by L. D. Rose
Table of Contents
RELEASING THE DEMONS
Acknowledgements
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
RELEASING THE DEMONS
The Order Of The Senary
L.D. ROSE
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
RELEASING THE DEMONS
Copyright©2015
L.D. ROSE
Cover Design by Fiona Jayde
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-61935-882-9
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
For my husband, Brian.
You are my love, my light, my everything.
Acknowledgements
Wow, where do I even start?
First and foremost, I want to thank my fabulous editor, Char Chaffin, and founder of Soul Mate Publishing, Debby Gilbert, for believing in this story. You have my eternal gratitude. I also want to thank Cheryl Yeko and Fiona Jayde for the awesome cover.
To all my fellow CoLoNY members for showing their support and encouragement from the moment I walked into my first meeting. I couldn’t have done it without you. Every writer needs a CoLoNY!
To my beta readers who took precious time to peruse this draft in its various stages: Nikki Ingram, Kasidy Mansico, Debbie Christiana, Leanne Fitzpatrick, Amanda Heroman, Janice Smith, Molly Somogyi, Karen Chacon and J.C. Stockli. Thank you for your invaluable input (and for putting up with me).
And last, but certainly not least, to you, dear reader, for picking up this book and taking a trip through this crazy, dark world I’ve created. I hope you enjoyed reading Blaze and Valerie’s journey as much as I enjoyed writing it.
‘Revenge is a dish best served burning hot.’
ONE
Grand Central Terminal’s M42 Subbasement
Midtown Manhattan, New York
Five years ago
Something scraped against the floor.
Blaze lifted his head, his body screaming in protest. Pain sliced through his skull and crackled down his spine, electrifying every nerve in his body. Stifling a gasp, he listened hard, but he was near deaf after they’d blown out his right eardrum. He thought he heard footsteps, but he couldn’t be sure. His skin went tight with alarm, raising every hair on his body.
Whoever it was, they were coming closer.
Once, he would’ve panicked. He would’ve prayed to go unconscious. Now he didn’t care.
The spikes they’d hammered into him were like white-hot pokers pulsing in his flesh, his body splayed like Christ on the cross. He couldn’t move and every inch of him throbbed, his bones aching, his body raw. Every muscle was on fire, wrought with tension from fighting gravity and maintaining his position.
Maybe this time they would paralyze him so he wouldn’t have to feel anything anymore.
He stared at the backs of his eyelids, braced for the next horror, unable to open his eyes because they’d been sewn shut. Since then, the only lights he ever saw were his retinas exploding when they punched him in the face again and again.
When nothing came for him, he dared to speak. “Hello?” His voice came out ragged, his lungs like torn sails after a hurricane. “Who’s there?”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” a man murmured. The stumbling of boots on broken debris sounded nearby. “B?”
Blaze didn’t recognize the voice at first; it had been an eternity since he’d last heard it. When a cool hand fell on his chest, realization smashed through him like a wrecking ball.
No. It couldn’t be.
“Dax?” The word left him in a whimper.
“It’s me.” His brother’s voice grew louder as his hand dropped away. “Shit,” he hissed as something toppled to the floor and rolled away.
The bucket collecting Blaze’s blood.
“Jesus . . . God! I’m going to fucking kill them. Every last fucking one, I swear.”
A relief so profound swelled in Blaze’s chest, constricting his throat and bursting through his sealed eyelids. “Dax? Is that really you?” He couldn’t believe it. He was hallucinating. He had to be.
“I’m going to get you out of here.” Dax shuffled around, metal hitting metal, drawers opening and closing. He kept cursing under his breath as he dug through what sounded like a toolbox—the toolbox holding their instruments of torture.
My God, he found me. He finally found me.
Dax’s footsteps returned within moments, his hand gingerly touching Blaze’s shin. He ran it down toward his ankle, as if examining the damage. Both of Blaze’s feet had been nailed to the cross, the iron rods driven through the sides of his heels. Dax swore again and released him.
“I’m going to start with your hands,” he said. The bucket scraped over the floor. “Got to use the goddamn bucket to stand on. I’m at your right. Unclench your fist.”
Blaze extended his swollen fingers, revealing the thick spike embedded in the center of his palm. He let out a hiss of pain as Dax tried to push his own fingers between the spike head and Blaze’s skin.
“I’m sorry, B. It’s the only way I can get you out of here.”
Blaze nodded. He’d been through worse.
The claw end of a hammer slipped between Dax’s hand and the spike head. He didn’t waste any time as he yanked viciously, pulling the spike out about halfway. Blaze’s entire arm burst with pain and he gritted his teeth, catching a yelp before it left his throat, swallowing it down into a grunt. Tears burned the backs of his eyes but he bottled the agony, like he had so many times in the past.
His brother hesitated, cursing softly.
“Keep going,” Blaze rasped. “Don’t stop.”
Dax yanked again and the spike
cleared Blaze’s palm. Iron clattered to the floor as Blaze feebly folded his arm against his chest, bringing it to his center of gravity. His wounds pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and Christ, he felt like his whole body was going to detonate.
“Hurry,” Blaze urged desperately, “before someone hears us.”
Quickly Dax freed Blaze’s left hand and caught him before he flopped forward. More pain erupted through his legs from bearing the new weight, and Dax lifted him up, giving him some relief. Blaze trembled as he clutched his brother’s jacket, both of them panting from the struggle and the lack of oxygen underground. Dax smelled like the ocean, like home, and Blaze wanted to cling to him forever.
“Bend your knees,” Dax murmured, his voice stroking Blaze’s good eardrum. “I got you.”
Blaze slowly bent his knees, gasping as the spikes in his heels ground against bone. As soon as he was low enough, Dax dropped down and shoved his shoulder beneath Blaze’s pelvis, supporting his weight. Dax removed both spikes from Blaze’s heels with far more difficulty, wrapping his hand around Blaze’s feet before clearing the rods from bone with the hammer.
Blaze managed to keep from screaming but he nearly passed out a few times. Bearing the brunt of his weight, Dax gently lowered him to the floor.
Floundering like an infant, slipping on his own blood, Blaze couldn’t get his feet to support him. His soles had been skinned and the pain was terrific, cutting him off at the knees. Quickly Dax hauled him up in a fireman’s carry so he wouldn’t have to stand on his own.
“It’s okay, B.” Dax’s voice wavered for the first time. “You’re going to be okay. We’re going home.”
Home. Blaze rested his head against his brother’s back as tears spilled from his sealed eyelids, unchecked. Free.
He was finally free.
TWO
South Bronx, New York
Present Day
Shit. He couldn’t find his damn clothes.
Blaze walked into Elena’s bedroom, which mostly comprised her entire cramped studio apartment. The sexy Latina had finally invited him over after months of wooing her at a local café where she worked. She’d been completely embarrassed by the lack of air-conditioning she couldn’t afford and kept apologizing for the heat.
So he’d shown her how much he thrived in it.
He glanced over at her futon to find her resting peacefully, her breathing slow and deep with slumber. He still couldn’t figure out how he’d managed to fit on the tiny mattress, but it was perfect for her size. Her long curly hair was tangled around her pillow, coursing over her arm like a dark river. The sheets bunched alongside her body, and she clutched the fabric against her tummy. Hazy light from the sun filtered in through the open window, making her skin glow. Her leg and breast were exposed, her lips parted as she breathed softly.
He stirred, hardened, preparing for round three. He turned toward the sun’s rays and measured their heat. 0900.
Damn it, he was late. Better not wake her. Blaze focused on the task at hand, tightening his fingers on the towel at his hip. The rag barely fit around his waist, and with his luck, it was probably pink too. He scanned the floor for his clothes, trying to differentiate them from the other scattered objects. Considering his vision was of the infrared variety, only an object that emitted heat could give off detail, so piles of clothes just looked like dark blotches to him.
He found his jeans and slipped them on, throwing the towel over his shoulder. The scent of Elena’s fruity soap invaded his nostrils and he cringed; he smelled like a goddamn cherry peony. His sneakers were by the door and he’d probably never locate his socks.
“Mmm,” Elena purred as she turned on her side and reached for him. When she found nothing but sheets, she cracked her eyelids open and murmured, “Papi?”
He quickly closed the distance between them, amazed he hadn’t fallen flat on his face. He leaned over the bed, bracing himself on his hands as he dipped down to kiss her. “I’m here, baby, just getting dressed. Go back to sleep and get some rest.”
She nodded, making a soft sound of pleasure as he stroked her hair, taming the wild curls. She nestled into his pillow, breathing deeply as she settled back to sleep. He stared down at her, his body hardening again.
You’ve got to go. Now.
Forcing his gaze away from her, he surveyed the floor again. Fuck it. He picked things up and sniffed them. Fuzzy slippers, nope. Miniskirt, nope. Lace panties, definitely not, but he thought of pushing them into his back pocket anyway. Yes, his shirt, but then it occurred to him it was worthless.
Elena had torn it clear off him.
Dropping it at the foot of the bed along with the towel, he decided to go bare-chested. Not like it wasn’t hot enough outside anyway.
Blaze pulled his keys and sunglasses out of his sneakers, his standard habit of leaving them there or in his jacket. It made his life a whole lot easier when he wasn’t spending an hour looking for cold metal and plastic. He was careful not to jangle them, because the last thing he needed was for Elena to wake up to him running out the door.
He removed a wad of money from his back pocket and dropped it on her kitchen table beside an empty wineglass. When she found it later, she would probably be insulted, thinking he’d taken her for a whore, but she would get over it and keep the damn money. Maybe she’d buy herself the air conditioner she was so worried about. Or maybe she’d fill her empty fridge with food.
Maybe both.
He glanced at her one more time, absorbing the lovely vision of her, before he shut the apartment door behind him. He’d give her some time to blow off steam and spend the money, then he’d come back and say hello.
Once he was out of the tenement, Blaze scanned the area, taking in every movement and detail. The morning air was already hot and humid, the sun beating down on the pavement. Heat lifted off the concrete in blurry waves, revealing the world to him.
A couple of houses down the street, two guys stood near a pickup truck and talked about yesterday’s Yankees game. Across the street, a man cut his lawn, not much more than a box-sized patch of grass. Someone blasted by on a motorcycle as a woman shouted from a third story window, yelling about bread and milk to a man on the sidewalk below while he cursed under his breath. Rap music pounded from somewhere down the street, rhyming about money, women, and cars. A horn blared in the distance, followed by a screech, but no crash. The thick air smelled of smog and garbage.
Welcome to summer in South Bronx.
Confirming he wasn’t being watched, Blaze slid on his sunglasses and started walking. He cut across the lawn and hopped over a chain-link fence into the next yard. He wound through a few more patches of grass before he hit the sidewalk, keeping his eyes peeled and his guard up. Just because the sun was up didn’t mean the threat was gone.
It didn’t mean he wasn’t being hunted.
He took a sharp turn at the street corner and dodged an elderly Hispanic woman walking her German Shepard. The dog burst into a barking fit at the sight of him, but the woman held her ground, leashing the canine with surprising strength.
“Buenas días, señora,” Blaze greeted her with an amused smile, passing her quickly before the dog took a chunk out of his leg. She cursed him to high heaven in Spanish, yapping about disrespect and today’s youth.
Guess he couldn’t charm them all.
After about a hundred paces, Blaze took another turn into a back alley and there it was, safe and sound.
Thank God.
He had to learn to stop taking his black ’69 Chevelle into one of the worst areas of the city.
He disarmed it with a sigh of relief, circling it to make sure it hadn’t been vandalized. A homeless man sat propped against a dumpster, watching him with suspicious dark eyes before they lit with recognition. The man was also shirtless, wearing hole-ridden jeans and
a worn fisherman’s hat pulled down low over his face. He held an old switchblade in one hand and an empty bottle of beer in the other.
“Hercules,” the man exclaimed with a toothless grin, raising the bottle as if he were in a bar and just noticed his buddy walk in.
“What’s up, Homes?” Blaze asked, giving his beloved car a final examination. “You protect her well?”
“Sure did, had to fight them off, you get what I’m saying?" Homes waved the blade around erratically. “But they didn’t get near her, no they didn’t.”
Blaze laughed, finding no flaws in the car as he straightened. “Good job, my man, good job. I knew I could count on you.” He tossed Homes a roll of green before he opened the driver’s side door. “Go buy yourself another beer and don’t spend it all in one place.”
Homes caught the money and his eyes damn near popped out of his head. Blaze didn’t stick around for his response as he hopped in and started the car, the engine rumbling to life. He glimpsed Homes in the rearview mirror and smiled as the homeless man climbed to his bare feet, dancing with joy and singing his praise and thanks. Considering Blaze had just given him a thousand dollars, he had something to sing about.
Blaze shifted into first gear as he pulled out of the alley and roared onto the street, snapping the gearshift into second, then third. He rolled down the tinted windows and turned up the sound system, DMX booming over the speakers. He sped through the grid of the New York streets, grabbing the attention of anything and everything that breathed.
