Demon Jack Read Online Free PDF

my sweatshirt back up to obscure my scarred face. I could already feel the familiar pull of addiction returning. A steady pressure, like a single finger pushing agony into my brain at the base of my skull. In a matter of hours it would be an all-consuming misery, wracking my body with need. I did my best to shove it to the periphery of my thoughts and focus on the woman instead. It only half worked.
    “Carry me huh?” I said, turning my head and spitting blood and bile onto the pavement. “Lady, it ever occur to you that maybe I’m not interested in going, be it carried or otherwise, anywhere with you?”
    “Oh? That’s funny. I didn’t recall you ‘avin much of a choice in the matter boyo,” she said with a cold smile.
    I pushed myself off the car, still shaking internally from the crash. It felt like every one of my organs had been rearranged, liver in place of kidneys, stomach up around the lungs. I had to fight the urge to throw up again.
    I took stock of the situation and pretty much instantly decided I hated my life. If I tried to make a break for it, aside from the fact I could barely walk, I was pretty sure Lady Poseidon here would find reason to strongly object. More than likely, she'd object via another of those well placed mini-tsunamis. Throwing down wasn’t an option. I could barely stand, let alone hope to go toe-to-toe with her in a fight. Given what she had done to the car, I had no doubt that she could do something equally nasty to me in regards to bodily harm if the urge struck her. Even at full mojo, she was probably more than I could handle.
    On the plus side, I didn’t think she wanted me dead. If she did she could have just lit me up as I was crawling out of the car’s wreckage, before I had a chance to even defend myself. Instead, she had cut me off from Alice, which led me to believe she had an idea of what she was dealing with. The fact that she was talking instead of killing, also meant she was taking me at least a little seriously. I tried really hard to consider that a point in my favor, especially when I took stock of what I was dealing with.
    “You’re a witch.”
    “An’ yer possessed of a crackin’ intellect aren’t ya?”
    “Right. So, if I refuse?” I asked.
    “I’ll beat ya ‘bout yer ‘ead an’ neck till ya agree that neither one of us wants to be standin ‘ere when his friends show up,” she nodded towards the cop, “be they in blue or otherwise. So, can we pretty please, with sugar and a cherry on top, get the fuck out of here?”
    I looked back at the cop and sighed in resignation.
    She offered me a winning smile, nearly luminescent with cheer and pearly whites.
    I climbed into the van.
    “Good boy.”
    The interior was bare, save for the two front seats and a few fast food wrappers and empty soda cans. The driver looked about two days out from actually getting his license. He was pudgy, dressed in black slacks and a white dress shirt stained with sweat. He was focused on the road. He didn’t say a word, or even so much as look in my direction, as I damn near crawled to the back and collapsed against the far wall. The woman climbed in a minute later, holding a black box about the size of a hardcover book in her hand.
    She took a seat Indian style across from me, the box in her lap. For a few moments we said nothing, staring across the expanse of space between us. We let the sound of the van’s tires against the road and the rumble of its engine fill the air.
    Even in the gloom I could see she was pretty. There was something about her, something that was more than physical that lent to her attractiveness in intangible ways. It was a vibe, if you will. She had a sort of innocence, something childlike and wondrous that echoed in her eyes. At the same time, she held herself with a dangerous, feline like poise. It was disconcerting.
    “What’s that?” I asked, nodding towards the box in her lap. The motion made my head swim.
    “This?” she said, holding it