by Brook Rogers
Hellish Debts
Broken Gods * Book One
Brook Rogers
HELLISH DEBTS
Brook Rogers
Copyright © 2020, Brook Rogers
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprinting or use of this material is strictly prohibited. No part of this publicaton may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or places are used ficticiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, real places or events is purely coincidental.
Cover
Hannah Sternjakob Design
Editing
Kite String Editing
Created with Vellum
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
Thank You So Much For Reading!
Acknowledgments
Also By Brook Rogers
Chapter 1
The angry bellow in my ear nearly deafened me, and between one blink and the next, the guy knocked me airborne. My wind-milling arms sent the desk lamp toppling over just before my back slammed into the opposite wall. Cymbals crashed in my head. My vision grayed, and I slid to the floor in a plume of white drywall dust. Somehow that bastard had landed me right on a wall stud. It was the only thing that had kept me out of the adjoining room.
Fucking werewolves. They were all brute force and animalistic urges. No wonder my employer, the Wichita Supernatural Enforcement Office, had sent me downtown in the dead of night to retrieve this douche. The werewolf in question had hulked out on a human girl and viciously attacked her before fleeing. She was now in the loving arms of the local werewolf pack, learning how to live a new life as something she believed existed only in fairy tales.
The Supernatural community rules were kind of like Fight Club. You didn’t talk about it, at least not with the Normals. This guy had signed his death warrant—by the local pack Alpha’s hand or the Shifter Council’s, it didn’t matter. He was a dead man walking—or right now, weaving drunkenly.
I wiped my sleeve over my face to clear the dust and looked up at the man lurching through the open motel door. Right before my bad airplane impersonation, I’d injected him with a magically enhanced tranquilizer. The dose should have been enough to put down a rhino. Or three. How was he still upright?
With the wolf almost to the street now, I was out of options. Subduing him quietly had been a bust, and pursuing him would leave me too exposed. The retrieval order had been very explicit: deliver him unharmed and as quietly as possible. No choice now but to call in the Sweeper.
I tapped my earpiece twice and hissed through clenched teeth, “Mayhem.” Gods, I hated admitting failure. Like, with the heat of a thousand suns hated it. And to make matters worse, I’d have to fill out incident paperwork.
Xane Martin, nicknamed the Sweeper for his skill in cleanly executing assignments, would take over from here. As a wraith, he had the ability to cloak both himself and the undersedated werewolf from any prying eyes. The credit and payment would go to him now.
What the hell went wrong with the trank? If it had worked as it was supposed to, I’d already be on my way to the office, basking in the glow of another successful retrieval. A muscle ticked in my jaw. I’d be having a little chat with the witch who’d done the spelling for me.
Little white dots zipped before my eyes as I pushed myself up. I pulled some money from my pocket and tossed it onto the desk. That should help cover repairs for the body-sized dent in the wall and the broken lamp. The motel was a mom-and-pop operation, and they shouldn’t have to foot the bill for my screwup. Not to mention it didn’t seem as though business was booming. Not a single car sat in the parking lot, although most of their patronage probably came on foot, as we had, from the dance club down the block.
At least it wouldn’t be hard to slip unnoticed into the overgrown alley that ran between the motel and a dilapidated housing unit next to it. Now that I’d turned things over to the Sweeper, protocol dictated I meet him at the previously established rendezvous point and provide whatever assistance might be needed.
I quietly stepped through the door and around the corner. The rough brick wall bit into my back as I pressed against it, straining to make out Xane or the werewolf. Either the darkness had already swallowed them or the wraith was wielding his magic, because I couldn’t see them.
The sounds of city nightlife drifted to me on a sudden gust of wind, and thick clouds covered whatever moonlight there might have been. The smell of coming rain hung thick in the air. My SUV was parked several blocks over, and I’d be lucky to make it back before the sky opened up.
On cue, a fat raindrop splattered on my forehead, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Fantastic. I had on a low-cut tank top and short skirt designed for seduction, not a rainstorm. My pace quickened as I exited the alley into a side street.
“Subject secured,” Xane’s calm voice crackled in my earpiece.
Scoffing involuntarily, I rolled my eyes. “Ten-four.”
About six more lone raindrops landed before the heavens ripped open. Nope, enough of this shit. I shifted into my raven form. The heavy rain and darkness would hide me, but to be honest, I didn’t much care if I was spotted. This night had pissed me off. What I wouldn’t give to have been able to take that werewolf down hard. The grope session I’d endured trying to get him to that hotel room merited at least a dick punch.
Flying fast, I banked left, avoiding the scattered trees in my path. Rain sluiced from my inky-black feathers and glittered in the light of the street lamps. This was a much better option than schlepping along on two legs in cold, sodden clothes.
As a valkyrie, I should’ve had wings in my human form, but when I settled into my immortality, they never showed. Just one more thing to chalk up to shitty luck—number two thousand seventy-nine on the Fates-are-laughing-at-me-now list. After tonight, I could add the werewolf debacle to it.
Locating my car, I landed to shift forms behind a small storage shed next to a pawn shop. My wet clothes clung uncomfortably to my skin. October in Kansas wasn’t exactly frigid, but lately the temperature had been falling to just above freezing at night. My numb fingers fumbled the keys before I finally got the car door open.
After the engine turned over, I cranked the heat up as high as it would go and blew into my cupped hands to thaw the frozen digits. Windshield wipers on, I pulled onto the street and drove toward the Supe Enforcement office.
The metal detector immediately blared when I walked through, and Harry, our desk officer, jolted as if he’d been tased. I’d forgotten about the metal chopsticks in my hair, dammit.
“Raywen James. Had a rough night, eh?” Harry quipped, shutting the alarm off as he visibly struggled not to laugh.
I narrowed my e
yes and curled a lip—maybe even snapped my teeth at him before heading to the lounge. Partially drowned valkyrie must not be a formidable look, because his laughter followed me down the hallway.
Once dry and dressed, with my weapons back on me, I felt much better. My method for retrieving the rogue wolf had required me to leave my beloved blades behind. His roaming hands would have found me out, even though a rune tattooed on my side magically hid my weapons from view. All Enforcement officers had a concealment rune, issued upon induction.
After leaving the lounge, I went in search of Xane. He’d be back with the werewolf by now, probably down in the holding area getting our new guest checked in. On my way over, I made a quick stop at the cafeteria and snagged a cup of coffee. There was just something I always found comforting about a hot drink. It also wouldn’t hurt to wash the bitter taste of failure out of my mouth.
Weapons were banned inside the holding room, so I had to start peeling them off once I reached the check-in station. I pulled all six of my throwing knives from their scabbards on my thighs and laid them neatly in the plastic tub, then removed the Kimber Micro 9s from each hip and ejected their clips. Next came my chest harness, with its assortment of spells and potions in vials for easy dispensing. Lastly, I lifted my khopesh from its sling across my back. The lightweight, curved Egyptian sword resembled a hand scythe and had been a gift from my Grand-mère on my sixteenth birthday.
She’d stepped up and taken me in when I was a suddenly parentless toddler, claiming we were related—my second cousin’s aunt twice removed or some nonsense. She insisted I call her Grand-mère, not because she was French and certainly not because she looked like a grandmother but because it made her “feel classy.”
When my wings didn’t manifest, she never openly expressed any disappointment, just pushed me to work harder to develop the skills I did have. With the inherent supernatural speed and strength of a valkyrie, I honed myself into the best fighter I could be. That was how I ended up working retrievals for Supe Enforcement.
Not long after I started the job, Grand-mère said I’d never make my own way in the world if she was around, then kicked herself out of the nest. Now she spent all her time down in Florida with friends. I think what she really wanted was a good excuse to terrorize every pool, strip club, and bar down there. I needed to call her soon and catch up.
I slid the tub into the scanner, it beeped, and the door to the holding room whooshed open.
The Sweeper sat bent over some papers on the desk, but he glanced up when I walked in. Xane was built like a swimmer, lithely muscular, with slightly too long dirty-blond hair that flopped forward over one eye. Handsome, but more pretty than rugged. Even though I preferred hard angles and more bulk, I still appreciated pretty things, even when I didn’t want them for my own.
Muffled voices drifted to us from the holding cells in back, and he jerked his head in that direction. “They’re just tucking him in. Did you need him?”
I always appreciated the wraith’s professionalism. He never stooped to mockery or teasing over an assignment that went tits up—unlike some of the people who worked here.
I propped a hip on the table. “No. I just stopped to see if you thought anything seemed off when you bagged him?”
His brows furrowed in thought. “He did put up more resistance than I anticipated. Did you not get a full dose in him?”
“Oh, he absolutely got a full dose.” I shook my head. “Guess I need to make a trip to Verlina’s.”
I tried—and failed—to hide a shudder, and Xane chuckled. “Good luck with that. I made a trip over there last week, and she sure hasn’t mellowed any over that incident with the cat.”
I puffed out a breath. Accidentally drop one beaker of demon fire on someone’s cat, and they never let you live it down. It wasn’t as though I hadn’t tried to apologize. Hell, I even offered to buy her a new cat, but nothing made any difference. If it wasn’t for some fancy footwork on my part, I’d probably be a toad in a jar sitting on one of her shelves right now.
Maybe she’d hexed the spells I’d bought from her? That would explain why the wolf didn’t take the nap he should have. She wasn’t exactly easy to deal with on a good day, and the last time I saw her, she’d definitely been angry enough to do something like that.
“Eh, everyone knows that was an accident.” I waved it off. “Witches like their grudges, and things have been too quiet for Verlina.”
Xane’s eyes widened slightly. “I’d say give me a shout if you need help, but dealing with revenge-plotting witches is above my pay grade.” Turning, he slid his finished paperwork into the tray on the desk. “Have a good night, Ray.”
I gave him a tiny salute. Time to get on with my own paperwork. If I hurried, maybe I could find time for a drink before my visit with Verlina. Something told me I’d need the extra courage.
Chapter 2
My gaze slid around the room as I downed the contents of my glass. After filing the incident report, I’d braved the slowing rain and taken myself to the little dive bar not far from the Enforcement office. It was your typical, dimly lit affair, complete with blue-collar, middle-aged pool sharks gathered around billiards tables in back. Every so often, one of the patrons eating in the booths would make a trip to the polished wooden bar for a refill.
The food here was better than average for a bar. More than once I’d stopped by when a quick lunch was all I had time for. The owner, Frank, knew most of us from the office well enough that he’d sometimes stay late to accommodate our need for a hot meal. For a Normal, Frank was pretty great.
He was oddly absent tonight. I stuffed down the suspicion that had me scanning faces and jumping at shadows. Just because I never had time off didn’t mean other people didn’t take vacations. My encounter with that werewolf clearly still had me amped up.
I cast a sideways glance at the fiery redhead who was pouring drinks in Frank’s place—and flirting shamelessly with the customers. She sure didn’t need to, because somebody had won all the genetic lotteries. With her perfect face and Barbie-doll proportions, the tip jar would be overflowing tonight. I shouldn’t have begrudged her any of it, but I guess I did. Being in the presence of what even I had to admit was a beautiful woman made my insecurities throw a yellow flag, calling foul.
My nose had a slight hook to it from repeated breaks, and my particular flavor of Supe was more muscular than what a lot of men found attractive. On top of it all, most of the time I was working. My long brown hair had to be pulled back to keep it from being used as a handle, and clothing was always function over fashion. Except for the retrieval tonight, I couldn’t remember the last time I wore something other than my cargos and a plain tee.
Sometimes a girl just wanted to feel pretty, and not like earlier that evening when I barely had on enough to cover my taco. There’s a big difference between looking banging and looking as if you won’t say no.
I had just stepped back from the bar, ready to leave, when the door opened. In walked a tall bearded elf with a tiny blonde pixie tucked under his arm.
“Ray!” the pixie squealed as her eyes landed on me, and she practically bounced over. Samual, her husband, trailed behind her.
I wrapped my arms around her petite frame. “Gods, I’ve missed you!”
Megan and I met ten years ago at a party thrown by her ex-husband, who was friends with my boyfriend at the time. Funny how the guys were long gone but our friendship remained.
Samual had entered her life a couple years ago. He was good for her and good to her, and that was all that mattered to me. Seeing her find her forever happy almost made up for the hellish time that had come before.
“What are you two doing here?” I glanced from one to the other. This wasn’t one of their typical haunts. Come to think of it, I couldn’t recall ever seeing them here before.
Megan giggled, then said with a wink, “We decided to do a little impromptu pub crawl, just the two of us.”
Just like that, my night started t
o look up, and I couldn’t stop a giant grin. Now I was armed with my best friend and unlimited booze.
Then I remembered I still had to go to Verlina’s shop, and my smile faltered.
Samual noticed the abrupt change. “What’s wrong, Ray?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I was about to invite myself along as the third wheel, but I just remembered I’ve got a work thing. Believe me, your night sounds like loads more fun than what I have to do.”
“Bummer.” Megan pouted. “At least sit with us and have a drink before you go.” She batted her eyelashes, then hiccupped loudly. Mortified, she slapped a hand over her mouth. “S’cuse me.”
Samual placed a hand on her elbow and guided her past me. “Why don’t you grab us some drinks, Ray? We’ll go find a table.” He said it a bit louder than he needed to—an adorable attempt to assure his wife she hadn’t just outed herself. Once the hiccups started, Megan was officially sloshed.
I was struggling to catch the eye of the obscenely good-looking bartender when a loud bang pulled my attention to the door. Three men stepped inside and scanned the building’s interior, their heads swiveling in a practiced motion, as if they spent a good portion of their time assessing threat levels wherever they went.
Dressed in dark tactical gear, they took up more space than any three people had a right to. Not only were they tall, but they clearly never missed arm day at the gym. Their black cotton shirts were stretched tight across bulging chests. I couldn’t make out much of their faces beneath the matching black ball caps pulled low over their eyes.
