Hellbound in Vegas

Chapter One

Slowly weaving my way through the rows of slot machines, my senses throttled higher. This was my hunting ground, and tonight prey was thick. Even though most of these people weren’t dead yet, they were as good as. Despondent, dejected hollow shells, slogging through their endless days. Most demons loved Vegas with all its temptations and gluttony. Guess I was one of the exceptions.

The smell of musty smoke and sour beer permeated the casino, making me inwardly cringe. This wasn’t one of the posh Vegas resorts that lined the strip and sold fantasies to their customers. This seedy dive promised its patrons nothing more than a few free drinks and the hope of breaking even before plodding back to their sorry homes and lonely lives.

I paused behind an ancient skeletal woman. Smoke from a forgotten cigarette, burning in a black ashtray, floated upward to encircle her mass of gray hair that had been ratted and teased to an impressive height. The wheel in each window of her slot machine spun, the gold of the jackpot symbol glinting several times before slamming to a stop, not paying out. As if in a trance, the woman slapped the spin button over and over, only winning a few credits.

Inhaling, I sorted through the bits and pieces of her soul. Unfortunately, she was just old, not sick—and clearly not my target. I checked a second time to make sure I hadn’t misread her essence. The woman looked like she was knocking on Death’s door, and he was inviting her in for a nice long visit. Nope, not the one. She might be dead inside, but she still had a good decade to live, which meant there was no point in me hanging around.

Time was running out for somebody. I could sense their mortal clock ticking down, and it was my job to find them before their scheduled departure date. Not to save them. Not even to help them kick the mortal coil early, though when that happened, I didn’t mind. All my targets tottered on the edge between good and evil, and it was my job to expose them to the desires of their dark side before they died, thus ensuring their direct descent into Hell.

Hey, Lucifer has quotas to fill too. I like to think of myself as a recruiter. Though maybe not the most exciting gig in the supernatural world, it did allow me to get out of the fiery pits and live as a human. Since getting my angel status back wasn’t an option, hanging out topside and converting souls was the best I could hope for.

At the end of a row of slots, I stopped and scanned the room. Like a compass, my attention was drawn to the bar and the row of people hunched over the illuminated poker screens. Starting at one end, I unhurriedly passed behind the bar stools, sifting through each person’s essence. A couple of them had promise, and I made a mental note to add them to my list, but they weren’t ripe for the picking—yet.

When I approached the opposite end of the bar, my senses exploded.

Found you.

A forty-something man slumped over the counter, his feet propped on the chair’s foot bar, his legs man-spreading, hogging way more than his share of personal space. Unshaven and disheveled, whatever muscle he’d once possessed had softened to flab. No wonder he was slated to die. This guy was a walking heart attack.

His face hovered above the screen, eyes moving across the bright monitor, his stubbled jaw clenching and unclenching. Anticipation and excitement rolled off him. Probably thought he had a killer hand. He didn’t.

I already knew he was about to lose whatever money he’d fed into the machine. It was the same scenario I’d seen for decades. Gamblers always believed they’d win big. Desperate gamblers, even more so. But this was his lucky day, sort of.

I sidled to the bar and rested my elbows on top, standing a few inches from my target. Either I’d lost my demon mojo, or this guy was farther gone than I’d anticipated. He didn’t look up, didn’t even fidget—just stared at the monitor.

How’s it going? I turned toward him, purposely putting my chest assets on display, and smiled. I won’t lie, a lot of times I use my body as a distraction to disarm my prey. What can I say? There weren’t many perks to being a minion from Hell, but choosing to be a banging redhead was one of them. Any luck?

It took a second for it to register that I was talking to him. He lifted his balding head, paused, and then looked at me through squinting eyes. I don’t have any money, doll, so go peddle your services somewhere else.

Though my smile remained in place, the urge to flare into my demon form, grab him by the throat, and lift his chubby body off the chair surged through me. I wasn’t a succubus, the Underworld equivalent of a demon call girl. I had standards—well...guidelines, anyway.

I let a friendly, non-threatening smile curl my lips, and then motioned to the bartender. Shot of tequila, please. My gaze shifted back to my quarry. Not a hooker. Just being sociable.

Right. He gave me a humorless smirk and then returned his attention to his poker game.

I have to ask, why would you think I’m a prostitute? I dragged the bar stool a few inches closer to him. Not so much to be uncomfortable, but near enough to not be ignored. I was just curious if you were having any luck.

Uh, huh. Still, he didn’t look at me.

Maybe I’d become too comfortable in my present form, taken for granted that I appealed to all men. Clearly that was not the case.

The grizzled bartender set the shot in front of me. You gambling?

Well... I glanced at the glowing screen embedded in the bar top, and then looked at him, giving him a thousand-watt smile. Why not?

Drinks are free as long as you’re feeding the machine. With a deadpan nod, he turned and plodded toward a customer at the other end of the counter.

Man, I was really off my game. It was enough to give a demon a complex. More determined than ever to land this mark so I could get back to the sci-fi movie marathon I’d started yesterday, I swung back to him. So, you were about to tell me why you mistakenly— I dragged out the word, thought I was a hooker.

Come on. His brows and lips pinched simultaneously. Women like you don’t spend time in places like this unless they’re working. He pushed a couple of buttons, moving cards around. And they sure as hell don’t hit on guys like me.

No argument there. Maybe I got tired of all the noise and crowds and was looking for a quieter place.

Maybe, but the odds are better that you’re a hooker. He frowned and hit the deal button. Damn. His shoulders slumped, and a sigh heaved from him. After a second, he picked up his glass and downed the last of the whiskey. Another unfortunate consequence of being a demon, a heightened sense of smell. Not only did I know what was in his glass, I knew what he’d had for lunch—tuna with onions. He straightened and then stood. Well, that’s it for me. Hope you have better luck than I did.

Are you leaving? I gave him a playful pout. We were just getting friendly.

It’s a bust for me tonight. Better leave before I spend my grocery money.

Here. I dug in my pocket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. I needed to gain his trust and learn more about him so I could successfully guide him down a questionable path. I’ll pay for your next round of poker... Before he could thwart my plan, I shoved the bill into the machine. If you stay and chat with me.

Lady, that’s more than a round. Even though his tone sounded like he was arguing, he slid back onto his seat. After catching the bartender’s attention, he pointed to his glass, silently asking for another drink. But, I wouldn’t want to be rude.

That’s very sweet of you. Since my sex appeal seemed to be shorted out tonight, I was relieved to see money still did the trick. It usually did with my marks. They weren’t pillars of virtue. More liked warped boards, pounded, and shaped by life’s trials. I downed my shot and then held out my hand. I’m Mara.

Nelson Norman. His eyes cut to me and he managed a single shake before refocusing on his game. So... He dragged out the word as if struggling for casual conversation. You live in Vegas?

I live a lot of places. Imitating Nelson, I signaled the bartender for another shot. How about you?

Born and raised. He shuffled the virtual deck of cards.

What do you do for a living, Nelson? The answers I normally got from my marks were vague, which usually meant something illegal, or at the very least, morally questionable. Are you in the gambling industry?

If being a janitor at a casino qualifies me as being in the gambling industry, then yes.

A janitor? Though not the most exciting job in the world, I hadn’t actually expected Nelson to be gainfully employed. Where at?

Hell’s Gate Casino. He hit the deal button. I’ve only worked there about three months.

I straightened in my chair. That’s a nice place.

Yeah, I was lucky to get the job.

I highly doubted luck had anything to do with his employment status. The owner of Hell’s Gate Casino was Victor Masters, aka Mastema, one of the head demons in Hell—and my boss. If Nelson worked directly for Mastema, I had to wonder why he was my target. Surely, the other minions at the casino had had more sway over Nelson in the last three months than I could in the two weeks before his scheduled jettison down the afterlife Slip’N Slide.

How do you like working there? Something wasn’t right. I could feel it all the way down to the tips of my stiletto boots. Questions about his relationship with Mastema raced through my mind, but I needed to draw the information out slowly so he didn’t get suspicious. I mean, you must stay really busy.

It’s okay, I guess. He gave a non-committal shrug. The work is easy, but everybody there is a little off, you know what I mean?

Not really. More like everybody were demons, but I didn’t mention that.

Weird, like they’re all part of some secret club I’m not a member of. And not just the employees, a lot of the customers too. He shrugged again. My old parole officer got me the job, so I didn’t have much choice. Like I said, I’m lucky to have it. Got obligations, you know?

Parole officer? I smiled and redirected the conversation away from the topic of the casino. My goal was to tempt Nelson, not make him question whether working at Hell’s Gate was in his best interest. So, you were in jail?

Prison. He picked up his drink and downed it in one gulp. I specialized in automobile acquisitions, but that was a long time ago.

So, you stole cars?

I prefer the word acquired. He leaned back in the chair, giving me his undivided attention for the first time since I’d sat down. And I was good at it. I acquired the cars, another guy would tear them down, somebody else would sell the parts, and we all got a cut of the profits.

I pushed our glasses to the edge of the bar and motioned for two more drinks. Now that Nelson was opening up, I wanted to keep him talking and earn his confidence. That’s how I learned about a mark’s trigger. From that point, it was just a matter of finessing him to the dark side. I take it you got caught?

Feds set up a sting. All the little guys got time, but since none of us knew who the big boss was, we were the only ones who served a sentence.

That’s how it goes, right? The little guy gets screwed while the people in charge hide behind their money and power.

He gave a single nod. Yep.

That was a concept I could relate too. I was a little guy in the Underworld, but getting screwed didn’t begin to describe what I’d been through. All because the big boys started to play dirty, and I got caught in the middle when the shit hit the ethereal fan. Yeah, I might still be a tad bitter about that.

Well, Nelson. I held up my glass. Here’s to you and all the little guys out there. May you get everything you deserve in the future.

I’ll drink to that. He lifted his glass and downed the whiskey.

Guilt prodded me. Nelson seemed like a nice guy who’d got caught up with the wrong people. Toasting that he got everything he deserved while trying to tempt him into Hell seemed a little disingenuous. I took a sip of my tequila instead of downing the whole thing. What did it matter if this guy didn’t deserve to have his character tested? I was a demon, and like everybody in this soul-sucking universe, I had a job to do.

A shiver raced along my spine and I straightened in my seat. It wasn’t from a sudden bout of conscience, or even the air conditioning. No, this was an awareness I knew all too well. It had vexed me for millennia. As Nelson rattled on about his incarceration, I visually scanned the casino. He was here somewhere, watching me.

Shit!

The last thing I wanted tonight was to tangle with an angel. I downed the rest of my shot and refocused on Nelson. He was talking about the prison food, actually listing the menu day by day. I nodded, pretending to be interested, but my attention remained riveted on the casino floor.

Nothing abnormal jumped out at me. All the people appeared to be human, and I couldn’t detect anything lurking in the shadows. I gritted my teeth, silently cursing the angelic inconvenience.

This angel was good at cloaking his presence, which meant he was old and powerful, which meant he was patient, which meant I couldn’t goad him to reveal himself. A quiet growl rumbled in my throat. That kind of angel was the worst, so self-righteous.

Clearly, he’d zeroed in on my activities, and since Nelson only had two weeks to live, no doubt I’d be having a face-to-face with the flyboy soon.

Oh joy.

Hopefully, I’d be able to talk my way out of being smited, or tossed back into the fiery pits of Hell. So not fun there. The heat really did a number on my hair.

Since it didn’t appear big ’n feathery was going to show himself, I turned back to Nelson. My brow furrowed. What the hell was he yammering on about? Still the prison food. Okay, so this guy was motivated by his stomach, good to know.

Hey. I interrupted his detailed description of the prison’s Friday chili mac. All this talk about food is making me hungry. You want to grab a bite to eat?

Well... His gaze darted from me back to the poker machine. He was up three hundred dollars—thanks to me—and clearly wanted to ride his wave of good luck.

My treat, I added, but he still waffled. Anywhere you want. I reached across him and punched the cash out button. We can hit the slots afterward and run this up. I snatched the printed ticket from the machine and handed it to him. Just think of me as your lucky charm.

Well...I did start winning after you sat down. He nodded and waved the ticket in the air. All right. Let me cash this first.

I slipped off the barstool. After you.

As I followed Nelson to the cashier’s cage, I tried to pinpoint where the angel lurked. He was still there, somewhere. Angels were like pesky gnats, except with a much worse bite. They constantly hovered over humans, making sure no one, namely demons, messed with their free will. Such a pain in the ass.

So far, I couldn’t be accused of anything more than being suspiciously friendly—unless this wasn’t about Nelson, but my previous marks—then yeah, I might be in trouble. Tonight, I’d lie low and have a normal evening out with my new friend. What could featherhead say about that?

Okay, ready. Nelson folded the wad of bills and shoved them into his pants pocket, not making any effort to pay back the original hundred I’d slipped into the machine. Greed made my job all the easier. Where should we eat?

The choice is yours, my friend. The smile I gave him was genuine. What are you hungry for?

How about a steak? I could really use a big juicy slab of beef.

I know the perfect place. I took the lead. I’ll drive. We can come back for your car later. A strangled protest sounded behind me. Trust me, Nelson. I sent him a compulsion to agree. I’ve got you covered tonight.

His protest died, and he fell into step beside me. My gaze swept the casino one last time, but there was no sign of the angel which was fine with me. Technically, I wasn’t doing anything wrong—yet.

Tonight, I’d insert myself into Nelson’s life and give him a taste of how the rich lived. By tomorrow, he’d