Hell Bound (Seventh Level Book 2) (4 page)

The sight of his jeans pooled near the edge of the bed brought flashbacks of Pamela pulling them off.

Feeling as if he was going to be sick, Wade cradled his head in between his hands. It was only then he noticed the blood between his thighs. He pulled at his skin until he found the carved numbers. It was hard to see in the darkened room what the numbers were. She must have put something in his food to knock him out. What did she do to him after he blacked out? Was Pamela some kind of vampire nut job or something? He knew there were people out there who practiced all sorts of things, but he’d never encountered any of them until now.

He stood and slipped his jeans on. He had no idea how long Pamela had reserved the room. The last thing he needed was for a housekeeper to show up and find him there in a room with blood-covered sheets. It took a few frantic seconds of searching before he finally found his shirt on the other side of the bed. As he was buttoning it, he noticed a paper, which appeared to have words written in blood on it.

He stood there unsure if he should read it or not, but then decided it could be a note from Pamela. The moment he read it, he almost threw it down.

I, Wade Collins, promise to give Satan my firstborn child in exchange for riches and fame.

His first reaction was repulsion followed quickly by amusement. Was this what the free food and offer of sex had been about? There were some freaks in the world, but Pamela must really be one if she thought he believed in such stupid shit as selling his soul in exchange for anything. Even if there was a heaven or a hell, and she’d bothered to ask, he would have told her there was no way in hell he was ever going to have any kids of his own after his own horrible childhood.

Wade laughed and sat on the edge of the bed again. Without thinking, he stuffed the note in his shirt pocket. Maybe he should hang onto it so he could share this story with his non-existent grandchildren someday.

* * * * *

Wade’s head felt as if someone was trying to hammer a nail through his left eye, but in spite of the pain he still pushed through Big Rosie’s double doors a couple of minutes before the band was scheduled to perform. There was no doubt, all it would take was one wrong move, and his head was going to explode all over the dance floor.

“What happened after we left you last night? You look like shit.” The usual mild, mannered drummer met him at the door with a serious attitude problem.

It took everything Wade had not to wince and grab his head. But the intense pain made it easier to pull off cocky and grumpy. “Pamela turned out to be a freak. I think the bitch drugged me.”

Tex sighed. “I knew it was too good to be true for someone to be willing to help us.”

The look on Tex’s face was disheartening. Maybe it was time for all of them to call it quits. “I’m sorry. I should have known it was a load of crap.” He patted Tex’s arm and then made his way over to the large woman wiping down the counter. “Hey, Rosie. You wouldn’t have a couple of aspirin behind there, would you?”

Rosie stopped in mid-swipe and scanned Wade head to toe. “You look like shit. Are you going to be able to go on tonight?”

Knowing which side his bread was buttered on, Wade managed what he hoped was a convincing grin. “I feel great.”

She laid the cloth on the counter and reached underneath it. After pulling out a bottle of pills, she pushed it toward Wade. “Help yourself.” She pointed a tar stained finger at him. “Don’t fuck this gig up tonight. I heard from a reliable source Wallace Harper is supposed to show here with some of the other bigwigs from Harper Records. This could be yours and the band’s big chance. Wallace doesn’t offer representation to people who don’t take their profession serious.”

Hearing the owner of Harper records might be there later was enough to sober Wade in a way nothing else could have. He tucked in his shirt, grabbed the aspirin bottle, and headed toward the bathroom to splash some water onto his face. Three minutes later, his hair was combed and even though his head still felt as if someone was trying to wedge a jackhammer into his skull, he was determined to sing better than he ever had before. His life sucked too much to continue on as it had been. The only way it was ever going to change was for him to impress the hell out of Wallace Harper.

Tex, Doug, and Vic were already on stage waiting so Wade grabbed his guitar and stepped up to the microphone. Since most bar patrons weren’t there for the music, the trick in performing in such a venue was to sing without interrupting their socializing. He strummed the first notes and kept his voice low enough the song could be enjoyed without drowning out anyone’s conversations.

It took a good thirty minutes before his headache receded enough for him to find the correct tempo, and another ten for the other guys to drop out leaving his ass hanging, as usual. Refusing to admit defeat, he closed his eyes and the picture of Morgan filled his mind. He tried to block her out, but she refused to leave him be. Without thinking, his fingers strummed the simple chords he’d taught her and the crack in his soul he tried to fill with liquor opened again. He sang from the heart as if nothing mattered any longer because honestly, he didn’t really give a shit about anything anymore. The months they spent together had been the happiest in his life and losing her was the worst thing he’d ever gone through. It was the one thing he knew he’d never recover from.

“When I close my eyes, I can still see the way things were between you and me. Your thighs at my hips. Your taste on my lips. I whispered your name and swore I could change. You bought all my lies while I broke our ties. Now all I can do is pray you’ll hear this song one day. Turn up the radio and sing real low. Our hands. Our night. Our song.” When he opened his eyes, every head was turned in his direction and he allowed his guitar to fall silent.

With the first set over, Wade skipped the free booze and ordered a hamburger with fries instead. The thirteen dollars wasn’t going to last forever but he was sick of worrying about it. The thought came and went that maybe it was time to give up the dream of making it big in Nashville. Maybe he should head back to Texas and find a real job. Maybe he could even convince Morgan to take one more chance on him.

The other guys were already on the stage tuning their instruments for the second set by the time Rosie delivered his plate of food.

She nodded toward the stage. “Take your time, sweetie. It’s been a slow night. Maybe things will pick up later.” She turned to leave but then stopped to add, “The food’s on the house. You look as if you could use a good meal.” She winked before heading back over toward the bar to wait on another customer.

Maybe he was being hasty in thinking about heading back to Texas. He was a bad bet and the hurt in Morgan’s eyes the last time he left was a ghost he didn’t want to return to, not yet anyhow. It looked as if his luck might be changing after all. There was no point in making a decision tonight. He would see how this gig turned out. Maybe a night without booze would leave him clearheaded enough so he could decide what to do next.

Even though Rosie told him to take his time, the guys were shooting him death stares from the stage so he ate the burger in three bites. Wade was washing it down with some soda when an older gentleman pulled out a chair from under his table and sat next to him.

Wade stuck a hand full of fries into his mouth without looking up. He was used to people who enjoyed rubbing elbows with the band. It was actually amusing to see how star struck some of them could be. For some reason, they had the insane notion they lived glamorous lives and got laid every night.

Wade was on his second hand full of fries when the man finally cleared his throat. It was only then Wade looked over at the other guy. When he realized who it was he almost choked. It took him a moment to swallow and regain his composure.

He wiped his hands on his napkin before offering his hand. “Mr. Harper. This is an honor, sir.”

The older man shook his hand and then motioned toward the plate of food. “Don’t let me stop you from eating. I won’t take up much of your time.”

Wade pushed the plate away no longer hungry. “I’m finished. What can I do for you, sir?”

The gray-haired man leaned back in the straight back chair and folded his arm across his large, rounded stomach. His eyes were surrounded by deep laugh lines. “My partners and I have been watching your band for a couple of nights now. We like the other guys well enough but drummers and guitar players are a dime a dozen in this town.”

Wallace Harper leaned forward and placed his arms on the tabletop. His expression turned from pleasant to deadly serious. “I’ll be honest with you, Wade. Singers are a dime a dozen too. The difference between you and the other’s out there is stage presence. Not everyone has it, but you’re a good looking man. You’re a little rough around the edges but with the right haircut, clothes and choreography you could be the next big thing in country music. You keep singing like you did just now and sign with Harper Studios, we can both make millions.”

Wade took one quick look at his friends on stage and wanted to smack himself before saying the words. “We’re a package deal.”

Wallace eyed him closely, as if assessing his seriousness on the point. “Tell me something. The song you just sang, did you write it?”

In a way, Wade supposed it was true. He’d been thinking about it for a while now. “Yes.”

Nodding his head, Wallace seemed impressed. “I tell you what. If you’re willing to record your song with us, then we’ll extend our deal to your band, as well.”

Wade offered Wallace Harper his hand again. “What time do you want us in your office tomorrow?”

The moment they shook hands the paper in Wade’s shirt turned hot, but he was too excited by Mr. Harper’s offer to take the time to wonder about the odd occurrence.

Chapter Three

Mark

Two years later

“Damn it!” Mark sucked in a deep breath and tried not to think about the pain shooting up through his spine. Even though it had been four months since his release from the hospital, the injuries from the car crash were taking a long time to heal. He was losing patience with his own body. His health had always been the one thing he could count on when everything had gone to hell. It was discouraging to know even his strength had failed him.

Years of loyalty to his job had been undone by a single murder investigation. There were days Mark still struggled to wrap his mind around it. The day he processed Kylie Trace’s murder scene had been the same as a thousand days before it, but her death had changed his entire life. He couldn’t set the blame at her feet. She was dead, after all, but her murder had brought Anne into his life. As Kylie’s sister, and only living family member, Anne had flown into New Orleans in order to claim the body.

If she’d been anyone else, Mark would have passed Anne along to the next cop on the clock, but it was her. It might seem to be a sad explanation for his reasoning, and it was, but the way Mark felt the first time he set eyes on Anne went beyond description. She had been his downfall.

Seeing no other way around it, Mark stopped for a quick breather even though he was only halfway through his planned ten-mile jog. His doctor had warned him to take it slow for at least six months, but Mark didn’t have the luxury. His savings weren’t going to last forever. At least he had been smart enough to put some money aside for the future. It was small consolation in the wake of losing his career. He was only a few months away from homelessness. The time had come to search for some form of employment, and his broken down wreck of a body needed to able to perform.

“Where’s your sidekick?”

Mark looked around the darkened street. At two thirty in the morning, he hadn’t expected to see too many people out much less someone he knew, especially since he’d not been in town long enough to make friends. He finally saw the blonde sitting seductively on a nearby city bench under a broken streetlight. The sight of her made Mark’s insides clench. “What do you want?”

Instead of being insulted by his rough tone, the woman crossed her long legs making certain her short dress hiked up enough so Mark couldn’t miss the fact she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “Now, is that any way to talk to a lady?”

Mark forced down a shudder. “I don’t know what you are but I would never be stupid enough to think you were a lady.” He folded his arms across his chest to stop from trembling. “The last time we were in the same room you were crawling across the ceiling.”

She made a pouty face, which might have been charming on another woman, but only made her appear more sinister. When she saw it wasn’t having the effect on Mark she was hoping for, she stood and walked toward him stopping just out of arm’s reach. “I have something you want.”

Hoping to appear as if her presence wasn’t unnerving, Mark rolled his eyes. “I doubt it, Pamela.”

She all but purred, “So you do remember my name and here I thought I hadn’t made a good impression on you.”

Tired of her shit already, Mark made a circling motion with his finger, as if it would be enough to move the conversation along faster. “Let’s cut out all the games.” He looked her up and down. “You may look normal to everyone else, but I haven’t forgotten what I saw at Kylie’s apartment.”

“Okay. We’ll play it your way for right now.”

The street Mark had chosen for his jog was fairly close to his house but the city had let several of the streetlights burn out without replacing them. He hadn’t been too concerned over it when starting out, but then he hadn’t planned on this shit. Even with dark shadows covering most of Pamela’s face, it was still possible to see she was no longer trying to hide her true nature. For a split second, the demon he’d seen disappear inside her at Kylie’s rose out of Pamela’s body and revealed red, burning eyes and seven horns. The black form sank back into her as if the quick performance was meant for Mark’s eyes only.