Hell’s Weapon (Hearts of Hell #1)

Chapter 1

Tacita

“Is this what amateurs go through every time they kill someone?” I ask the dead guy, whilst using my forearm to wipe the blood off my forehead before it can drip into my eyes. “Urgh.”

I have to use my forearm because my hands are also currently covered in the sticky crimson liquid, and some bone shavings too. I really hope I don’t get an eye infection from the body I’ve been butchering for the last forty-five minutes.

“‘Make it look messy,’ he said. ‘This is your last chance, don’t fuck this one up,’ he said,” I chatter away to my latest victim, imitating my boss as I go. If the police don’t catch me after this one, I don’t know what to do.

I’ve left CCTV footage, DNA, and even cut up the last two bodies, making the most grotesque kills I can to try and motivate them to end my reign of terror.

I’ve escalated this killing spree quicker than any other serial killer I know, but still, the cops must be sitting on their asses because it's been three months, and I haven’t had a single one come sniffing.

Don’t they know I’m on a deadline?

This one really is a masterpiece, although I’d have been a lot cleaner about it if I wasn’t trying to look like some random Jo setting out on their first murdery jaunt.

Straightening out of my crouch after I string the final limb onto the intestines, I stretch upwards to hang the very macabre bunting I’ve created along the dining room wall.

Did you know that intestines are strong enough to hold limbs?

Because they are. Nailing the ends to the wall, and adding a couple along the middle for support, I step back to admire my work.

It took some effort but it was worth it.

The only piece I couldn’t be bothered to drill a hole through was the guy’s head.

So, I’ve left that as a centre piece on the table behind me.

Carefully pushing tendrils of my hair out of my face, I realise once again how covered in Mr Albright I am. For fuck’s sake. Deciding not to care, I swipe it back, only to realise the end of my ponytail is dripping in crimson as well.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t get a drop of my victims on me. But for this job I had to forgo my usual black body suit, protective gear, and most importantly, my mask. The mask that, paired with a hood, keeps my beautiful hair out of danger of getting covered in someone else's fluids.

As it is, now I’ve finished decorating Mr Albright’s penthouse with his own organs, I need a shower, stat.

Heading down the hall, not caring about leaving bloody footprints in the cream carpets, it takes me a couple of minutes to locate the main bathroom.

This guy has–had–way too much wealth. He was some insurance wanker, so I know the world will be better off without him, but this flat is excessive.

Everything drips a five or six figure price tag.

I don’t think he’d know modesty if it hit him in the face.

I like nice things, but I filled my own home with stuff from local artists and craftsmen.

I bet Mr Albright simply chose the most expensive shit and lorded it over everyone who visited.

Humans are disgusting like that. Well, the rich ones anyway.

Why they think a large figure in their bank accounts makes them better than the rest of their species, I shall never understand.

And they hardly ever share it either. As soon as my own personal funds hit a figure where I could live comfortably, I started donating most of it.

Flicking on a light, finally having located the bathroom, I have to admit the guy has some taste.

I’m a sucker for a good shower and this one looks luxurious.

Sleek black tiles, an overhead rain panel, and two other showerheads mounted on the wall.

It's encased in floor to ceiling glass and there’s a line of products from several different boutiques.

Turning to the sinks, I notice the other corner of the room, where a giant freestanding square tub sits.

It's large enough for at least four. And behind it is an open view of the city skyline. The entire corner is glass. I’m sure the panels are those one-way view things so no one can see in, not that many could from this height, but as no expense has been spared on this tower of multi-million pound apartments, I’d bet they gave ultimate privacy.

It’s tempting to fill the tub and soak my body for a while. It might be the last chance I have to bathe for months, and to get my wings out. Maybe after I shower. I definitely need to be clean before I get in any body of water.

Stripping quickly, I step under the spray of the rain shower, immediately feeling better as the first of the grime sluices off my body.

Turning the heat all the way up, I take my time, lathering, shampooing, and sampling all the products along the built-in shelving.

The guy I’ve just killed didn’t have a wife or girlfriend, but his file did note the string of women he regularly hired for sex.

I bet they are the reason half these products are here.

From what I gleamed, he treated them well in some ways.

Gave them luxuries, paid for their mortgages and cars.

But he was the kind who liked a quiet woman on his arm at events.

I’m sure they were happy to comply for the most part, for the cash, but there were a couple of lawsuits against him for stepping over the line.

Two cases of bodily harm and one thrown out case of rape.

I’m certain the victims were telling the truth. But when money starts exchanging hands, the courts in this realm are easily corrupted. As Mr Albright was one of the richest men in this country, he certainly would’ve paid his way to a ‘not guilty’ verdict.

Smiling, I think about how I’ve set up his wealth to be donated to women’s shelters now he’s been taken out. It was a bit tricky to do on the short timeline, but I’d pushed enough paperwork through to make it happen.

Taking my time, I finish washing, decide against the bath, and start dressing in the spare clothes I brought with me, leaving the blood soaked ones on the bathroom floor as further evidence.

After digging around some more, I find a hair dryer and some curling tongs.

Returning to the bathroom, I begin adding some large beach waves to my hair.

Naturally, it's iron straight, not a single kink, hanging in black silky lengths down to the middle of my back.

Of course, that is until I twirl, or the wind catches it.

For underneath is the literal rainbow. The lower half is dyed all seven colours, sweeping around the base in bright vibrant colour.

Depending on how I style it, I can hide it or set it free.

I love how when I curl it, the colours all twirl together with strands of the black.

I’m just getting to the last section when the phone I use whilst on this plane starts to chime from the backpack I used to bring my supplies. Putting the tongs on the marble counter, I dig through the bag for it. Only three people have this number so it’ll be important.

Clocking the caller ID as ‘Boss Man,’ I hit accept.

“I told you, I don’t need you checking in on me again,” I grouch, putting the call on speaker so I can finish my hair.

“Well, clearly you do. If you’re answering, you’ve still not been caught.” The gravel tones of Hades’s voice echo off the tiles.

“If the police up here did their jobs, I would’ve been caught a month ago. Although, I’m kinda glad I got to end the scumbag I just killed.”

“Where are you now?”

“Still in his apartment, he had an amazing shower, and I thought maybe if I left some hair in there they might finally piece together enough evidence to come after me.”

“Stay put. I’ve escalated things on this end.

Garrick Zephyr has been sent across to aid your capture.

Have you sent the message from Albright’s phone yet?

” He glosses over the fact that the head of Tartarus is in the mortal realm, like it's not significant.

As far as I know, Zephyr has not been here in over a century.

I knew Hades wanted me in on this next round of recruitment games but does he not trust me to pull this off and secure my invitation?

“Back up a second. I don’t need Zephyr’s help! I swear I’ll be sleeping in Darkfield Prison by the end of tomorrow.”

“You said this about the last kill.”

“I underestimated my ability to lower my standards. Trust me, I’m leading the police to this one. I’ve left enough breadcrumbs I’ve basically lit neon signs pointing right to me.”

“So, you’ve sent the message then?” he repeats.

“Yes, I’ve sent the damn message,” I snap.

“You don’t need to use that tone.” Hades’s tone drops an octave.

“You need to trust me.”

“I do, you know that.” His professional voice disappears, and I get my friend on the other end of the line. “You know there is no one else I would trust with this mission, Tacita.” He sighs heavily, and I feel the stress weighing on him even though we are on different planes of existence.

“I will figure this out, I promised you that and I will keep it.” I tell him, turning my back on the mirror and leaning back against the countertop, looking out over the now dark city.

“Good. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks when you arrive with the others.”

“And I’ll pretend to be in absolute awe that you exist.” I chuckle as I roll my eyes.

This role really will test me in a lot of ways.

I hope my acting is believable because I have no doubt the humans are in for a shock when they get our world revealed to them, let alone the fact they’ve each won the opportunity to interview for some of the most prestigious positions in Hell.

Hades laughs before saying his goodbyes and hanging up.

I pull my makeup bag out of my rucksack next and set to work on winging my eyes with the liquid liner I can’t go without. And my signature plum lip stain. The mission runs through my head as my hands work by muscle memory.

You see, I’m not just a hitman or an assassin. I’m Hades’s Assassin. I’m one of his closest demons, part of his inner circle. I’ve worked for him for over three centuries and in that time, he hasn’t just become my boss and my leader, he’s become a close friend. Him and his husband both have.

So, when the last set of games got infiltrated by the Angels a decade ago, I eagerly took the request to go undercover at the next ones.

The ones starting in a couple of weeks. And the importance of the mission increased when we gained intel that the games are going to be interfered with again. Although, we’ve yet to figure out how.

And I’m abandoning the persona I’ve built over the last three hundred years, for everyone knows me as the silent assassin, the Death Bringer. For this to work I need to be undercover. Thus, I’m stripping off my mask, showing my real face, and going human.

What could go wrong?

Packing up my gear, I move to the lounge, pouring myself a long measure of whiskey as I go. Turning on the fire and settling into the plush leather armchair, I wait for the police to come.