Payable On Death
The Jax Rhodes Series
Book One
Rachel Rawlings
Print Length: 207 pages
Publication Date: April 5, 2016
ASIN: B01C1U2TZ0
Genre: New Adult Urban Fantasy
Book Description:
A deal with the Devil. Demons haunting your every step. When an Angel offers you the chance to redeem yourself, you take it. Because eternal damnation isn't all it's cracked up to be.
But the Devil always gets his due.
On the streets of Baltimore redemption is..... Payable On Death.
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Excerpt
FORWARD
Hell.
Some people say there is a Hell
Where wicked souls are doomed to go.
But this, by others, is denied,
Who hold there is no Hell below.
I've often heard the place described
By certain preachers in my day,
And trembled like an aspen leaf,
As they its horrors did portray.
That such a place does not exist
I will not undertake to say;
Nor, from the knowledge I possess,
Can I assert the other way.
That there's a Hell, or that there's not,
Is more than mortal man can know;
And in the soul's eternal flight
There's none can say where it shall go.
Were I to say there is a Hell,
Can I, with proof, support the plea?
Did I allege there's no such place?
How can I prove it so to be?
J. H. Stevenson 1890
Have you ever
found yourself at a crossroads? You can't go forward, you can't go back.
There's only bad and worse. Those were the options facing me the day I sold my
soul to the Devil. Sure, it seems like a bad decision now, but at seventeen I
thought it was my only salvation. I've spent every day since trying to earn my
soul back and reserve my spot in Heaven because eternal damnation isn't all
it's cracked up to be.
ONE
"You're
too young to be so troubled. You haven't even seen a quarter century.
You're just a babe." The man flicked his cigarette in to the dark, a
shower of little orange sparks erupting when it hit the pavement.
"I'm not your babe. Leave me alone." I
pushed off the railing on the pedestrian bridge crossing over I-95 and walked
away.
He followed.
"Ah, poor choice of words. I was simply
commenting on your age. You're no one's babe, Jacqui. How could you be? You're
too afraid to let people get close, lest they see the bruises." He ran a
hand along his hair, ensuring each piece in the slicked-back style remained in
place.
"Who are you? How do you know my name?"
I'd never seen him before in my life. Someone that perfect left an impression.
If we'd met before, I would've remembered.
"I can make things better for you. Take away
your pain, ease your suffering. You hardly sleep, listening at your bedroom
door for any sign of trouble. I can help with that." He was confident. He
had to be, walking around Baltimore at night dressed in a three-piece suit,
diamond cufflinks gleaming even with only the dim blue light from the police
CCTV cameras to highlight them.
"I don't know what you think you know about me or what you've heard but I don't do drugs.
So you can go peddle that shit somewhere else. I'm not buying." Despite
having more reasons than I could count, I'd managed to avoid getting hooked on
heroin - an impressive feat given the amount flooding the city.
"Mmm. I almost wish you were. It makes things
so much easier when drugs are involved. Let me ask you a question. Do I look
like some street thug drug peddler to you?"
I took in the meticulous tailoring, the expensive
shoes. "You're definitely not from around here." I gestured to the
boarded up row homes across the street.
Weeds overran the small front yards, brushing the
bottoms of the windowsills. Plywood replaced glass in almost every window. Trash
littered the street, the city cans overflowing onto the sidewalk to the delight
of the ever growing rat population. Sirens echoed in the distance, the dealers
on the corner unfazed.
Welcome to Harm City.
Still, it was safer on the street than at home
most nights.
"Home for me is a lot farther south of the
Mason-Dixon line than Maryland, dear child. What are you doing up here?
Shouldn't you be home? With your mother?"
"You don't know me, you don't know my mom.
Get the fuck out of here before I call the cops." I held up my phone and
pointed at the BPD security camera.
He clucked his tongue, wagging a finger at me.
"Such a foul mouth for such a pretty face. I know a lot about your mom.
The lie she told about going to a basket bingo with her friend Janice. Mom never
made it out of the house by the way. She's very pretty, your mother, I see
where you get your looks. Maybe if she hadn't fussed with her hair and makeup
so much or if she'd chosen a different blouse..."
I'd heard those excuses from my mother so many
times. If she hadn't done this or that, he wouldn't have beat her. Breathing
seemed to be what set him off where I was concerned. I avoided going home as
often as possible. For my mother's sake as much as mine. He seemed better when
I wasn't around.
"It looks bad this time. The neighbors are
out for the night. No one to call for help. And he's upset, very upset."
"The neighbors are out? If by ‘out’ you mean
abandoned and boarded up, then yeah, they're out. He's always upset. I've
begged her to leave, so many times. She won't. She said if she ever did, he'd
kill her. Trust me, if I go back now, it will only make things worse.."
"It's different this time, Jacqui girl."
The same thing my mother said every time my stepfather came home with flowers
and a box of wine to apologize. "He came home early, found the suitcase
she packed to take with her to the shelter by the door. She's hurt. All alone
in that house. With him."
I started to run, only making it a couple of steps
before he grabbed me.
"You'll never make it in time. I can help
you, Jacqui girl. I can put an end to all this. Don't you want to help her?
Don't you want to save your mother? Save yourself? This isn't the life you
deserve. No one should live like this. Forgotten by everyone, left to the
drunken rages and violent fits of that monster you live with. Why is this
happening? Why did He forget about you? He's supposed to love you. Doesn't He
care what happens to you?" He pointed toward the sky.
"What's in it for you? Why do you care what
happens to us? If you know all that, you know I don't have any money and
neither does my mom." I should have screamed for help.
His breath whispered across my ear. "Money
isn't the only form of payment.”
For a moment, I considered it, considered giving
over my body in exchange for him following me home and killing my stepfather.
In all the years of darkness and misery, I’d managed to stay straight, stay on
the path. Faced with the brutal murder of my mother, was I willing to throw it
all away?
I nodded.
"I know a place we can go, but not until you
hold up your end of the bargain." My stomach heaved when I thought about
what I'd agreed to do.
"Oh, you sweet, simple girl. You are so
delicious. The soft unmarked skin of youth pulled tight over toned
muscle." He licked his lips. "Yes, I am quite sure I would enjoy
every moment. However, I don’t recall stating the terms."
"Do we have a deal or not? You said I was out
of time." Panic gripped my heart. Was
she dead already?
"You're right, Jacqui girl, I did Have you
put it together yet? Who I am? He didn't answer you. He never helped you. But I
can."
Everything clicked. I should have ran. I should
have said no. There were a million things I should have done.
"Can you save her? Can you put an end to
this?"
The Devil smiled. "I believe we can come to
an agreement."
TWO
My mother
sat across from me, her hands hidden beneath the stainless steel table. The
room was empty apart from the two of us. Neither of us spoke. She looked away
every time I made eye contact. She'd lost weight since my last visit, dark
circles and sallow cheeks. She wasn't taking care of herself. I worried every
day she'd waste away to nothing, vanish.
Maybe that was the point.
I always hoped it would be different, her blonde
hair would once again be full and lush, the smile in her eyes reserved solely
for me would be back. Nothing changed. Except for the distance between us.
That seemed to be the only thing she nourished.
"Visiting hours are almost up. Five
minutes." The guard looked over at us, giving me a weak smile. He felt
sorry for me. I didn't want or need his pity. He saw a devoted daughter
visiting her mother every Sunday, whether the woman wanted to see her or not.
What he failed to see was a daughter who'd dammed her soul to Hell and her
mother to ten years in one fell swoop.
"I'll see you next week, Mom." Without
looking at her, I pushed my chair back from the table and prepared to leave.
"I really wish you wouldn't."
It was the first time she’d spoken during the
entire visit—in several visits, actually. Her last words to me, prior to this,
had been that she knew what I'd done. She blamed herself. Apparently, we'd
moved past that and the blame now lay squarely where it belonged.
With me.
Stunned, I simply waved goodbye and walked away.
With a heavy heart, I went through each security gate wondering if the
following Sunday my name would be struck from the list of approved visitors.
In keeping with tradition, I caught the bus back
to Fells Point. I got off at the Broadway stop and walked until the
unmistakable awning of The Blue Moon Cafe came into view. A stack of Sarah's
famous Captain Crunch French toast and a cup of coffee brightened even the
shittiest of days. Tucked in the back of the restaurant at my favorite table
next to the old fireplace, I sidled up to a platter of carbs and drowned my
sorrows in maple syrup.
Two bites in, I knew the sugary sweet breakfast
wouldn't be able to beat back the bitterness I felt. She didn't want to see me anymore? I pushed the plate away and took
a swig of coffee. I tried to ignore the voices in my head. I'd had this
argument with myself too many times. I'd made a mistake. A huge, epic,
life-altering mistake. I was still her
daughter. Why didn't she understand? Why couldn't she forgive me?
I should have known better than to believe
anything he said, but I wanted a way out, an end to the pain and misery my
mother experienced every day. He’d delivered—just not in the way I'd imagined.
I thought my mother and I would be free to live our lives in peace. Neither of
us got peace and only one of us was free. At least from prison.
I wore a different type of shackle.
And the Devil held the key.
My cup of coffee turned cold as I contemplated the
fateful night I'd made a horrible decision that changed both my and my mother’s
lives for the worse. He'd seemed pleased with his work and, despite my
arguments to the contrary, assured me he'd kept his end of the bargain. The
monster masquerading around as my mother's husband was gone.
The Devil
never promised me a happily ever after.
I still heard his voice, saw the satisfied smirk
and glint in his coal black eyes. "The
devil is in the details my dear. You really should be more specific when
bargaining something such as your soul."
The flashing lights from the police cars and
ambulances lining the street in front of our row home had cast eerie shadows on
his face. We’d stood side by side watching my mother being dragged out of the
house in handcuffs, screaming that she didn't remember what happened.
I wondered if the Devil had a hand in her
sentencing. The public defender had been confident my mother would receive a
light sentence given the mitigating circumstances but the hammer of justice
fell hard and she received every day of the maximum sentence. I never missed
visiting hours and had tried more than once to tell her what happened, stopping
every time I got to the part where I'd sold my soul. I couldn't bring myself to
do that to her. I'd caused her enough pain as it was.
Three years in, she found peace and salvation and
the answers to what happened. The pastor who came to worship with the prisoners
took an interest in her case and, after several meetings with my mother, saw
all the telltale signs of the Devil's hand in her life. In her daughter's life.
She'd begged me to go to Saint Leo's and confess my sins. I'd been christened
there. It was my first and last exposure to the church growing up.
Riddled with guilt, I'd tried to do as she asked but
the doors of the church wouldn't open to someone like me. My soul belonged to
someone other than God. She stopped speaking to me when I told her I couldn't
get into the church. And now it seemed she wanted nothing more to do with me. I
was damned and she didn't believe I could be saved.
I refused to believe she was right. The Devil
hadn't come for me yet. That had to mean something.
I swallowed the last of the ice cold black coffee
and dropped a twenty on the table. I'd been coming here every Sunday after
visiting my mother for the last five years, none of the regular staff worried
I'd short the check. With a nod to my waitress on my way through to the door, I
headed home.
Somewhere between the entrance to the Blue Moon
and the corner I picked up a straggler.
"I can smell the brimstone on you from here.
Why do you fight it? You belong to him."
"Fuck off, Lazarus." Damn demon followed
me everywhere, lurking in the shadows.
Lazarus closed the distance between us, his forked
tongue slipping between his lips. "It's only a matter of time before he
calls in his marker."
"Oh yeah? Well, what's he waiting for, anyway?
It's been five years." I knew better than to antagonize him, I just couldn't
help myself.
"Yo, Jax, wassup? Who you talking to?"
I let out the breath I hadn't known I was holding,
my shoulders slumping. "Nobody, Tommy. Nobody."
"Nobody, huh?" Tommy knew it was a lie, but
he didn't call me on it. "Okay, Jax, okay. Hey, I'm going to Atomic today,
wanna come with?"
"Perusing the aisles of a comic store sounds
amazing, Tommy, but I have to be at the shelter in a couple hours. It's my turn
to cook. I want to hit the gym before I go."
"You're cooking? How is that helping the
homeless?" The fifteen-year-old looked down at me, his bright blue eyes
sparkling beneath his lashes. He hadn't finished growing and already towered
over my five-foot-five frame. Despite being a ball buster, he was a good kid
and the closest thing I had to a friend.
How sad was that?
"Ha. Ha. You're a real comedian. Come on,
I'll walk you to the bus stop." I knew he'd refuse the escort. He always
did.
"You wanna hold my hand while I cross the
street, too?"
"Maybe I just wanted to spend a little more
time with you. You ever think of that?" I smacked the brim of his baseball
cap, forcing it further down and covering half his face.
Tommy pulled the hat off, his blond hair spilling
out for a moment before he smoothed it all back and tucked it inside the cap.
It was a miracle he hadn't fallen prey to the streets. He spun his skateboard
on its tail. As much trouble as that damn thing had gotten him into with the
cops, it kept him out of even more.
"You're so full of it. I'll catch up with you
later." Tommy waved me off.
"Swing by the shelter later. Keep me company
in the kitchen." I stepped off the curb, headed toward the soup kitchen
I'd been volunteering at for the last four months.
As part of my self-inflicted penance, I
volunteered at shelters, donated a third of my paycheck every week to different
charities, helped little old ladies cross the street and kept my eye on Tommy.
A voice in the back of my mind reminded me I'd never buy my way into Heaven.
No matter how many good deeds I did.
I tried to shake off the dark thoughts creeping
into my mind, to stop the anger and self-hatred from worming its way in. Save it for the bag. Leave it all in the
gym.
I looked over my shoulder and shouted back to
Tommy. "Hey, if you see John Waters picking up his mail again, could you
please get me an autograph this time?"
"Jax! Look out!"
A cab whizzed by, inches from hitting me head on.
The side mirror clipped my hip as it passed, horn blaring. Some of the people
inside the cafe came out to make sure I was okay. I brushed it off before
anyone made a fuss.
"I'm fine. I'm fine. Go back inside. Finish
your breakfast." I waved to Sarah, the owner of Blue Moon, trying to
reassure her that I wasn't hurt. Unconvinced, she ushered her patrons back
inside.
"Damn, Jax. You are one lucky...."
"Watch your mouth, Tommy."
"I didn't even say nothing." He looked
at me sideways. "You sure you’re all right?"
"I'm fine. If your mom's working late
tonight, swing by the shelter. I'll fix you a plate."
"One near death experience a day is my
limit."
I couldn't help laughing. "Get the hell out
of here. I'll see you later."
I headed toward the gym rubbing my hip, contemplating
what Tommy said. People like me didn't have good luck. So what was with all the
near misses? It wasn't the first time I'd come close to cashing out and paying
my debt to the Devil. If I didn't know better, I'd think someone upstairs was
looking out for me.
About the Author:
Rachel Rawlings was born and raised in the Baltimore Metropolitan area. Her family, originally from Rhode Island, spent summers in New England sparking her fascination with Salem, MA. She has been writing fictional stories and poems since middle school, but it wasn't until 2009 that she found the inspiration to create her heroine Maurin Kincaide and complete her first full length novel, The Morrigna.
When she isn't writing, Rachel can often be found with her nose buried in a good book. An avid reader of Paranormal/Urban Fantasy, Horror and Steampunk herself, Rachel founded Hallowread- an interactive convention for both authors and fans of those genres.
More information on Hallowread, its schedule of events and participating authors can be found at www.hallowread.blogspot.com
She still lives in Maryland with her husband and three children.
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