and extra clips in the pockets of their tactical trousers, another gift from Elian and the Sabinas police force. I feel like I’ve wandered into a Navy SEAL movie, and I kind of like it.

  My knives are ready, and so is my hunger. The pit inside me empties so quickly.

  Elian stops the boat and ties it up to some trees a short way down the bank from the fence, and we all pile out. There’s a brief nervous moment while the boys fidget with their guns and clips and make sure they have everything they need. Elian is cool as a cucumber, and there’s a special ops vibe to him that I’m going to have to ask him about later.. if I have a later. Steven grabs the bolt cutters and we set off.

  I lead the way to the compound gate. The night is extremely dark, with clouds partially blotting out the moon and completely obscuring the stars. When the clouds move out of the way, the moon’s light is pale and barely illuminates the path. I have no problem seeing, probably another gift of my new status as living death, but the boys are having trouble. I try not to get too far ahead of them, but my hunger is pulling me, and I can sense one hell of a meal waiting for me in the house up ahead.

  Steven starts to cut through the fence, but before he does, I feel the urge to grab the wire that electrifies it. As soon as it’s in my grasp, it sparks once, then surrenders its power to me. I feel lightning dancing up my arm, but it’s not unpleasant. In fact, it makes me feel stronger. I wonder if I can forgo eating men if I just electrocute myself from time to time.

  The demon laughs. ~Not quite.~

  Well, a girl can hope.

  I lead the way through the hole Steven creates, and then we’re all in the compound. There are two guards with some kind of long gun wandering around, looking bored, and another one standing at the door to the shack where the girls are being held. In the center of the
compound, a ridiculously posh mansion stands three storeys high, spilling light through every window. The boys can see now. The problem is that the gunmen can, too. We crouch in the shadowy corner of the fence, and the boys screw silencers onto their pistols. Marco looks especially grim and determined, and I know all three of them will do me proud. I point at the shack, then creep forward.

  “Mari!” Steven whispers, but I don’t stop. Marco shushes him.

  I pull the knives out of my boots and let fly. I’ve never had much of a throwing arm before, but now it’s apparently part of my mysteriously convenient skill set. The blades strike the gunmen, burrowing into each one’s neck and effectively slitting their throats. They drop to the ground with barely a gurgle, and then I hear the spitting sound of a silenced pistol, and the guard on the shack falls. He’s not quite dead, but another stealthy bullet puts an end to his struggles.

  Dude, I know how much that sucks. Better luck next life.

  I don’t bother to retrieve my knives. I still have one left, the one that’s in the sheath against my ribs. I sprint across the excessively green lawn and make it to the terra cotta ceramic paving tiles of the patio. There are French doors leading into a big living room, and they’re unlocked. I slip inside.

  My hunger points me toward the stairs. There are other souls here, dark grey compared to the black that awaits me on the second floor, but they’re not my concern, at least not yet. There are several of them in the dining room, playing cards. Three stand guard on the front door, just outside. One is in the basement, doing God knows what. And Pablo? He’s all by himself upstairs.

  My luck seems to have taken a turn toward the good for a change.

  I follow my hunger to a door at the end of the second floor hallway. It’s slightly ajar, and the room inside is dark. I can hear the deep, steady breathing of a dreaming man. Rojas is sleeping like a baby, which seems completely obscene to me. He has a bunch of scared girls locked up in his backyard, and here he is, not a care in the world?

  No way. Not on my watch.

  I slip into the room. He’s lying on his back in a wife beater and striped boxers, and he’s still wearing socks that only go halfway up his shins. He’s chubby and hairy, and honestly, if I was here on the basis of carnal desire, I’d already be leaving. One look at his soul shows me so much evil that it makes my mouth water, though, so I close the door behind me.

  The click of the latch makes him stop storing. I stop and wait to see if he’s waking up. His eyes open, glittering in the light coming in through the windows, and he looks at me like he can’t quite figure out if I’m real. I haven’t quite figured that out one yet, either, so I can’t blame him. I glide closer to the bed.

  “Mr. Rojas,” I purr. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

  He sits up and reaches for the gun on his bedside table. He points it at me. Guns are officially my least favorite thing. “Who the fuck are you?” he demands.

  “A gift from the Sinaloa Cartel,” I lie. “They’ve heard about the work you’re doing, and I’m here with their compliments.”

  The male ego never fails to amaze me. He lowers the gun. “Yeah?”

  I make my way closer, walking slowly, walking with one foot directly in front of the other, which makes my ass swing. He notices. “Yeah.”

  He puts his weapon aside. He’s getting a hard-on already. “Well, come here, then, sweetheart.”

  I laugh to myself. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  He watches appreciatively as I kneel at the foot of his bed and crawl up toward him. Rojas pulls himself out of his underwear.

  “Suck me,” he orders, like the pig he is. He strokes himself a few times, getting himself fully erect.

  “Yes, sir,” I say, my voice throaty. The fool probably thinks he’s living a porn movie right now, and he sort of is. The thing is, it’s my movie, and it may be porn, but it’s going to be female-friendly, mark my words.

  I run my hands up his legs, and he gasps.

  “Fuck, your hands are cold!”

  I pull my hair back over my shoulder and bend down. The dark curtain my hair forms conceals my hand as I reach through the neckline of my dress and pull my last knife. I bend and blow on his cock, which twitches.

  “You’re a bad, bad man, Pablo Rojas,” I tell him, taking him in my hand and holding him tight.

  He giggles. “Yes, I am.”

  “Don’t you ever worry about someone stopping you?”

  This time, he frowns. “No. Now quit talking and start sucking, slut.”

  “Oh, dear. That wasn’t very nice.”

  I let go of him and climb up further so I’m straddling his waist. His eyebrows knit, and he glares at me. “You’d better do what I tell you, or —”

  “Or what? You’ll kill me?” I laugh, and I let my Catrina face appear. “Too late. You already did. And now it’s my turn.”

  He opens his mouth to scream, but I cover it with my own and start sucking, just like he told me to. His life force, which tastes like burned toast and black licorice, surges into me, filling the cold, empty spot in my stomach. He squirms and tries to get away from me, but it’s too late. I bring my knife up and slit his miserable throat, stealing the last of his life force as his blood gushes out to stain the bedspread.

  I wipe my knife clean on his pillow and leave the bed. The blood that’s splashed onto my dress lifts away as if it never existed, and I wonder if my body has somehow absorbed it as energy the way it did with my first victim’s semen.

  ~The blood is the life,~ my demon says.

  I’m not hungry anymore. If anything, I’ve eaten too much, and I feel a little sluggish. This horrible creature was a feast and a half, and I don’t understand why he had so much life force for me to take.

  ~Oh, my dear. You’re not the only one with a demonic client.~

  That’s creepy as hell, and I’ll think about it later. Time to go.

  I go to his window, which overlooks the backyard. It’s a long drop, but there are vines growing up the wall and the bricks of the house offer shallow but real hand holds and foot holds. I climb down without any trouble - apparently parkour is an undead skill - and end up back on the patio.

  This has been all too easy, and while I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, I decide that I’m not going to jinx it by thinking too hard about it. I’ve got the power of Santa Muerte behind me and a demon inside me. That’s got to count for something.

  I retrieve my knives from the two dead men on the lawn and sprint toward the opening in the fence. Steven is standing there, looking worried and stormy, but he brightens with relief when he sees me. I slip through, and he whispers to me, “Everyone is on the boat. Come on.”

  We run down the riverbank hand in hand, and I see Elian standing at the wheel of the boat, waiting. Marco is helping to tend to the girls, giving them blankets from a stack in the boat’s hold. They look frightened but otherwise all right, and I make my Catrina face go away so I don’t scare them more. As soon as Steven and I set foot on the boat, Elian motors away, speeding back toward Sabinas.

  Epilogue

  Catrine

  We get the girls to safety, and Elian stays to do what will probably be mountains of paperwork. Marco has to go to work, and I have no reason to keep him. He was a comfort for me and for the girls on the boat ride back to town, and he’s earned his peace. I hope he finds it.

  Steven and I return to my grandmother’s house, and as soon as we step through the front door, the candles on the shrine flare into life. We both freeze.

  “It’s time.”

  La Santa Muerte appears in the middle of the room, her bridal gown of white lace a little tattered at the edges and the flowers of her crown literally burning. I turn to Steven with tears in my eyes, and he looks like someone just punched him in the gut.

  “Mi amor…” I say softly.

  Santa Muerte clacks her skeletal fingers together. “Come here.”

  I kiss Steven one last time, and he holds me like he’ll nev
er let me go. We’re both crying now. He cups my face in his hands and looks into my eyes.

  “I will never, ever stop loving you.”

  “Marisol,” she says sharply. “Now.”

  I kiss him again, then walk toward her and my impending fate. She holds up a hand and puts it on my head.

  “I made my decision,” she told me, “after you spared Marco’s life.”

  It feels like a bomb goes off inside my head, and I feel and see nothing but fire for a long moment. In my mind, I hear a hiss, and then my passenger gets yanked out like a sliver. I gasp at the sudden pain, which is followed by just as sudden relief. My body shakes, and power surges through me.

  This… this cannot be happening.

  “Oh,” Santa Muerte says. “But it is.”

  She steps back, and if a skull could smile, hers is. I feel strong and powerful, and my heart is pounding in my ears. I look up at her, not comprehending.

  “I have more use for you,” she tells me. She nods to Steven. “For both of you. When the time comes, I will call you. But for now… you are alive.”

  I press my hands to my stomach. “Alive?”

  She laughs. “After a fashion. You will still need life force, but not as much as you did when the demon was possessing you. And you will still be my arm of justice. Be ready when I call.”

  I turn toward Steven, speechless, and he’s just as stunned as I am. A cool wind blows past us. All the lights in the house turn on, and when I look at the altar, all of the candles have turned into sugar skulls and mangoes.

  The End

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  About the Author

  Tiegan Clyne has been writing for longer than most of her friends have been alive. Armed with university degrees in Spanish, anthropology and history, she writes stories with dark edges and fantastical elements. She also sometimes writes harmless fluff pieces about magical animals and the witches who love them. She enjoys music, could not stop writing if you paid her, and is a crazy cat lady in training.