How to Kill an Incubus: A Rae Erickson Story (27 page)

“You said you’d let me leave!”

“You are a very gullible gazelle, Miss Erickson,” said Damien, removing his arm from my waist and gripping my hand instead. “You’re coming with me.”

I struggled, dug my nails into his skin. No dice. Utterly futile.

My phone was off and something told me Damien wouldn’t just allow me to whip it out.

JP was standing stock-still in the doorway. I cut him a pleading look and received nothing but a blank look.

And then his entire body shook, his eyes widening in horror, in fright. “Help me,” he wailed, his body slamming into the doorjamb. “
Aidez-moi.
Please!”

Help him? How could I, when I was frozen to the spot in shock?

Damien reached out, grabbed a handful of JP’s dark hair, and slammed the back of his head against the door. “Fucking demon can’t even possess this idiot right,” he muttered, shaking his head as JP’s limp body slumped to the ground. “They’re all useless.”

I was five seconds away from a complete and total meltdown.

“I really don’t know what possesses some mortals to willingly fall for these beasts,” Damien was saying to himself, his iron grip still on my wrist. “They’re stupid, irritating wildlings with no sense of ambition. What’s your opinion, Miss Erickson?”

“Tell me where you’re taking me,” I demanded, my voice hoarse for some reason. Damien stopped in front of a set of elevators. The thought of being in such a confined space with someone who just threatened to rip my insides apart moments ago made my knees buckle.

“You must have a magical golden pussy if Andrei can put up with your whining.” He shoved me inside the elevator once the doors opened and strode after me. “Don’t be offended. Mortals, in general, are whiny pests.”

I watched as his finger pushed a button that made the doors close, sealing me inside my metal coffin.

Where the hell are we going?
And then I realized…

B… for Basement.

Chapter 19

I stared at my ring until the ruby became a blurry haze of crimson. But trying to convey every ounce of my fear and apprehension into the little piece of jewelry seemed to be futile. This was the one thing that was supposed to protect me when I couldn’t protect myself—and it wasn’t working.

Andrei isn’t coming.

That was my sole thought as Damien half-dragged, half-carried me into the large, vast space beneath the club—the basement. Above it, the steady thumping of the bassline of a song made the chandeliers (damn chandeliers!) tinkle prettily. The place was packed, and it wasn’t a normal crowd, that I knew.

Men and women sat on high-back chairs, which were arranged in a large circle. And beneath my shoes, I could vaguely feel cold hard concrete. But it was the figure inside the circle that made my heart race. It was a little inconspicuous at first, but as I got closer I could make out a young woman tied up in an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair. I instantly recognized her as one of the college students who had been standing outside the club a few days ago.

“What the fuck?” I twisted to get a look at Damien, who was just as comfortable hovering in the background as he probably was in the limelight.

“Welcome to the Russian Inquisition, Miss Erickson,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “You have a front-row seat. You should be honored.”

He shoved me into the waiting arms of his henchman—one of many, I’m sure—before sauntering into the ring—for that was what it was, and approaching the young woman. She had glassy red-rimmed eyes and a split bottom lip. I tasted bile.

“Do you claim to hear the voice of God, Miss Roche?” Damien asked her, digging a hand into her unruly brown curls and tugging hard so that she was forced to look up at him.

“Yes,” she answered, her voice nothing more than a whisper.

“I can’t hear you, Miss Roche. Perhaps you should speak louder.”

“Yes!”

“You’re a liar. Where is your God now? Why isn’t He saving you?”

She remained silent, and that was answer enough.

“Let me go!” I hissed, sensing what was coming. I tried to yank my arm away from the man, but it was utterly useless.

In response, he rolled his eyes down at me and tugged me to him, his arm snaking around my waist.

“Maybe we should put you in the ring, hmm?” His hot breath fanned the shell of my right ear and I instantly recoiled.

“Maybe you should go fuck yourself,” I spat. “That girl’s barely a teenager!” I screamed the last part out, praying that someone would be decent enough to feel even a hint of fucking remorse.

But no.

The scene was disgusting. Damien didn’t physically harm the girl, but it was clear that she was broken inside already. Then he repeated the question, “Where is your God now?” And her shoulders sagged.

“Why would You talk to this mortal and not to me?” Damien growled, looking up at the ceiling. “Save her now! Save her!”

“Lord, God of vengeance, God of vengeance, shine forth,” the girl murmured. “Rise up, judge of the earth; repay to the proud what they deserve!”
[2]

“Psalm 94. How quaint,” Damien sneered, lowering his face to hers. “Say hello to Him for me, Miss Roche.”

Meanwhile, Damien’s henchman hissed, “You need a closer look,” as he dragged me to the frontline.

People parted for him like the Red Sea, and before I knew it, I had a highly unwanted front-row seat to how long the brunette had endured emotional and physical torture. Eyes swollen shut and one lip torn, she was held up on the chair only by the rope around her upper body.

She’s
dying
, I thought in horror.

And next thing I knew, I used all of my strength to whip around and punch the tall man in his long, almost elegant throat, so hard that he instantly released me, wheezing a flurry of curses that would make Satan blush. But I didn’t hang around to listen.

In all the commotion and shouts of “Kill her!” and “Her god won’t save her!” that were brought on by Damien’s sudden grip on the girl’s neck, nobody noticed that I’d clouted the demon holding me. I could’ve run, could’ve unassumingly crept away and sprinted upstairs to relative safety.

But that wasn’t who I was.

Kickboxing was something I did to keep fit, flexible and strong enough so I wouldn’t be helpless in an alleyway. The funny thing about doing something you love is that even though you haven’t done it in a long time, your muscles remember. Your brain remembers. It’s like riding a bike.

So I made a frantic dash to the makeshift ring and lashed out at Damien, but he was faster. In one effortless move, he crushed the girl’s windpipe with his bare hand. Then, with a finger to his lips, he vanished into thin air.

Cheering from the crowd was deafening, but funnily enough, no one lunged after me. I mean, I was more than prepared to die even if my attempt at saving someone else was a complete and total failure.

At least I tried.

“Oh, God,” I breathed, pressing two fingers against the side of the girl’s neck. There was no pulse there… nothing but broken bones and purpling marks. She was gone.

She was so young. I couldn’t understand how someone could be this evil. Evil enough to hammer a baby-faced redhead, who was still wearing little black
Mary Janes
. Then I realized that the “why” didn’t matter. Andrei had already said it: Damien did things for the hell of it.

“Did you
think you could save her? Do you think you can save any of them?” Damien’s smooth voice came from behind me.

It took me half a second to realize that the room was jarringly quiet. The mob’s sudden shift from chaotic uproar to statue-like stillness was creepy as hell.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice surprisingly calm as I crumpled to the ground, unable to stand any longer.

“Can you imagine being denied entrance to the only home you’ve ever known, Miss Erickson?” Damien stared down at me, looking godlike and freaking innocent. “Unable to communicate with the One who should have loved you unconditionally? I suppose that His unconditional love only applies to you mortals.”

I went from being a “demon’s slut” to an esteemed “Miss Erickson”. His “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” shtick was getting old fast. I bit back a scathing response and just slowly undid the knots of the rope around the young woman. It was a blessing that I wasn’t convulsing from being around so many supernatural creatures. That could only mean that the crowd was made up of humans—humans who were little more than vessels for Damien’s demon cronies. They were probably trapped in their own bodies, watching the world from the inside out.

“No, I don’t think you truly know what that is like,” Damien surmised, crouching down low beside me. “Well, I do. And if these human girls can indeed commune with God, what better way to exact my revenge than to take them away from Him?” He was running his hand up and down the girl’s pantyhose covered thigh. I yearned to chop that wandering hand off.

“You humans are so expendable. Kill one and a human female breeds more,” Damien went on, chuckling to himself. “Do you know that every second, four of you inferior beings pop out? You’re like rabbits, but less tasty.” He continued his exploration of the girl’s leg. “So I figured, if I’m stuck as a godforsaken being on this godforsaken planet, I might as well enjoy myself. Right, guys?” He gestured to his mob of merry demons and they cheered as if he were a talk show host.

“Enjoy yourself?” I snarled. “This girl…”

“This girl is barely eighteen and claims that angels speak to her,” Damien spat at me, surprising me with his vehemence. But not a second later, his fury dissipated and it was as if he never lashed out. Then a sardonic smile spread across his face. “Pardon my tenses, Miss Erickson. I meant was, claimed, and spoke.”

Beneath my fingers, however, the girl’s pulse grew faster, contradicting what Damien just said. I kept silent, hoping he didn’t notice anything.

“So you… put her on trial? Decided that she was guilty of being a Christian and killed
her for sport?” I was shaking, anger so raw and tempting I couldn’t resist it.

“I’m a fair man. She could have told the truth, said that she’d been lying, and I would have let her go with no memory of this.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think…”

“Oh, but Sarah had faith, you see. She had a Higher Power speaking to her, supposedly protecting her.” Damien threw his head back and laughed, pushing soft blond curls out of his eyes. “I asked. I gave her a chance to confess, instead of killing her outright like I should have. I give them all a chance.”

He rose to his feet, eyes turning to slits. “Marco, Nicolas, hold this one down,” he calmly instructed, and before I knew it, hands were yanking me away from the girl… from Sarah.

I struggled. I kicked. I dug my French tips into skin until I broke through it.

Nothing.

Marco and Nicolas turned out to be twice my size, plus they had supernatural beings going along for a ride inside them. Nothing I did affected them. Nothing. They held me down on the cement and all I could do was sit there and let them.

“Now you will see what happens to girls who aren’t as polite as Sarah Roche,” Damien said darkly. And I could only watch as another girl was brought to him, dragged kicking and screaming across the floor.

“Damien, don’t,” I begged, despising myself for stooping to that level.
Barely eighteen
, he’d said.

The new girl was probably the same age, and she was about to be subjected to the same fate.

“You want me. You want to torture me!” I screamed. They were so close I could almost touch them. Almost.

He held the girl up against his front, and to my surprise, there was a determined look in her moss green eyes, which were brilliantly shiny with tears.

“Sometimes I can take away people’s pain,” Damien was saying, hands on her shoulders. “Most times, I just don’t fucking feel like it.”

If you’re a normal person, there are probably two things that go through your mind when you know someone is about to kill another person. The first is if you know it’s going to happen, shouldn’t you stop it? And the second is that if, for some reason, you couldn’t save them, you hope the innocent person’s death is quick and painless.  

Unfortunately, before I could even contemplate the first, it was all over.

For without any hesitation, Damien crushed the girl’s skull and ripped her—this barely eighteen-year-old girl—into two almost equal halves… with his bare hands.

It was surreal. She didn’t scream, didn’t make any noise, but her lips were moving before it happened and I knew she was murmuring a quick
Notre Père
. That, coupled with her shiny eyes on me, tore a fresh stream of pleas from my mouth.

But it was too late. Even before he crushed her skull in the palm of his hand like it was a peanut, it was too late. Even before he tore through her pale skin and found the muscle and bone, it was too late. It was too late because there was no one of use in that room… no one who could help her… not even me.

I felt hot in my sheer clothing. It  was because of the girl’s blood, which soaked through my clothes and warmed my skin. But only when I ran my tongue across my lips did I taste the blood and realized that I was baptized in it. Sprayed. Spattered. Showered.

“Please save her,” I whispered, over and over again—thinking back to the first girl, the one called Sarah. To God? I didn’t know. Perhaps I did want to ask Him to do this one thing for me, but I was too scared. Would He hear my plea? Does He listen to prayers that came even from the wicked? Was I still a good enough of person for Him to consider, regardless of who, or what, I loved?  

“Marco, dispose of the bodies,” Damien called, dropping each half of the headless girl onto the ground with a sickening thwack. He laughed over the renewed chatter. “I hope I have proven a point here tonight.”

“You’re a monster,” I breathed.

“I don’t claim to be anything else,” he said, winking at me conspiratorially. “And I like to get creative… in everything I do,” he finished suggestively. “Take Miss Erickson upstairs. Through the back exit. I don’t want my patrons to call the cops…or think she’s Carrie or something.” He watched them tug me to my feet. “Oh, Miss Erickson, you keep sobbing like that and I might just have to shove my dick in your mouth to make you stop.”

“Fuck you,” I raged, launching myself at him. I barely got one step toward him before his Neanderthals yanked me back.

Damien merely laughed, wiping his bloodstained hands down the front of his jeans. “Rest assured, Miss Erickson, you will. The chase is what I most enjoy, so don’t ruin it for me by sashaying in here again. Agreed?”

Damien’s two henchmen was leading me past his open office to get to the back exit when suddenly, Temp leapt out the room, eyes wide as saucers.

“Temp?” I sputtered stupidly, blinking quickly to make sure he wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

“What the fuck?” His face hardened as he took in the scene. “Rae, is this your blood? That’s my sister you’re manhandling, dickfaces!”