Table of Contents
Halfling for Hire
Copyright
Dedication
Hell Bent
Hell Bound
Hell Fire
Hell Fury
Hell Freed
About the Author
Copyright © Harper A. Brooks
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.
Editor: Amalie Editorial
Cover Design: Covers by Christian
Interior Design: Cover Me Darling
Formatting: Athena Interior Book Design
REAPER REBORN SERIES
Afterlife
(A Prequel)
Death Wish
Death Trap
Death Match
Death Deals
Death Sentence
Till Death
Christmas Spirits
(A Holiday Novella)
Halfling For Hire
(Short Story Collection)
Tales of the Reborn
(An Anthology)
For my husband, Ryan.
*Insert something sappy and lovey-dovey here*
He was late.
Typical. It seemed no one knew anything about running an underground business anymore. Or respect. I’d been sitting in a corner booth on the main floor at Red, a vampire club, since nine o’clock. Now, over an hour past our meeting time, I was getting irritated.
If this lead hadn’t been one I’d needed, I would’ve left a long time ago.
I’d never done any work for this sorcerer guy before. Fernando was his name. The man I’d spoken with on the phone to schedule this meeting had told me that much. And after asking around, I’d quickly discovered he wasn’t your everyday kind of sorcerer. He was a level three, the highest-ranked and most powerful of the spellcasters. The only other level three I knew was Marla Jones over at Divine Magic in downtown Fairport, and well… she hated my guts. Because of her black-market magical dealings, she was a useful contact lost, but there was nothing I could do about that.
Despite all that, as a level three, Marla was a force to be reckoned with. So, if this Fernando was the same level and couldn’t take care of this problem himself, I had one hell of a challenging job ahead of me.
I glanced around the club. The place was packed tonight, full of unsuspecting humans and supernaturals of all kinds. Of all the strip joints on this side of Fairport, Andre had really outdone himself with the more modern and upscale décor. Everything from the carpeting to the wall color to the strippers’ tiny bikinis was a part of the red, black, or silver motif he had going on here. With a club named Red, what did you really expect? But still, the vampire was dedicated to the theme. I’d give him that.
But, if you’d been to one strip club, you’ve been to them all. And Red was no different, despite it being vampire-owned and staffed. So, when the over-friendly blonde vamp came over to my table for the fifteenth time to see if I’d changed my mind about a dance, I let out an aggravated grunt and waved her away.
And, like every time before, she didn’t want to take no for an answer.
“How about a drink, then? A beer?” Her voice was sultry and smooth as a phone-sex operator’s. All her long platinum blonde curls were pulled to the front of her shoulders so that they were the only things covering her naked breasts. A real tease. With looks that could—literally—kill and a rocking body to match, this little dancer could have had any one of these guys following her off to one of the VIP rooms in a heartbeat. And she’d picked me to bother. The one who wanted to be left alone.
Women. Always wanted what they couldn’t have.
I didn’t have time for this.
“How about something a little stronger? Here, I’ll join you.” She attempted to scoot into the booth with me, but I held out my hand to stop her.
And people say men didn’t know what the word “no” meant.
“I’m here on business,” I told her for about the hundredth time. I never drink before business, couldn’t afford to be off my game even a little in my line of work. “Not pleasure.”
She leaned over the table, her face just inches from mine. Then her gaze dropped to my lap, and she grinned. “Why can’t it be both?”
Fucking hell. I hated vamps. Unlike the humans in this joint, I knew this dancer and every other vamp in here’s true intention. They would do anything for a chance at a meal, and some sex-drunk sucker wasn’t going to care when they brought him to one of the private rooms and nibbled on his neck. Some supernaturals who knew what Red really was came just for that reason. Some got their rocks off by being dined on.
Not me. If it didn’t have to do with business, I’d be far away from this place.
“Go bother someone else. I’m not interested,” I said through clenched teeth. Her persistence was pushing against my patience.
Green eyes sparking with something sinister, she purred, “Why so moody, Halfling? Why can’t the demon come out to play?”
Fire erupted in my chest just at the mention of that word. Halfling. I clenched my fists on the table, trying to calm myself down, but my temples pounded as the burst of anger pushed at my resolve.
Really, Halflings were Hell-dwelling creatures with no soul, mindless minions of full-demons. They used to be half-demons, like me, but because they were fully corrupted by the Hellfire they possessed, they were transformed into hideous monsters.
That wasn’t me. I wasn’t a Halfling. And I’d do everything I could to prevent myself from turning into one. It was why I’d chosen guns over my Hellfire power. Even though the temptation was always there. Itching. Irritating. Wanting release. Even more so when my temper flared—like right now.
But I’d rather die than become one of those beasts.
The vamp girl didn’t even blink at the obvious change in my posture. She only seemed more intrigued.
Her fangs peeked past her top lip when she spoke. “Oh… Looks like the Halfling has some fire in him after all.”
I was on my feet in the next second, my hand on the gun at my hip, anger blinding me to the consequences.
“Cole Masters.” A familiar male voice stole my attention, and the moment I saw Andre standing on the other side of my table, my common sense came rushing back to me. Flashing a gun in a crowded room wasn’t a good idea, let alone shooting one of the employees in the middle of a busy night.
I threw my jacket back over my gun to conceal it and glanced at Andre. “Yeah, I hear you,” I said, residual anger still snaking through me.
Andre turned a hard glare on the blonde, who shrank back before turning and walking away in silence.
“Where were you an hour ago?” I said. “That one’s been on my tail since I got here.”
“Cassandra is one of my harder ones to reel in,” he began, his words coated in a French accent. And since he was from the DeMonte vampire bloodline, that was expected. He glanced over his shoulder at Cassandra, who was now bothering a group of college-aged men who had just walked into the club. “But you must understand, patrons rarely tell her no.”
I believed that, but I wasn’t here to blow hundreds on lap dances or to find a one-night stand.
“Besides, I recall us speaking before about using my club as a place to hold your… meetings,” he said. “You know I don’t care for it.”
I hadn’t forgotten. I just didn’t care. Meeting my clients in a busy vampire club surrounded me with an extra level of protection.
And since my next potential client was a level three, I wasn’t going anywhere.
You had to work smarter, not harder when it came to what I did. It was the only way to survive.
“Believe me. If I had another option, I wouldn’t be here,” I told him, but then paused as Andre’s club manager, Jean, walked over to our table. Looking more like a boy of eighteen with his youthful face and shorter stature, Jean had been running the club floor for Andre for the past year. It was hard to believe he was actually three hundred years old.
I’d been doing mercenary work long enough, and I considered myself a pretty good judge of character. And Jean rubbed me the wrong way. Couldn’t put my finger on it—he’d never done anything overly suspicious while I was around—but I didn’t trust him.
That didn’t say much, though. I didn’t trust most people. Didn’t trust most vampires, either.
I hated vamps. Did I say that already?
Jean whispered something in Andre’s ear that I couldn’t hear, and the Frenchman nodded in answer.
“Will you excuse me?” Andre said before walking off with Jean toward the bar.
Leaning back in my chair, I observed the two men chatting with the bartender. Probably about normal business things. I shouldn’t care—really, I shouldn’t—but for some reason, my eye remained trained on Jean.
His gaze flickered toward Red’s door every few seconds as if he were expecting someone to walk in. Also, his posture was off. His spine was stiff and straight, and he had leaned slightly sideways so that Andre had his back completely toward the door. I noticed small things like that, maybe to a fault. It could be nothing. Really, I could be looking too far into it. But then again, it could be something. And more times than not, I was right.
Not my problem. I wasn’t here for that. I had other things to attend to. Like my meeting with this Fernando fellow.
I ripped my attention away from the pair and glanced at my cell phone’s screen again.
10:32 pm.
Fuck. Where is this guy?
Looked like he was going to be a no-show.
Sighing, I gathered up my backpack and stood. At the same time, I spotted a man, dressed in a full business suit, pushing his way through the crowd in my direction, his gaze fixed on me.
I plopped back into my booth. This had to be him.
As expected, the man came over to my table and held out his hand. His black hair was slicked back from his overly tanned face. Maybe from too much time at the beach or the tanning bed, who knew, but not even a crinkle of emotion showed on his face as I shook his offered hand, which felt like his face looked, as if his skin had lost its elasticity somehow.
Still annoyed, I worked to keep it off my face and remain professional, and offered him the chair across from my booth seat against the wall. He took it.
Finally, it was time to get down to business.
“A bit late, Fernando. Don’t you think?” I said as politely as I could manage in my irritated state. “I was just about to leave.”
His pale lips split into a smirk, his skin stretching tightly around his mouth and eyes. “Oh, I am not Fernando,” he said simply as if he’d been hoping I’d make that mistake. “I am Michael. His assistant. We spoke on the phone.”
Ah, right. Michael. I would’ve been able to match his voice if I’d let him speak first. He had a very distinct Spanish accent. Definitely the man I had spoken with to set up the meeting.
“I thought we agreed I would be meeting with your boss today. To discuss the job,” I said. Irritation pricked up the back of my neck, like fingernails scraping along my skin. Rolling my shoulders to shake off the feeling, I wondered if I should have taken up the blonde dancer’s offer for a strong drink. I could’ve used one right now.
“Fernando never does any of the so-called ‘footwork,’” he said with a tight-lipped smile.
I assumed the “footwork” instead of “legwork” bit was something that had been lost in translation. Maybe from his heavy Hispanic background.
“That’s what he pays me for.” Michael fiddled with the cufflinks on his sleeves, which I noticed bore a crest etched in gold. Real gold, too. Not plated. “He trusts my judgment. And if I believe you can handle the job, then you’ll be hired. As simple as that.”
I leaned back in the booth, unamused. My skills being questioned was probably the only other thing I hated more than being kept waiting for things. And Michael had done both in one night.
It took everything in me not to get up, tell Michael to screw off, and walk out. But the entire reason I’d even agreed to this setup was because Fernando was a big-time sorcerer. Meaning, he had connections. Maybe even knew some spellcasters who performed magic dark enough to help me find the full-blooded demon, Xaver. Unless he dabbled in the dark stuff himself, too. Then I could just cut out the middleman and use him.
Fernando would be too valuable a client to lose. I couldn’t just cut out, as annoyed as I was at getting the runaround. Hopefully, his job wasn’t as complicated as I’d predicted it would be. I needed the details.
“I’m not quite sure what you’re expecting from me,” I said, my gaze drifting past Michael, back toward the bar where Andre and Jean stood talking feverishly now. Andre’s brow was knitted, his jaw tight. From the looks of it, Jean couldn’t be giving him any good news.
Something was up. I severely doubted Andre would be that upset by something like running out of those tiny drink umbrellas or napkins. Could it have something to do with the other vampire families? One of the DeMontes’ rivals?
When I glanced back at Fernando, I noticed his lips were moving, but I hadn’t heard a word he’d said. Hadn’t paid attention.
“Can you repeat that?” I asked.
He frowned.
“Music.” I gestured to the ceiling and then my ear to cover my blunder.
My quick-thinking seemed to have worked because he nodded and repeated himself in a louder volume: “Fernando proposed a test. Something small to make sure you can handle what he needs done. And I will be the one to judge it.”
“A test?” I gaped. He was kidding. He had to be. Laughter bubbled up my throat because if I didn’t consider what he’d said a joke, I’d swing at him.
He stared at me, confused, for a long moment. Then, he said, “Fernando asked me to…”
My laughter stopped abruptly, anger prickling across my skin. Heat crawled up my neck, and I rolled my shoulders to calm the Hellfire within. As if the demon part of me was its own entity, it liked to take any opening to manifest itself. Moments of fury were its particular favorite because I was too wrapped in the emotion to shove the creature back down. So, I had to be conscious of that. Not let my naturally short temper overtake me.
Easier said than done. Especially when something like this happened and my skills were brought into question.
My head pounded from all the tension my muscles were holding.
“My reputation should speak for itself,” I told him through clenched teeth.
“Yes, Fernando knows your credentials. You came highly recommended,” he replied, which didn’t surprise me. Most of my clients came from word of mouth. Mercenaries didn’t really hand out business cards. “But the job Fernando needs… It is not your typical kind of assignment. He wants to be sure you’ll be committed.”
How would he know what my normal workday looked like? Name a supernatural. I’ve tracked and taken out all kinds.
A tingling sensation skated down my arms, and my palms began to sweat. All signs of the demon pushing closer to the surface.
To distract myself, I looked past Michael again to the bar. Jean’s focus was fully on the door again as Andre spoke to the bartender behind the counter. Nervous. He was worried about something. Something that was about to come through that door any minute.
I pushed to my feet, my natural sixth sense for trouble ringing like alarm bells in my ears. At the same time, I slid my handgun out of its holster on my hidden belt.
“Masters? What are
you doing?” Michael’s voice trembled a warning at the sudden presence of my weapon.
I ignored him. Something was up with this Jean guy. I just knew it.
In the next second, the door to the club shot open, causing patrons at the bar to scream and nearby dancers to jump out of the way. A man stumbled into the room with a gun pointed directly at Andre’s chest. His skin was the darkest shade of brown I’d ever seen. Closer to black. And he wore an equally dark, styled suit with a necklace made of a predator’s sharp—maybe cheetah or lion fangs.
Blood dripped from his mouth as if he’d just made a snack out of someone along the way, and when I realized there was no big, burly bouncer running inside after him, it was safe to assume he’d been the vampire’s victim of choice.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out this intruder wasn’t from the DeMontes’ vampire family. He was from one of the rivals. More specifically, the Omaris.
“For my fallen brothers, you dirty French bastard,” the man yelled, his accent thick with his age and native African lineage. His finger twitched on the gun, and before I knew it, my own weapon discharged, the bullet hitting the stranger right in the temple. He crumpled to the ground, his body making a loud thud as it hit the floor.
A bullet splattering the man’s brains wouldn’t be enough to kill him. Not many things could kill a vampire after their first death and the genetic mutation of near-immortality was triggered, but, of course, I didn’t fill my weapons with ordinary bullets. I packed magazines full of iron and blessed bullets. Blessed in Holy Water, that is. And those suckers packed a punch for all things with cursed blood. Demons, Halflings, unruly spirits, vamps… Even me, if they got into the wrong hands.
I rushed over and stared at the vampire on the ground, who was now convulsing violently. His skin bubbled as the Holy Water did its work. It didn’t have the more deadly effect on vampires as it did on demons, but it still was enough to stun them. And hurt like a motherfucker.
Standing over him, I aimed my gun and fired three more shots into his heart. Again, wouldn’t kill him, but it’d keep him incapacitated long enough for Andre to decide what to do with him next. Beheading or fire was the only sure ways to knock a vamp out permanently. Most of the time, both were needed just to be sure.
Halfling for Hire Page 1
