by Louisa Lo
Table of Contents
Title Page
Blurb
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgment
PART ONE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
PART TWO
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
PART THREE
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
This Is Where The Author Shamelessly Begs You To Leave a Review…
About the Author
Recommended Reading Sequence
Coming Soon…
Be a Vengeful Vixen!
HELL HATH NO
VENGEANCE
VENGEANCE DEMONS BOOK 5
Louisa Lo
Blurb
Hell is What a Vengeance Demon Makes It…
Megan Aequitas is adjusting to her new normal, which is anything but in the aftermath of the changeling war. With her beloved grandmother still missing and the whole are-we-or-aren’t-we dance with Gregory, her hot business partner, all she needs is to attract the attention of the Lord of Darkness.
But when the lover of a fugitive they sent back to the Underworld charges them with unwittingly punishing an innocent, they have no choice but to investigate, even when it leads them straight to Hell’s doorstep.
What Megan discovers about Gregory, Lucifer, and the Council will change everything…
Note: The events in HELL HATH NO VENGEANCE take place after A GOOD VENGEANCE and VENGEANCE FOR HIRE.
Copyright
Copyright © 2017, Louisa Lo
Published by Tin Can Press
All Rights Reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without expressed written permission in writing from the author.
Cover Design: Jacqueline Sweet
Cover Photo: Sara Eirew
Content edit: Joshua Essoe
Beta, copy/line edit: Help Me Edit
Proofread: Help Me Edit
Interior Design: Tin Can Press
Hell Hath No Vengeance/Louisa Lo—1st edition
ISBN: 978-0-9952302-9-3
Dedication
To hubby,
For always believing in me.
Acknowledgment
To Joshua,
For pushing me to reach for that next level.
PART ONE
THE KIDNAPPING
Chapter One
Uneasy Allies
When a loved one went missing, some people raged in helplessness, while others retreated into themselves. I was fortunate enough to have a third option.
Keeping myself busy by kicking some vengeance butt.
“You know, what he’s doing is just a step up from stealing candies from a baby.” I wrinkled my nose, staying in the shade with Gregory as we watched our target cross the intersection and head toward our hiding spot. The shade also served as relief from a blistering sun. It was unusually hot for what is supposed to be the beginning of summer on the human plane. A good thing, too. Most people had the good sense to stay indoors, leaving the area surrounding the side entrance of a grocery store relatively deserted.
Gregory, clad in his trademark dark jeans and black sweatshirt despite the heat, shrugged. His sensuous lips parted in amusement. “Megan, is there ever a more ethical way to steal?”
I rolled my eyes. “I guess not.”
Today marked the three-month anniversary of my career as a mercenary and my partnership with Gregory. The mercenary life turned out to be a lot like my old life at the co-op program of the University of Demonic Studies. Granted, there were less textbooks and bigger paychecks, but I had to work just as hard to keep up.
The Prince of Darkness could be one demanding customer.
Our latest target was Boyce Armstrong, a mean-looking dwarf-giant thug who adapted a human-sounding last name for his official records.
And what a record. The guy had the rap sheet the length of a person's arms, including grand theft auto, B&E, and to crown it off, the murder of four people. To keep up with the stereotype, the guy looked like he was straight from the villain catalogue of Central Casting. He was all biker jeans, tattooed arms, enormous build, and facial scars. According to the photo attached to our work order, there was one particular scar that went from his forehead to his cheek, missing his left eye by a narrow margin.
I liked it when they made the verification process so easy, helping me get to the capturing part all that faster.
Mr. Armstrong was supposed to be serving time in Hell, but he made an escape two weeks ago during a massive prison break. And now here he was, resorting to stealing from little old human ladies right off the street of downtown Toronto. It was as wrong as it was sad.
We watched as Boyce smiled at an elderly woman carrying five bags of groceries, and offered to hold her stuff for her so she could concentrate on using her walker to cross the street. I barely resisted tapping my foot on the ground, as I hated witnessing anyone in the process of being charmed and conned, knowing in most cases the likes of me weren’t there to prevent the fallout.
We waited until Boyce got onto our side of the road with his would-be victim. Then I grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him into the small alleyway I was hiding in, and banged him against the wall before the old lady could let out a scream—and before the grocery bags could hit the ground. As dwarf-giants were tough SOBs, I relied on the element of surprise to quickly plant a temporary weakening spell on him.
"Get off me!" Boyce spat when I flipped his body so that his back was facing me, and restrained him using a pair of Unbreakable Cuffs.
With well-oiled coordination that we’d perfected in the past few months, the moment I engaged our target Gregory started calming down our innocent human bystander. With a light touch on her shoulder, he made the last few minutes of her memory blurry. Then he gathered the grocery bags, tied them onto her walker, and sent her on her merry way; he even threw in a boost of energy for her to enjoy for the next two hours. The old lady complied, moving away with a spring in her step.
Gregory turned his attention back to Boyce just when the latter tried to pull himself free of the Unbreakable Cuffs. It was all to no avail. I purchased the goblin-made cuffs with my first paycheck. They were expensive but impossible to break once they were on, making my job safer as a result.
“What the hell do you want?” Boyce yelled.
“Hell is the right word here,” Gregory said dryly.
Comprehension dawned on Boyce’s face as he took in Gregory’s vengeance wings, fully extended as mine were during a confrontation, from his vantage point. Our target growled.
“Boyce Armstron
g, we’re sending you back to Hell,” I informed him, using the dispassionate voice I learned from school. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do may offend the assigned vengeance demon and lead to a more severe punishment—”
Gregory coughed discreetly.
My cheeks heated. Damn, I did it again, giving the guy his Belinda, the vengeance demon version of the Miranda rights. Mercenaries didn’t do that, as we weren’t exactly legal ourselves under the existing vengeance laws. Old habits died hard.
Luckily, our target didn’t seem to care about my present embarrassment whatsoever.
“I can’t go back there,” Boyce howled. “I didn’t do those things they say I did. I mean, I did all the small-time stuff when I was younger, but I’d turned my life around since then. I didn’t kill those four people.”
“Yeah, and I guess taking that old lady’s groceries is really making you believable here.” I snorted.
“I was helping her,” Boyce insisted.
“Yeah, right.” I waved off his words and nodded at Gregory, indicating that I was ready to teleport whenever he was. He looked around to check for any other human witnesses, found none, and started opening a portal to Hell.
During those few seconds, Boyce went deadly quiet. That should’ve triggered some alarm in me. But I was confident with the Unbreakable Cuffs and my own weakening spell. Probably a little too confident.
Anyway, one moment he was calm and docile, the next he turned around and blasted me with an ice energy that knocked me right off my feet. Then he started running away.
Lying sideway on the hard concrete of the alleyway, I directed every magic I had at the retreating back of my target. With the weird angle and the growing distance, I wasn’t sure how good my aim would be, but a girl’s gotta try, right?
I didn’t have a chance to check if I hit him, because a bone-numbing cold started settling into my limbs. It was a strange sensation, to have my skin sweating from the surrounding heat and my insides getting frostbite. Who would’ve thought a dwarf-giant, from a species known for their brunt force, would know such strong, sneaky magic?
“Megan!” Gregory’s voice sounded like it was from under water. I didn’t have the energy to answer him.
Gregory kept calling my name. One more urgent than the other. Oh, come on, couldn’t he chill? I sure was. All I wanted was to drift to sleep…
Someone was slapping my cold cheeks with scorching hands that came straight out of the oven, hot and relentless. It threatened to tear off the top layer of my skin with the friction. I opened my eyes.
And realized I didn’t remember closing them. That should have scared me, but all I felt was numbness.
Gregory was holding me in his strong arms, his warmth surrounding me. His hair had grown since we started our partnership, and as he leaned down to look at me, strands of brown hair kept falling over his eyes and chiseled cheekbones, giving me the urge to smooth them back with my fingers. With the weakening of my body bringing down my mental resistance, I greedily took in two large breaths of his body scent, which reminded me of clean citrus soap, before I was able to stop myself.
I needed to get a grip. He practically ran away after our first and only kiss. I’d always known that I fell short on the vengeance demon beauty standard—with my wild mud-colored hair, olive complexion, and child-bearing hips, I wasn’t classically lithe and graceful. I didn’t think Gregory would’ve cared, but something turned him off and I had no idea what. My physical attributes were as good a possibility as any.
“Megan, you alright?” His voice tight, Gregory propped me in a more upright position and offered me his hand. “Here, take some of my energy.”
Figuring this wasn’t a time for pride, I clasped his hand and drew his power into me. Gregory didn’t just have the blood of one of the oldest vengeance families flowing in his veins—he was also a powerful vengeance demon in his own right. His power, a rich and potent Earl Grey tea, filled my senses.
Immediately a picture of me being wrapped in a blanket and sitting in front of a crackling fireplace came to mind, making me feel safe and content. It was the perfect imagery to chase away the cold that had sank deep into the core of me.
As rejuvenating as the act of energy-taking with Gregory was, though, it wasn’t as intimate as it was with Esme, my half-sister. With Esme, it was “no holds barred” when it came to her emotions. With Gregory, there was a boundary there neither of us was willing to cross.
I took just enough energy and stopped, before I became too overwhelmed by his essence and got right into wishful-thinking mode. He wasn’t interested in me, and that was that. He’d been a valuable business partner, and I just had to learn to be content with that.
Even if it killed me.
“Thank you,” I said to Gregory rather formally, with no small measure of awkwardness. I got up quickly, desperate for some distance. “Whatever happened to our target?”
Gregory pointed at a space some twenty feet away, and I looked toward that direction. There was Boyce, trapped in a prison made of flaming rods, which nicely cancelled out his ice energy. The garbage cans next to the prison were melted, their contents fused with their grey plastic exterior like gooey ice cream sandwiches under a hot sun.
“Your magic hit the garbage cans,” Gregory said dryly, “and enough energy bounced back onto Boyce to delay his escape so I could imprison him.
So my less-than-perfect aim did manage to find purchase, kind of. Oh, well, as long as the job got done.
Boyce kept trying to touch the bars and kept bouncing back, his hands singeing. He didn’t look very happy about it, as he demonstrated with his endless stream of curse words.
“Go ahead.” I gave him a smug smile. “Make all the noise you want. This whole alleyway is sound and sight proofed from mortals. They see nothing. They hear nothing.”
That was the advantage of choosing the place of confrontation—Gregory and I had set up all the precautions beforehand.
I knew I should rejoice over not losing Boyce, but something was bothering me.
So let me get the sequence of events straight. After I was struck and Boyce was down, Gregory figured out the appropriate spell to offset our target’s ice energy and promptly trapped him with it, then he came to my aid.
All of which was understandable, as the profit and reputation of our business came before the well-being of any individual partner. Totally reasonable.
Then why was it a tiny, illogical part of me wished that his priorities had been slightly reversed? That maybe he would be so focused on my state of being that all else was forgotten, including the escape of our target, once I had fallen?
Because that would’ve been the expected behavior of a solus iungere, a vengeance soul mate. Total devotion and putting that person above all else.
During our one-and-only kiss, I was so sure that Gregory was my true mate. Except he wasn’t. He made that clear when he pulled away as if my skin burned him.
Anyway, I really couldn’t dwell on that. I straightened and briskly walked to one side of Boyce’s prison, and Gregory got to the other side after transforming the garbage cans back to their original state. He waved an enchantment that would allow us to touch the prison bars without harm. Then he opened up a now-familiar cross-dimensional portal. Straight to Hell.
Knowing what was coming, Boyce paled. “No, no, no. Listen, you really don’t want to do this.”
“Don’t want to do what, return you to Hell and collect our bounty?” I pulled back my upper lip. “You know how many all-nighters we’ve pulled in the last few months taking your kind back? I would gladly get this assignment done and over with.”
“And how’s serving Hell working out for ya?” He grit his teeth.
“We don’t serve Hell.” My nostrils flared. “We do business with Hell.”
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” Boyce sneered.
I had to admit, Boyce’s comment struck a nerve. Granted, a big part of the reason I wanted to
become a mercenary was to build up contacts in the fight against the Greys, aka the Council. There was no contact as big as the Lord of Hell himself. But in the past months it was increasingly looking like he was the only client we had time to satisfy, given the sheer frequency of the prison breaks that were fast becoming the norm. Nobody knew why Lucifer was having a hard time keeping his prisoners in check, but Gregory and I had handled at least two dozen cases, and we weren’t the only mercenaries Hell had contracted.
I was a big believer in not keeping all my eggs in one basket, but it was hard to say no to these assignments—and not only because they were extremely lucrative. It was more like riding on the back of a potentially ill-tempered beast, and it was a lot easier getting on than getting off. Not that our interaction with Hell had ever been anything but professional and civilized, but the devil’s reputation spoke for itself. If the just and mighty Council hadn’t turned out to be such bull, I would never imagine making such uneasy allies.
Not wanting Boyce to sow any more seeds of doubts into my head, I pursed my lips and grabbed hold of a pair of prison bars. Gregory did the same on his side, and together we dragged Boyce through the cross-dimensional portal, prison and all.
We arrived at Hell through one of its service entrances, being the freelance service providers that we were. This reception desk of the Underworld looked like one from a library for rare books, all tall, oversized, and polished dark mahogany wood.
Boyce rattled his prison bars, desperation seeping into his voice now. “Let me out of here!”
We ignored him, and he cursed wildly in an unfamiliar language. It had to be cursing, from its rough sounds and the universally rude hand gestures that came with it.
A small man with a frog’s head and an elf’s body, undoubtedly perched on a high chair, sat behind the desk. He had thick-rimmed glasses and a beer belly, and was bending over a large, thick volume with a fountain pen, making small notes here and there. Even with the ruckus Boyce was making, the man at the desk seemed to have difficulties tearing his eyes from the text to pay us any attention. There was a disturbingly obsessed look on his face as his head remained bowed. A tall, stick of a man stood behind him, holding onto an ink pen and parchment.
