by mike Evans
Deliver Us From Evil
Demons Beware Book II
By Mike Evans
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© 2017 Mike Evans, All Rights Reserved
Thanks to my beta readers Karen, Leslie, Jon, Denise, Ricky, Rosa, & Matt. You guys are wonderful and I couldn’t put how much I appreciate you into words!
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Books by Mike Evans
The Orphans Series
The Orphans: Origins Vol I
Surviving the Turned Vol II (The Orphans Series)
Strangers Vol III (The Orphans Series)
White Lie Vol IV (The Orphans Series)
Civil War Vol V (The Orphans Series)
Divided Vol VI (The Orphans Series)
Gabriel Series
Gabriel: Only one gets out alive
Pitch Black (Gabriel Book 2)
Body Count (Gabriel Book 3)
The Uninvited Series
The Uninvited Book I
The Stranger Book II of The Uninvited series
The Unwelcomed Book III of The Uninvited series coming soon
Buried: Broken oaths
Demons Beware
Deliver Us From Evil Book II of Demons Beware
Zombies and Chainsaws
Dark Roads Book II of Zombies and Chainsaws
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This book is dedicated to Christy Thornbrugh. One of the most special and difficult things as an author is growing close to your readers. Unfortunately, life can be too short and often people don’t get the chance to do everything that they aspire to. She was a wonderful human being that I will miss dearly and if I have learned one thing from her passing it is to live life to the fullest each day.
The Devil never sleeps, he does not stop planning, nor does he quit. He plans and he waits. Time is unimportant to beings that do not expire. They simply pick and choose when to execute their plans, with the hope that one day they will slip past those who are destined to protect the living. This is a demonic story and the Devil has come for blood.
Chapter 1
Hoyt Hotel Presidential Suite – Las Vegas, NV 1988
CEO Williams Room.
Jack Brown sat in the dark closet checking his watch and shaking his head, disgusted at how long he had been in there. A laughing came from down the hallway from someone who was either beating the house or who had been drinking all night in one. The keys to the room jingled until a curse word finally came and he slid in the key, twisting the lock open. The man flicked on the light to the bedroom suite walking around. Jack knew the sound of chips hitting the counter and this man had just unloaded a bundle of them.
Jack watched through the crack in the door of the closet as the man shimmied out of a high-end suit coat that any cowboy would be proud to wear. He tossed his black Stetson cowboy hat on the bed and fell on it trying to get his leg up high enough to get his cowboy boots off, but his substantial gut was causing an issue and keeping it from happening. In an accent that left little question of if he was from Texas or not he yelled, "Oh for hell's sake would you get off my foot you stupid damn boot!"
The man’s face had turned almost purple from the work put into the task and he looked like it was going to burst from the strain. A button shot off his shirt and across the room. “Christ, Helen is going to notice that one, maybe one of them girls down in the tailor’s office can fix this.”
He lifted both legs as high as he could and brought them both down quickly trying to use the momentum to get to his feet. The unmistakable sound of a tear echoed through the large room. He patted at his ass, feeling nothing but boxers at the bottom of his crotch. He undid the giant belt buckle rolling to his side thinking of many documentaries he'd seen over his lifetime and beached whales came to mind.
The man finally made it to his feet only to fall over onto his face on the floor with a large thud. Jack couldn't stand the carnival show anymore, he opened the closet door slowly stepping out. Other than a pair of pants and a stained wife-beater muscle shirt there was nowhere that a weapon could be placed. Jack walked up slowly, pistol in one hand and a heavy gauge guitar string that he'd attached to two small pieces of wood, one that had a hook so he could tighten the noose with the other. The man tried to sit up, but had the same results as before.
“Would you please stop. I’m almost beginning to feel bad for you. You have issues you know that?”
The man tried to rush away but Jack kicked his feet out from under him sending him back into a pushup position. Williams yelled, “Who in the hell are you? What are you doing in my hotel room?”
“It seems your wife doesn’t like you very much, Mr. Williams. I won’t lie, I’m a little surprised that you have got a wife in the first place. Were you rich when you met her?”
“What does that mean?”
“Sir, I’ve had bowel movements that are more graceful and better looking than you. What I mean is, I don’t think you would have a chance in hell of getting a wife if it wasn’t motivated financially, unless you are hung like a horse, which…I honestly don’t see it. I really don't,” Jack said shrugging his shoulders.
“Helen wouldn’t kill me, she loves me, she’s waiting for me to come home tonight, she’ll be worried sick if I don't make it home. I swear to God.”
"Uh huh, well I'm not a big believer in the man upstairs and you live in Dallas, Texas. If you had any plans about being home tonight, then you would have left six hours ago. Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for you to come back? You should have been back hours ago."
Williams in his drunken stupor finally realized what the man was holding. He tried to get back, but was too drunk and too fat to get up from where he was lying. “What are you going to do with that?”
Jack held up the pistol. “This is if you scream, I’ll just shoot you in the head and make it quick. This is to make you suffocate, make your neck bleed, make your eyes pop out of your head and probably make you shit yourself.”
“Why would you use that?”
“Helen really doesn’t like you! I’m not talking about a little bit; we are talking a lot. I asked her how she would like me to take care of you; she just said to make sure it hurts. Now I’m usually a nice guy, people tend to like me...not those that I am killing, but waitresses, bartenders, those types of people, I'm a great tipper, a really nice guy.”
“I can pay you, I can-”
“She said that you’d tell me that, that you would lie too, that you’d flee town, and that you don’t have access to the money just the horrible decisions that you make for your company. She wanted me to tell you, you deserve this.”
Jack took the man by the hair tightly holding him, letting it slide to the back of his neck so he could place the
loop to the string around it. Williams started clawing at Jack’s wrists. As Jack looked down he could see Williams was trying to get free. He knelt next to the man and Williams was still trying to grab his wrists as he was attempting to tighten the string around the man’s neck. “You shouldn’t do that, it’s rude.”
Williams was trying to put up a fight, even as pathetic as it was. Jack looked down smiling. The man made a horrible mistake and punched Jack in the mouth. Blood ran down his chin, the man smiled and Jack did too licking the blood off his hand.
When he tried swinging again, Jack took his wrist, more than ready. He wrapped his hand around it bringing it down with such force that he snapped it in two, the bone came out and the pain was so great that Williams choked only a peep aloud.
Tears filled Williams’ eyes as Jack took the man’s other hand and patted it softly, looking at it before repeating and getting the same result. His blood began to pool on the floor on either side of him. Jack whispered in his ear as the man tried to scream, the pain was so bad that he was unable to utter a sound. “You aren’t going to try touching me again, are you?”
The man shook his head no, as his lips quivered. He took a good hold of the wood end of the choker. “It’s only going to hurt...until you die.”
Jack sat behind him putting his heels on the man's shoulders, holding the wood tight and pulled back until a thin line began to grow from the fat rolls on his sweat-drenched neck. Jack pulled until white foam appeared in the man's mouth as he began to convulse and his legs kicked wildly. Jack undid the noose around his neck the crimson colored blood dripped down. He used the man's shirt to wipe it off checking his pulse and making sure there would be no worry about him coming back. He took a handful of chips as he left thinking this would be his lucky night.
Chapter 2
Las Vegas two hours later - 1988
Jack sat outside of his apartment building smoking a cigarette tapping the ash on the wet road beneath. He rubbed his free hand through his black cropped hair before deciding he’d waited long enough. Jack had been sitting there for an hour watching his window from the street. Jack had been in the business of killing people for over a decade. He knew that with every kill, there could always be repercussions, but he always did his best to be careful, smart and made sure he was always paid. It wasn’t the targets that scared him, it was people who’d paid him to do it and to hitters that wanted to be number one.
He took the last few hits on his smoke, deciding that, yes, it was safe to enter. He rolled up his window and looked around. It had been raining recently and that wasn’t something normal for a city that barely ever saw precipitation. The only thing it was abundant with was sin and sinners and that was the way he liked it. The calls from home to work out of New York had come regularly, but he’d denied all of them knowing that Vegas was now his home.
Jack took the steps slowly. He’d waited in his last job’s home for forty-eight hours, waiting for him to come home. The window that he’d been given was loose and by the time the man had come home, he was half tempted to go after the contract instigator. He could feel his pistol bouncing against his ribs as he walked up the steps. Most people would find it annoying, but he loved the security of knowing it was there when and if he needed it.
Jack didn’t see anyone in the stairways, it was only midnight and most of the residents worked on the strip and wouldn’t be home until after the bars had shut down or in some cases until the sun had begun to come up. He slid in the key turning it slowly, being in a hurry was what kept people from having any longevity in the business and he damn well knew that. Jack opened it only an inch and ran a knife, blunt side, down the door crack. It stopped on the fishing string he’d strung across the door. Each time his knife hit that it was as soothing as anything he’d ever felt. He was never off guard, but he also never took for granted a good night’s sleep.
Jack stepped in pulling off his suit coat and took a hangar off the wall doing it all in the dark. He didn’t need light to know where things were in his apartment. Jack kept everything where it needed to be for that simple purpose. He walked over to the kitchen finally turning on the light above the stove. He pulled out an inch-thick manila envelope filled with hundred-dollar bills. He thought once he hit two million dollars that he would only pull triggers if it meant his own protection and this would add another ten grand to it.
He undid the holster that strapped across his chest and slid off his rig setting the heavy forty-five-caliber and the twenty-two caliber pistols on the kitchen table and rolled his shoulders enjoying the weight being gone and pulling at the dress shirt where the sweat had soaked through. Jack brought out a tumbler, skipping the ice and pouring two fingers of Jack Daniels. He smelled it licking his lips as his mouth began to salivate wanting very badly for its treat to be consumed.
A voice cleared its throat from behind him. Jack took the silenced twenty-two caliber pistol in his right hand spinning around not bothering to remove the holster; they unlike him could be replaced. He fired off four shots, the silencer, illegal of course kept the noise from echoing through the building, not that he was worried about narcs in the apartment.
The men he worked for had most of the police covered, especially those working the shit neighborhoods that he lived in on purpose. Jack saw a shadow in the dark jolt four times, one for each shot. He held the pistol never letting it fall, he hit the light just in time to see a man standing in his living room, he blinked, trying to make sense of it because his brain and eyes were on opposite ends of what he was looking at. Jack whispered, “What in God’s name?”
The intruder had not fallen, nor had he looked like he was going to. Jack flipped on another light as he walked over cautiously. He half expected him to be stuck on something and only a hook was keeping the man on his feet.
The voice came back sounding foreign but Jack was clueless as to where it originated from. “Good Evening, Mr. Brown.”
Jack aimed point-blank for the man’s chest. He’d been killing long enough, he knew that headshots were too easy to miss, but at the same time was wondering if there might be a bulletproof vest that he was wearing. “How do you know my name?”
“Well, Jack, I could call you Scott Canners if you want me to be accurate. But we both know that you don’t go by that name anymore.”
Jack smiled squeezing the trigger one more time. The gun jumped and he had to blink to take in what he was truly seeing. The last of the bullets from his pistol were stuck three inches in front of his pistol spinning in the air as if it was still rotating coming out of the barrel. Jack let his arm and the pistol drop to his side, “What are you, some kind of magician? Do you know what I can do to people; I got a reputation in this town?”
The man walked up closer out of the shadows. Jack took a step back as the thin-lipped smiling man walked toward him. Jack could see his shots had very much found a home and they’d gone all the way through. If the man owned a bulletproof vest, he was most definitely not wearing it this evening. Four tightly grouped holes were in his chest. A slow flow of blood trickled from the bullet holes. The man reached forward with his index finger and thumb taking the bullet from midair.
“No, I am no magician, however, they do fascinate me. I would say they made a deal with the devil to be able to do what it is they can pull off but I know that isn’t true.”
Jack was swimming through a million thoughts. Absolutely nothing made sense about what he was thinking and what was going on tonight. “Then how are you doing that?”
The man ran his hands up and down in this old thing kind of a fashion. He stuck his fingers in the holes, pulling them out covered in blood. Jack raised the pistol one more time not hesitating to aim point-blank at the man's skull and pulled the trigger. His head snapped back, brains and blood covered the back of the wall. The man did not fall, though, Jack stepped forward, "What in God's name?"
The man brought his head back down, a single drop of blood ran down his nose and a small hole that expanded to t
he size of a golf ball in the rear of his head was now present.
“I think you might have the wrong ruler in mind, Jack, my boy.”
Jack spun on his heel pushing off to run. His feet went out from under him and he looked down to see that he was no longer on the hardwood floors of his apartment. The stranger lifted his finger, bringing him closer with one motion of his finger. Jack started screaming but the man closed his index and thumb together and with that his mouth shut as well. The man walked up slowly doing a little dance that reminded him of every tap dance act he’d ever seen Sinatra do on the strip. He tried to move but was paralyzed from the neck down.
The intruder got within whispering distance to him. “Do I have your attention? Are you scared yet? I am not known for my patience. Are you getting an idea of who you are dealing with yet, Jack?”
Jack tried to nod but couldn't. The man lowered his hand dropping him on the ground where he landed on his back hard, grunting through his clenched lips. He opened his fingers, letting him breathe and speak again. "What do you want? Are you a demon?"
