Kissin' Hell

By Jodi Redford

A That Old Black Magic crossover story.

There are two certainties in life soul collector and hellhound Jericho Stryker knows too well—Death never takes a holiday, and women are typically more trouble than they’re worth. That goes double for his personal nemesis and regular pain in his backside, Lola McKenna. Sure, the luscious little hellcat gets his blood boiling in more ways than one, but some scratches are best left un-itched. That determination is strained to the max when a botched soul acquisition job lands him on the same case as Lola.

Fetching a stubborn soul from a haunted bordello should be a piece of cake. Unfortunately for Lola, she has to deal with Jericho horning in on her bounty. Attempting to keep her cool and her wits around her sinfully sexy adversary? Easier said than done. Especially when she finds herself locked overnight with Jericho. Not strangling him before sunrise? A faint possibility. Ignoring the lusty, depraved sexual fantasies he awakens in her? A snowball’s chance in hell of happening. But worst of all is the very real possibility that he could steal the one thing she most fears losing to him—her heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jodi Redford
• Release date: Jan 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781519915405

Jodi Redford

At the ripe age of seven, Jodi Redford penned her first epic, complete with stick figure illustrations. Sadly, her drawing skills haven’t improved much, but her love of fantasy worlds never went away. These days she writes about fairies, ghosts, and other supernatural creatures, only with considerably more heat. She has won numerous awards, including The Golden Pen and Launching a Star. When not writing or working the day job, she enjoys gardening and way too many reality television shows.  

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Kissin’ Hell: A That Old Black Magic Story

By

Jodi Redford

Kissin’ Hell

Copyright 2014 Jodi Redford

Edited by JL Stalker

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Published by Jodi Redford

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Cover by Becky McGraw

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or

dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.  This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web-without permission in writing from the author.

CHAPTER ONE

Now taking number 5,389.

Jericho Stryker grimaced at the monotone male voice booming over the central speaker. Thank the devil he didn’t have to wait around for a damn number to be called.

Firming his grip on the wiggling and bitching spirit trying to escape his hold, he continued pushing his way through the congested lineup blocking the main gatehouse to the Death Wards. Unlike the majority of the soul collectors waiting to process their bounties, Jericho relied on no extraneous gizmo to transport his spook. Just one of the many benefits of his hellhound DNA. The other invaluable perk was his priority booking privileges—a status that clearly went over like a bag of bricks with the bozos surrounding him, judging from their grumbles and the occasional outraged F bomb flung his way. Tough shit for them. After logging a fifty hour shift he was damn well gonna take advantage of his free pass to the finish line.

Offering a growl to the trio of demons intent on crowding the entrance, Jericho slammed through the aggravating blockade, using the over-amped paranormal juice of his acquired bounty as an impromptu cattle prod.

The closest demon jumped back, cursing a blue streak. What the fuck, Stryker! Trying to roast my nuts off?

That’d require you having some. Ignoring the death glare from the demons, Jericho steered his collection past the gatehouse and toward the central booking station. The lines were ridiculous there too, but not quite as hideous as the one he’d left behind. 

Several of his hellhound colleagues were already camped out in the processing queue, their loud voices and crude chatter garnering disdainful glances from the quartet of hellcats in the neighboring row. Two of the hounds broke into an exuberant belching contest with a side order of ball scratching. A collective shudder tripped through the female hellcats.

Jericho bit back a chuckle. There was no greater joy in life for a hound than ruffling some prissy pussy cat fur, and those pain in the ass hellcats made it all too easy. A hard clap on his shoulder tore Jericho’s musings from the nearby cats. He swung his attention to the left and met Connor’s grinning mug. His best mate’s eyes sparkled a challenge. Beat ya here by three minutes. Looks like you’ll be getting that new tat after all.

Sonofabitch. He was still getting shit over the damn angel wings Con insisted on after their last bet. No telling what he’d get saddled with this time. One of these days I need to stop taking your stupid bets.

Con transferred his attention to Jericho’s bounty. Inspecting the runt with open curiosity, Con sniggered. I see management’s stickin’ ya with the easy cases now that you’re getting to be an old man.

Jericho grunted rather than take the bait. Last time I checked, you’re only two months younger than me, jackass.

Con’s pearly whites flashed with his smile. And yet I still respect my elders.

Punk. Jericho nudged his spook forward when the line moved an inch. And the kid may not look like much, but the motherfucker sucker punched me the first time I grabbed him.

No shit. Con surveyed the pipsqueak with renewed respect. Got some brass balls on ya, boy.

Who you calling boy? The kid narrowed his eyes into a squint. "That’s real ripe coming from a dog. Cocking his head to the side, the ghost gave three short whistles. Right on cue, every hound within hearing distance perked up its ears. Adopting the most obnoxious singsong voice in history, the kid slapped his knees.  Where’s Timmy, boy? Huh? Huh?"

Jericho dug his fingers into his bounty’s neck. Did I also mention he’s annoying as shit?

Maybe the bosses will do the world a favor and feed him to the leviathans, Con suggested.

One can only hope. The line crept forward another centimeter and Jericho scooted the spirit along with a well-aimed knee against his behind. Judging from the kid’s style choice of saggy-ass jeans low-belted over his visible boxers, he wasn’t that long ago deceased. Definitely no later than the last decade. Not that Jericho cared or gave a crap one way or another. Dead folks amounted to a paycheck, plain and simple, and they were all royal pains in the arse regardless of what century they came from. Hence why he couldn’t wait to unload this one and finally get his much needed R&R. A quick teleport down to the Bahamas to avail himself of a few frosty Coronas on the beach sounded pretty damn fantastic right about now.

Con hid a yawn behind his fist. You going to Rafe’s party tonight?

Fuck no. Jericho scratched his jaw, abrading his fingertips with the bristly stubble of his days-old beard. Shit, he desperately needed a shave. Pretty soon he was going to give his inner hound a run for the money in the hairy department. I’ve got a cold one in the fridge with my name written all over it, and after that a minimum of fifteen hours of quality mattress time.

Yeah? Con waggled his brows. Who’s the lucky lady?

Jericho snorted. I meant sleep.

Damn. You are getting old.

Sad but true. Back in the day, he’d been all too willing to go sniffing after some pretty tail whenever the opportunity presented itself. Lately he’d gotten lazy. Face it, not a good sign when a nap proved more appealing than putting in some effort to get laid. Then again, his bed didn’t demand anything of him. Certainly it wouldn’t get up at the crack of dawn and fix him breakfast in a sneaky maneuver to get a commitment out of him. Though truthfully, if his bed could cook steak and eggs he’d put a ring on that shit, pronto.

"You’re gonna miss out. I hear the Finelli twins are coming