Loose Stories

By Ally Blue

A demon with a magic butt and a price on his head.
An interplanetary cowboy with the most valuable plot of land in the galaxy.
A designated Villain who only wants to make people happy, if he can get away with it.
Meet these characters—and the special men who learn to love them—in Loose Stories, a collection of three crazy, funny, surprisingly sweet tales of suspense, adventure, and romance.

These stories have been previously published in three separate multi-author short story anthologies. They are collected here together for the first time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black & Blue
• Release date: Apr 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370714667

Ally Blue

Ally Blue penned her first tale at age eight, relating the breathless terror of her little sister’s not-quite-fatal encounter with a bee in the backyard. That was the beginning of a lifelong love affair with storytelling. She now writes gay romance of all flavors, and has recently branched into writing her first love: horror. She continues her neverending quest to scare herself. She is not a hippie or a brain surgeon, no matter what her kids’ friends say.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Sir? Mr. Caine will see you now.

Hugo Gryffyn rose from the fancy white leather sofa and nodded at the scary-skinny woman behind the reception desk. Thank you, ma’am.

She rolled her eyes like he’d insulted her. Chalking it up to Atlanta’s general determination to become just as snooty as every other big city, Hugo tuned her out, strode to the carved wooden double doors and shoved them open.

The most insanely handsome man he’d ever seen in his life stood and smiled at him from the other side of a sleek black desk. Mr. Gryffyn. Thank you so much for meeting with me today. Please come in.

English accent. Not Cockney, either. High society.

Oh, fabulous. Hugo hated dealing with old money.

He edged into the big, echoing room and closed the door behind him. His neck felt tight and goose bumpy. Something about Felix Caine’s tall, blond, green-eyed good looks instantly stirred Hugo’s suspicion. Maybe because the man and his giant marble-and-chrome office smelled like money and power, and Hugo didn’t trust either one. Not even when they provided his livelihood.

He perched on the very edge of a black wooden chair that looked like it cost more than his car. Which wasn’t saying a lot for a car, but for a chair? Yeah. Chairs didn’t need to cost that much.

Nice office. He flashed his best fake smile.

Caine arched one well-groomed eyebrow as if he saw right through that lie, which he probably did. Thank you.

So. Hugo rubbed his palms on the thighs of his newest jeans. He missed his knife. Even if it had been possible to get a weapon up here—and he doubted it would’ve been—he figured Caine would’ve seen it as an insult, so he’d left it at home. Now, he wished he had it, though he couldn’t figure out why, exactly. What did you want to see me for?

Caine laughed, obviously amused. Hugo scowled. Where did a porn and sex toy mogul get off acting so hoity-toity? Jackass.

I need your help, Mr. Gryffyn. Caine’s smile vanished. He lowered himself into his chair—which looked about a zillion times more comfy than the thing Hugo was sitting on—leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers like a storybook villain. You have a certain…reputation.

Hugo started to see where this conversation was headed.

Okay, so he’d suck up the smart-ass comments and listen. He might not trust this slick, smarmy porno king, but hell, he needed the cash. A demon slayer had to pay the rent just like everybody else.

Doing his best to ignore the instincts kicking at his brain, he mirrored Caine’s posture. I’m told I do, yes.

There went the eyebrow again. Well. Hopefully, your reputation is not exaggerated. I have a rather pesky demon I need disposed of, and unless I’m misinformed, you’re the man for the job.

You’re informed right. If you need a demon slayed, I’m the man to do it. Hugo leaned back against the hard leather seat. It felt like sitting on a rock. What was the point in spending that much money on a chair if it was this damned uncomfortable? Oh well. He’d never understood rich people. Which one is it? Anybody I know?

Doubtful. His name is Lush. Caine’s mouth pursed like he’d gotten hold of a particularly sour slice of grapefruit. "He’s a very minor demon of sex and mischief, but he has become a very major pain in my arse."

Hugo managed to not roll his eyes, but it was a near thing. He would’ve bet a kidney and a couple of toes that accent was fake. Not that he was going to say so. Don’t piss off the people who give you money; that was his motto.

Okay. Lush. He fished his official NKED notebook and pen from the inside pocket of his leather jacket. Can you spell that, please?

Caine eyed the notebook with suppressed mirth twinkling in his ridiculously green eyes, but said nothing. L-apostrophe-l-o-u-s-c-h-e.

Hugo wrote it down in neat block letters and looked at it.

L’lousche.

Christ on a cracker. Stupid Hell and their stupid convoluted spelling. If he went to Hell when he died, would Satan make him start spelling his name Yheoug’ghow?

She probably would. Bitch hated him. Of course, he did keep killing her demons, so there was that.

So, Mr. Gryffyn. Caine rested his palms flat on the desk and stared daggers at Hugo. Will you take the job?

Hugo considered. Felix Caine was clearly a dishonest, conniving weasel, like all men with too much money. Hugo didn’t trust him as far as he could spit a rabbit. On the other hand, he was a few days away from losing electricity in his apartment.

Since he couldn’t afford to turn down work no matter how much his demon slayer instincts yelled at him that this was a bad idea, he forced himself to smile and stretch his hand across the desk. Mr. Caine, you’ve got yourself a demon slayer.

Caine smiled a smile that should’ve come with a mwahaha. Excellent. He took Hugo’s hand and shook. See my secretary. She’ll have the funds transferred to your account. He retrieved his hand and went back to his computer program.

The you are dismissed, sir couldn’t have been clearer if he’d shouted it. Hugo stayed put. Cash only.

Caine glanced up, his stupidly handsome face blank with confusion. Beg pardon?

Do not mock him. He’ll get a garden variety mobster to shoot you in the head. I work off the grid. No electronic transfers, no checks, no gift cards. Cash only. Security, you know. I don’t want to be tracked.

For half a heartbeat, Hugo could’ve sworn the flush that colored Caine’s cheeks rose all the way into his eyes to stain the corneas a faint pink. Caine blinked, relaxed and flashed his expensive smile. Whatever you like. He rolled his chair backward a couple of feet and opened the middle drawer of his desk. Ten thousand, correct? The other ten after the job’s done?

Yeah, that’s right.

And how do I know it’s done?

I’ll bring you his talisman.

Caine’s lips twisted into an evil smile, and Hugo realized the man had more experience with demons than he’d let on. Not every Joe Blow down the street knew that each demon had its own talisman—a charm unique to itself, that couldn’t be removed unless the demon was destroyed.

So he and Caine might be testing each other’s demon knowledge a little bit. You couldn’t be too careful when you killed demons for a living. Or when you hired somebody to kill one.

Hugo watched Caine count out ten grand in fifties and twenties without even being asked. For once, Hugo didn’t feel compelled to explain that demon slaying was occasional, not daily, and he put his life on the line every time he did it. His fee was pocket change for a guy this rich.

Caine reached into another drawer, pulled out a department store shopping bag, put the pile of money inside and covered it with, of all things, a pair of flannel pajamas. Many of the people I work with prefer cash payment, he explained in response to Hugo’s what the fuck look. One doesn’t generally expect to find ten thousand dollars underneath pajamas.

Couldn’t argue with that logic. Though Hugo figured he’d never look at anyone’s shopping bags the same way again.

He took the shiny black and white sack and rose from the uncomfortable chair. I’ll see you soon.

Good. Caine spun his chair around to face the gorgeous view of midtown through the wall of windows. Watch your back, Mr. Gryffyn. But don’t watch his.

Hugo scowled. God, could the guy get any more dramatic? Or vague?

Since he’d clearly been dismissed, Hugo left the office, nodding to the snooty secretary on the way out. He didn’t stop to see whether she paid him any attention. He had a lot of preparations to make.

Time to go to Hell.

CHAPTER TWO

L’lousche had to sashay down the gas station’s snack aisle three times before his target finally pocketed a couple of Snickers bars, reached into his baggy jeans and started to rub one out on the Cool Ranch Doritos.

Wow. That had taken way too long.

L’lousche frowned as he hurried out into the sticky summer night, ignoring the horrified shriek when the girl behind the register saw the man jerking off on the snacks. He was going to have to talk to Mistress Satan about sending him to LA. The people here were too used to pretty boys like himself. They barely reacted to him anymore, and he wasn’t a powerful enough demon to change his looks. He’d have an easier time causing mischief in, say, rural Kansas. Or Wales. Maybe the Chinese rice fields.

The mental image made him laugh. Farmers loved a twinky-boy in mesh shorts and a glittery cropped top. He’d fit right in.

A gigantic man in overalls, a plain black t-shirt and an American flag bandana tied over his long gray braid stopped and stared L’lousche up and down. He could feel it, even though the big guy wore wrap-around shades.

Well. You’re even cuter’n I figured on. He grinned, showing gold-capped teeth through his salt-and-pepper beard and mustache. You’re L’lousche, right?

Okay, nobody in the human world should know his name. L’lousche narrowed his eyes at the man from behind his giant round sunglasses. "Who are you?"

Bh’huoubhah. Demon of beer, shotguns and things that only seem like a good idea when you’re shitfaced. The man pulled his shades down his nose for a second, revealing blood-red, slit-pupiled eyes. Demon eyes, just like L’lousche’s own.

Satan’s fiery tits.

L’lousche moved closer and lowered his voice. Are you the reason so many of the damned at Hell’s Belles want to hear Hank Williams Jr.? The popular club in the heart of Hell’s party district played a lot of stuff, but personally, L’lousche didn’t care for this new trend toward country music.

Yep. Bh’huoubhah’s grin widened. What’s a redneck’s last words?

L’lousche blinked. What?

Watch this. The other demon laughed as if that was the most hilarious thing ever. He elbowed L’lousche in the side, nearly knocking him down. Get it?

Yes, I get it. Very funny.

"Hell yeah, it is. That’s ‘cause of me, you know. I’m the one making ‘em do it."

I’m sure. L’lousche brushed imaginary dirt off his shirt. Was there something you wanted, or are you also the demon of street comedy?

Bh’huoubhah gave him a sour look. You sure got a big stick up your ass for a sex demon.

L’lousche wasn’t about to go into the reasons for his bad mood. If you have something to say, then say it. If not, I’d like to get back to Hell.

Fine. No small talk. Bh’huoubhah wrapped a meaty hand around L’lousche’s upper arm and leaned down. There’s a contract out on your magic ass, pretty boy. I came to warn you. Watch your back.

A contract? Surely, the big demon didn’t mean…

Man, who knew a sex demon would be so damn innocent ‘bout things like this? Bh’huoubhah shook his head. Someone’s ordered a hit on you. Hired a demon slayer to kill you.

Stunned, L’lousche gaped up at Bh’huoubhah. What? Why? I’m about the most minor demon there is. I’m not even dangerous, for fuck’s sake, who would want to pay a demon slayer to kill me?

Shaggy gray eyebrows rose above Bh’huoubhah’s black shades. You must’ve pissed somebody off. He let go of L’lousche’s arm and patted him on the back hard enough to make him cough. "Well. I gotta get up into the hills. There’s three buddies on a fishin’ trip who need a nudge to finish that case