by J. E. Keep
The Enforcer – Book 1
J.E. & M. Keep
© 2014 Pathforgers Publishing.
All Rights Reserved. If you downloaded an illegal copy of this book and enjoyed it, please buy a legal copy. Either way you get to keep the eBook forever, but you’ll be encouraging us to continue writing and producing high quality fiction for you. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imaginations. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Michelle Keep. All cover art makes use of stock photography and all persons depicted are models.
This book is intended for sale to Adult Audiences only.
All sexually active characters in this work are over 18 and between non blood-related, consenting individuals.
More information is available at Pathforgers Publishing
If you require content warnings: this particular story contains female dominance, drug use, promiscuity, and violence (not explicit)
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Book Description
In a city run by Vampires, there’s one person standing between order and anarchy – The Enforcer.
In the lawless wastelands inhabited by the dregs of a decadent civilization, the demoness, Zwi, keeps the peace. She’s just as hard as any of them, just as desperate to survive, and even more willing to fight for the little slice of heaven that came from a vial or between the sheets.
Where criminals reign, she has to be the biggest thug of them all to maintain even a modicum of control.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Note from the Authors
More by J.E. & M. Keep
Biography
Chapter 1
The club sat atop one of the taller buildings of New Azoth City. It was exclusive with a capital ‘E’. The metal skyscraper towered over the wasteland deserts, though the club itself made no use of the spectacular view. Only at night did the heavy curtains ever part, and so few ever got to see inside.
Zwi was invited for one of her rare visits with her boss, an immortal. A vampire. He had come to that land, like the rest of his kind, to live as they wished, in decadence and sinful indulgence, away from the prying eyes of civilization and its rules and order. He was one of the owners of most of the city, but the slums over which he lorded required his own bit of order, and that's where she came in.
The laws were for the peons and plebs, not for the powerful vampire clan.
The club belonged to him, and it was ostentatious beyond anything Zwi could have dreamed of. The first time she’d come, she’d already been working for him for months and never met him. Compared to the lavish life he led, she was living in a hole in the ground.
She didn’t have any room to look down on the vampires. They had all the power, and as a part-demon herself, she could appreciate that. Looking up over the building with black eyes, she calmed her nerves. Her white hair matched the numerous runes along her flesh, elaborate tracings along her eyes, down her neck, and over her exposed breastbone. Her skin was a dark purple, blending her into the night, and even though she fidgeted in her formal outfit, she knew she looked smokin’.
Or, at least, she hoped so. It wasn’t a great idea to have a crush on her killer boss, but she did.
Entering the club and walking past a few half-orc guards, she nodded to them cordially. They were all under his employ, and all tasked with, essentially, the same job. Make sure he stayed rich, powerful, and safe.
So it was a bit odd that he stood by himself, behind the brass-lined marble-topped bar. He was pale and, by all appearances, human. Youthful, but with a mature air. Without the constraints of mortality, it was likely for a good reason. His hair was a pitch black, and parted down the center. His ebony, high-collared suit was cleanly pressed. The slim patch of hair upon his chin formed a slight goatee in an attempt to hide the boyish look of his body with the trappings of age and refinement.
His roundish gaze fell upon her as she arrived on the chugging elevator, boredom plain in his expression. His billowy white sleeves poured from his jacket sleeves as he strummed his fingers on the bar.
Zwi hated having to get dressed for these stupid occasions. She knew it to be important, vitally so, and thus, she had gone to one of the slum’s best hairdressers earlier in the day. She’d gotten her hair washed, dried and styled in a fantastically complicated up-do, curls intertwining on each other as they reached around the crown of her head and spilled down in a planned, yet messy fashion.
Her outfit was far more regal than her traditional day-to-day outfit. A tight fitted white blouse that ruffled at the edges, scooped down low over her shoulders and across the middle of her bicep, a tight brown corset laced along her midsection, a silken white skirt flowed out beneath it and hugged to her curves nicely. It was slit up the side asymmetrically, with ruffles along the edge to match her shirt. A pair of brown high-heeled boots hugged her calves. She knew that some found the black cilia of her eyes to be off-putting, her irises a silver-white, her pupil a deep black, but hoped her boss found it endearing rather than creepy.
Having noted his bored glare, however, she forced herself into business mode. Hard. Cold.
She was his trusted henchwoman. No time for games or flirtation. Even if he was sexy as hell.
His demeanor made her feel childish and underdressed in front of him, though. In the place with all the trappings of high society to which she certainly didn’t belong. Still, she did her best to act unfazed and casual about the entire invitation.
He finally gave a nod to her, the only greeting she would be likely to get.
“The apartments are growing over full. The city is crowded, and there aren't enough places to house them all,” he began in a slow, throaty, upper-class drawl, his eyes appearing a little sunken as he gazed at her. “This means rent will be going up.”
The implications of this were obvious, of course. Rent increases in those poor slums meant some people would be out of a home, others would have to do without basic necessities to keep a roof over their heads, and it would all boil down to more violence and trouble.
“So that means you have to keep order there as this goes down,” he continued. “To ensure there is no trouble that interferes with the flow of rent.”
Zwi listened with practiced calm, her face betrayed no emotion. It helped that she had several drug cocktails earlier in the day, the particular mixture kept her as stoic and as heartless as any sadist. There was no way she could handle a meeting with him without being under the influence.
“Of course,” she said, her voice as dark and as creamy-smooth as her flesh, with a slight bite giving it a masculine husk. “When will they be made aware?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
She was by no means an official law enforcement agent, because no such thing existed that far into the wild wastelands. That’s why the vampires loved the place in all its lawless glory. She was a contracted enforcement officer, though she was free to go by whatever title she chose. The defacto ruler of her little slice of slum heaven, or so the plan went.
Pulling a small vial filled with a dark substance out of his hands, he pushed it across the marble bar top t
oward her.
“A bonus,” he said, “for you to ensure nothing happens to the property.”
The man — was he still a man? — knew of her addictions, and like any manipulative owner, he used them to his advantage. Used her.
She made no haste in reaching for the vial, her face still registered no emotion. Her white eyelashes and brows contrasted against the brilliant dark of her face as she lowered her head deferentially.
“You are too kind,” she said, as she quickly moved to tuck it into her small, white purse. It was a fabric pouch with a drawstring top that was wound around her wrist, holding a small amount of currency and an evening’s supply of various drugs. Just in case he decided to invite her to stay. Not that he ever had before.
“They will be made to understand,” she said.
With a final nod the immortal man slid his hands to the edge of the bar on his side. “Then I trust we needn't speak again for a while. Should you fail in your duties, I'll be in touch.”
He slipped his hands from the brass edging of the bar and tucked them behind his back, the meeting officially at an end.
She bowed and silently cursed the money she spent on her hair for such a brief meeting. How professionally he treated her, even dolled up like she was. Still, not a flicker of emotion passed on her face.
“Have a pleasant evening,” she replied before turning and moving toward the elevator once more. Another lonely night, spent in her little apartment with nothing but drugs to warm her blood. She let out a sigh of frustration. The drugs were already wearing off.
Chapter 2
Leaving the lavish building and its well-armed guards, it didn't take long to become reacquainted with the harsh reality of the city. Even the streets outside the very buildings nobility called home were filled with beggars and ruffians. Past chugging streetcars running on cables powered by steam engines, a worsening vista was introduced. As she got back to her turf, the buildings were shabby and mostly not much of buildings at all.
There were few apartment buildings that were set up by her boss in the early days. Most of them that were left were ramshackle constructs made to house the ever-increasing population of hopefuls, with plenty of tents and makeshift box homes for vagrants crammed into free spaces. People travelled to New Azoth City after hearing stories of great heists, of fabulous wealth passing hands, of riches beyond their reckoning. Zwi figured most of the tales were just rumours were set up by the vampire leaders, luring more dreamers to their lair so that they could feed.
Her apartment was situated on the main level of the central apartment building, right near the door — for convenience’s sake no doubt — and only a short trip across the street from a bar that was grimy and seedy. Compared with the club she’d just been in, it looked even worse than usual.
The sky was red with the sunset as she arrived, and she thought of her boss’ massive bar, filled with sexy immortal beings. Resentment panged at her and a sneer marred her demonically beautiful face.
Most of the vagrants knew not to speak to her. Even with new ones arriving each day, she had the look about her that warned off any who didn’t know better. She figured her odd eyes didn't hurt in that regard. She was tall as well, especially for a woman in heels, levelling in at about six feet.
She looked over at the bar for a moment’s pause, as if considering just how she wanted her night to end. From the best place in the city to the worst. The people on this leg of the city were the bottom of the barrel. Half-breeds, orcs, trolls, beast men. They were the ones who mostly weren't even welcome in the rest of the misbegotten city, which spoke a lot for the quality of her little empire.
And of its empress.
She had expected something so much more for the evening and was already disappointed. One vial. She rolled her inverted eyes in annoyance, deciding quickly that she needn't face any more disappointment that night. She pushed through her doors to her Queendom, preparing to spend the rest of the night as an absolute wash, to be followed by a morning of danger and violence.
Chapter 3
The sun hadn’t even fully set but already the sound of a gunshot signalled to her that her night wouldn’t end so suddenly. As she moved back to the entrance of her apartment building, she saw several low class denizens scurrying out through the bar’s doors and down the streets in fear.
Her head tilted back with annoyance. She tugged a pistol from her boots and walked toward the bar, shoving people out of the way. Her broad body was toned, and even in her rather formal attire, she was not someone that you'd like to see toting a pistol at nightfall.
The bar was a grungy sort — catering to the local lowlifes how could it not be? Dark and dreary inside, it was a large place to accommodate all the riffraff of the area. There were multiple levels, and a big rectangular gap looking up to the floor above where more patrons peered over the wood railings to down below. Even though it was conveniently located across from her apartment, she didn’t often enter it. Unless she was looking for information, she had a rule to never get too close to her citizens.
She shoved her way past the crowds of on looking misfits.
Two men stood in the center of a ring of bar patrons. One was a local named Frellen with greyish skin and dressed in a long trench coat with a high leather jacket beneath. He looked sleek, almost elven, with pointed ears and refined features, but had a sort of strange, sinister air about him. His hair was a thick shock of white that went back past his nearly foot-long ears. It wasn’t quite hair, but more like thick cords of wire rope.
She’d seen him a few times around the city, though she wasn’t sure they had ever spoken. She stared at him, sizing him up.
His eyes were narrow and a pure black, but for a sort of misty grey that passed through them. A strange looking man, whose race she couldn’t even come close to guessing.
Though he faced something much more peculiar.
An elf.
A simple high elf with golden skin and hair. A bit short for his kind, perhaps, so maybe a half-elf, but his thick mane of golden blonde came down from his black hat, and around his expensively tailored jacket. He was dressed similarly to her aristocratic vampire boss, except to her keen eyes she noted his black finery was a bit scuffed and worn at the edges and seams. It had seen some travel. However, handsome though he was with his thick lips and round, yellow tinged eyes, he held a revolver pointed upwards, smoke curling from the barrel after having been recently fired.
She was shocked at the sight, though not unfazed by it, and with her pistol trained onto the golden man, her white on black eyes staring at him hard, she spoke loudly.
“Who are you and why are you shootin' your gun off in my bar?”
It was kind of her bar, in that she allowed it to remain open. It was good enough for her, anyway. By her count, everything in this section of the slums belonged to her, one way or another. This man was no exception.
The greyish apparition of a man — a gremlin he called himself to people in the past, either jokingly or not — looked at her. Despite his self-enforced nickname, he was rather tall and sturdy.
“This newcomer here insists he's been cheated,” Frellen said. His voice had the makings of a deep, attractive tenor.
The golden elf gave a disarming smile, looking far too pleasant and appealing to be any trouble to anyone.
“I assure you, m'lady, I was, ah, merely defendin' myself,” the elf explained in a curious foreign accent.
She studied the elf quickly. It certainly helped that he was fairly attractive. Well, she thought as she looked back toward the crowd, anyone with parts where they ought to be was at least a little attractive around by the standards around here.
“Is that true?” she asked, “That you say you've been cheated? By who?”
Frellen folded his arms over his chest and glared at the elf.
“At cards, no less.” Shooting a look back to Zwi, Frellen added wryly, “Hardly call for gunplay.” The golden man stepped forward, shorter than the accusatory
Frellen, and he waggled his gold-plated revolver before cautiously lowering it and slipping it into his holster. Tipping his wide brimmed, flat-topped hat, he doffed it to her in an elegant bow.
“Hugh Glantau,” he said, introducing himself before rising back up and giving a charming smile.
“And I do believe the gentleman here is just bitter that he's no longer the most appealing looking male specimen in the bar. But, as to the veracity of the accusations...” he said, “I was, ah, merely venting my suspicions when some rather hostile motions were made unto my person. Hence, the self-defence.”
She looked between the two of them and, for a moment, hated her job. There was a reason she didn't have kids, and this was it. She lowered her pistol, though she looked ready to use it all the same.
“I hate to trust you two to settle this like men, but look,” she said, “No one comes to these parts a stranger and expects to win at cards. And ain't no one comes here lookin' to get their ass beaten neither. If you ain't nice to new folks, well, how will we ever fill this place, hmmm? Now. Am I really goin' to have to settle this?”
The grey-skinned Frellen dipped his head in deference to her, and for a moment after the golden elf did the same. Then came the 'but'.
“Ah, now... I'm afraid it's not quite so simple anymore.”
Frellen rolled his dark eyes, as though he expected Hugh’s pushback.
“While there was, ah, all this ruckus,” he said with a smile, “two brutish orc-like gentleman did make off with the remainder of the table’s pot. Includin' my own. Mayhaps you did see them boltin' from the establishment?” He flashed her a white-toothed smile that could very nearly be imagined to sparkle.
“Maybe, then,” she started slowly, her eyes narrowed, “You should have been paying more attention to the pot and less to causing a fuss, clearing out the bar and hurting business for the next... oh I don't know, how long's it take for them to come back in? Ten minutes or so?” she asked, looking to Frellen, then back at the golden elf.
