Page 2 of The Demon

As if that’s an option anyway, as my brother’s body lies heavy on mine while hell is unleashed above us.

My heart beats so fast I hope it gives out on me, deciding that life is not worth the effort and death would be kinder because all I can picture is the startled surprise on my mother’s face as her own life ended and she left us for good.

“She’s dead.” I whimper, the sob informing my brother that I can’t follow instructions and keep my mouth shut, and he hisses, “Then she’s the lucky one.”

It strikes me there is no emotion in that voice. A hard edge of someone who has lived with the pain long enough to know there will never be anything else. My heart bleeds for us because along with my other two brothers, this has always been our life and if anything, I envy my mom because she has been set free in a moment of madness and will rest in peace knowing she is no longer a prisoner.

I was seven years old when my mother was murdered before my eyes, and it was only when I was much older that I learned the identity of her killer. My father.

CHAPTER1

MALIK

The small house set on a suburban street looks so normal it brings a rare smile to my face. If the neighbors knew who was hiding inside, they would lock their doors and wait for the storm to pass. I note them going about their daily chores, living the kind of life I could never imagine.

A dog barks and I hear a baby cry and my ears prick up as I sense my journey may be over before it’s even begun.

“Everyone is in place, sir.”

Ali, my trusted soldier, growls from his position beside me and I dust an imaginary speck of dust from my lap.

As I stare at the front door with interest, I’m surprised when it opens and a young woman steps out, looking around her with a guarded expression, almost as if she knows what’s about to happen.

“Do you want us to strike, sir?”

Ali sounds as if we’re out for a stroll in the park and, as always, nothing troubles him.

I hold up my hand and say smoothly, “Wait.”

As the woman begins jogging along the street, I say in a deep voice, “Instruct the soldiers to enter the house. Search the rooms and report back.”

Ali talks into his phone and when he finishes, I say darkly, “We follow her.”

As the car pulls off from the curb, we watch her disappear around the corner.

Delores Brown. At least that’s the name on the rental agreement, and yet she is an imposter. The fact she’s alone tells me this won’t be as straightforward as I hoped, and as Ali takes the call, he sighs. “Empty.”

“Search for any evidence.”

I stare as the woman jogs in the distance, admiring her ass as she sways from side to side. Her long dark hair is tied in a topknot that releases a few strands that trail against her creamy white neck.

“Nothing, sir.” Ali huffs with disappointment and my eyes narrow.

“Take me back to the house.”

“But the woman…”

“Is going nowhere. She’ll return and we’ll be waiting for her.”

As we head back to the house, we park outside, and the door flies open, allowing me to step into the sunshine.

As I sniff the air, I detect the distressing scent of suburbia that is at odds with the way I live my life.

My soldiers open the door and allow me to enter a space that has me glancing around with derision. Do people really live like this? This entire house would fit into my shoe closet, and I feel an urgent need to return to the clean air of wealth and privilege.

I wander through the rooms and see living at its most basic. Only practical items are in situ and as I prowl into the bedroom, I am disappointed to note no evidence of any child living here. There are two bedrooms in total and both are clean and free from personal objects, only an open bag on the side revealing the person is not here for long.

On opening the closet, I see a few garments on hangers and wrinkle my nose in disgust. Then I head to the bathroom and breathe in the aroma of products that are definitely not from the shelves of the high-end stores I have accounts with.

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