Ransom For Hire - Appointment In Hell Read Online Free PDF Page B

tore it off the Imp’s body.
    The only thing keeping Romock from screaming was how hard Ransom’s hand was fisted around the creature’s neck, preventing it from drawing air.
    Black goo poured from the hole that had once been Romock’s shoulder. Ransom took a good grip and beat Romock over the head with its own arm.
    “I am done playing games with you! You will bring me to my wife now, or the next thing I pull off your body will be your head! I will pull you into pieces and bury each one in a separate corner of Hell if you do that again! Satan’s own hellhounds won’t be able to find all of you! DO YOU HEAR ME?”
    The Imp’s eyes bulged. Its one remaining arm pinwheeled wildly. Its purple tongue poked out of its mouth as it tried to gag, to breathe, to make any sound at all.
    And then they were standing in a room.
    Romock had brought them to a room in the space of time between breaths. Just a simple room. The walls were white, the floor and ceiling were white, the table in the middle of the room was white, the chairs around the table were white.
    “Well, not what I expected,” Ransom murmured. With a hard look at what was left of his Imp, he loosened his grip enough for the thing to pull in a ragged breath, then another, then another.
    The Imp finally glared at Ransom and pointed its one shaky hand. “There. Wife…is there.”
    Ransom looked across the room and saw a gate of white glass bars set into the wall. He rushed around the table and looked through the spaces.
    Julia lay there on the white floor.
    “Julia!” Ransom called to her, reaching a hand through the bars. He couldn’t quite reach her. “Julia!”
    She didn’t stir.
    She lay naked, her back to him, the perfect curve of her back and her long legs about all he could see. Her long dark hair hid her face from him. He couldn’t even tell if she was breathing.
    He could feel the fire rise in his blood. The heat of his anger had finally caught up to him. The chill in his voice should have sucked the life from Romock the Imp. “If she’s dead, here in Hell, you little bastard, I will take it out on your hide.”
    Romock drew saliva into its mouth and spit. It was a feeble effort, and it landed on Ransom’s coat. “She not dead, hateful human trespasser. She still alive.”
    “Then why isn’t she answering me?” Ransom yelled, banging on the bars.
    A new voice answered him.
    “She is well, Jack Ransom. Calm yourself.”
    The voice was silky smooth, oily even, but in a sickly sweet way. Ransom had only heard it once before. Once was enough.
    Very few people ever heard that voice twice in their living days.
    Satan.
    Ransom let go of Romock. The Imp fell to the floor, smearing black, oily blood across the sterling whiteness as it crawled away on its one arm.
    He turned around, slowly. Satan was sitting, lounging comfortably, in one of the two chairs at the table.
    “Please,” Satan said, gesturing with a manicured hand. “Join me. It’s been a while since I’ve had the opportunity to host anyone.”
    Satan was dressed in a perfectly fitted suit as white as the room around him. His white tie was knotted just so and left a little loose at his neck. His red skin and black hair were a bold contrast to the lack of color everywhere else in the room. But there were no horns, no forked tail. If not for the color of his skin, anyone else seeing him might have mistaken him for a successful businessman or rich playboy.
    Anyone else, that is, except for Jack Ransom.
    Ransom knew the Devil didn’t actually look like this. Knew that the great Deceiver was choosing, in this moment, to appear in this more classic guise. Satan could have picked most any form. That’s what he had done the last time he and Ransom had met.
    Ransom still had nightmares.
    When the Devil asks you to take a seat with him, you have two choices. Ransom had already survived a fight with five of Hell’s demons, and killed two Trolls. He figured he’d used up all of his luck for one