The Demon You Know

By Mel Harlan

One horrible decision. Two enemies. No good options.

Meet Jacqueline "Jack" Anderson, a fiercely independent P.I. who's made more mistakes than she can count. Her most recent? Making a deal with her enemy Roman to save the only family she cares about.

Roman's got a few secrets of his own and an empire he's trying to

• Language: English
• Publisher: Still Pretty Publishing
• Release date: Dec 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9798985114607

Mel Harlan

Mel Harlan is a consultant, writer, and author of the new novel The Demon You Know. With decades of reading and writing fantasy, she has created the series she always wanted to read with the Jack Anderson novels.Mel lives and works out of her home in Houston, TX. She is currently enjoying newlywed life while searching for the best latte, dancing on roller skates, or reading poolside.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

6:37AM Thursday, August 12

I pressed down on the pedal, racing my used muscle car through Memorial as smoke bloomed on the horizon behind us. Hands white-knuckled on the wheel, I hoped I would make it in time to save my brother John who was unconscious in the back seat. A sour taste bloomed in my mouth, overpowering the scent of burnt skin and John’s blood, as I realized I might be too late.

I raced down the road all before locals waded out of their A/C and into the heat of the pre-dawn morning. Fire engines were still on the way to the site of the bombing. My thoughts rushed to fill the humming emptiness of the cranked A/C.

I had nowhere else I could turn. All of my local P.I. contacts were cagey, none of them would let me stay with them until I could figure things out. I couldn’t do what I ached for either: just take care of myself and let everything else burn. It had been so long since I’d been truly worried about someone besides myself; even in the nine years out of the program I still couldn’t truly trust anyone. As a powered individual with less than stellar rights on the law books, and several arrests to my name, I wasn’t one for overly trusting anyway. Unfortunately, I could only think of one person who could handle the situation.

I already knew where I had to go. There was only one bastard who could handle a medical emergency, protect John, and help me deal with a hit at the same time. He hated me enough that he would be gleeful at the opportunity to make me suffer. It would be worth it if my brother survived.

I knew that my only chance was to bring John to Roman, if he would help us. Potential Tinker kingpin and lauded philanthropist, Roman was a cold-blooded businessman. But he was a cold-blooded businessman who would make a deal.

It was all my fault, I couldn’t help but think as I glanced back at my brother thrown across the backseat. That truth tightened my chest before slowly sinking into my stomach. He’s going to be okay, I reminded myself as I took a tight corner and narrowly avoided a parked BMW.

My car found its way to Roman Oliver’s expansive estate in River Oaks. I pulled up to the front gate and blew a stray hair out of my eye. I had a distinct feeling Roman was going to make things difficult.

Let me in! I yelled at the guard at the front gate. His name tag read Francis. My foot tapped against the floor.

I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re on the restricted list, he replied.

Sighing, I angrily shifted in reverse. I pulled back just enough to rev the old girl’s engine and braced to hit the front gate. The car skidded forward as it thumped over the now-fallen front gate. The undercarriage scraped, throwing me against the wheel, and I sped up the Gatsby-level driveway to halt by the front door.

Freeze! the guard yelled after me. He yelled something else into his walkie, sprinted up the front lawn with his gun drawn, and crossed the large stretch of manicured grass to catch me.

I opened the driver side door to the morning’s humid embrace. As the six-foot-tall guard approached, I pivoted to face him. Most men weren’t prepared to shoot a girl.

Freeze! he yelled again. Sweat beaded his forehead and he exhaled loudly. He had come too close. Bad for him, good for me.

I grabbed his loaded hand, twisting it behind his back until he yelped. I wrenched the gun from his hand, pistol whipped him across the back of his head, and heard him hit the ground as I rushed back to John.

Striding back to the car, dragging my right leg behind me, I opened the back-seat door. The hinges complained at my use of excessive force. At least I hadn’t ripped off the door like last month, I thought.

The Spanish mansion loomed above us, ivy and all, as I unstrapped John and looped him into a fireman’s carry. My 25-year-old brother’s frame dwarfed my own as I carried him to the front door.

The heavy knocker dented the historical Spanish landmark’s double doors as I slammed it down again and again. The marble archway mocked me. John gasped each breath. I had never felt so small and misplaced. With each unanswered knock, I held in the scream I felt building underneath my burnt chest.

I yelled at the front door, I’m sure you think this is funny, but let me in! If you don’t, I promise I’m going to kick this door down.

I reared back my foot when the front door opened.

Without a pause, I limped quickly past Lawrence, Roman’s chauffeur. The salt-and-peppered man didn’t have a chance to look surprised as I continued yelling, Roman! I know you’re up!

Even if I had walked into the belly of a pissed off beast, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me beaten.

Ms. Anderson, you can’t be barging in here at all hours, Lawrence said as he closed the door behind me.

No worries, Lawrence. Jacqueline, what a pleasant surprise, Roman intoned. He appeared at the top of the spiral staircase in the middle of the foyer. His hair lay slick and shiny; he had been awake. His Armani suit double-buttoned at the waist. Pressed and gathered, he glided down the front staircase.

His face of all angles glanced at John who was still hoisted over my shoulder. Roman raised an eyebrow but made no move to help me.

I pushed past Roman and into the foyer, forcing a normal gait despite the pain in my right leg, lying John down on a buttery couch. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me hurt. Soot-covered and dark hair spilling forward, John’s eyes stayed shut. The bullet wound on his shoulder stained the shirt I used to stop the bleeding.

Save him, I said, kneeling by my brother’s side.

Why should I? Roman asked. While he played the skeptic, I knew he wouldn’t take much convincing. His eyes glittered like an alligator in the pre-morning haze.

I can be an asset, I said. I watched keenly to see John’s breaths rise and fall. He was still breathing, so there was still time.

Really? And why would I bargain with you now? Roman said. I rose to look up into his razor-sharp face. His gray eyes glinted.

Please, John needs help now. Details later. Between the bombing and the bullet wound, any regular person wouldn’t have long. John didn’t have long.

I resisted the urge to tap my foot and shift side to side. He already knew there was blood in the water, no need to tempt him further.

Yes. Details, Roman said, savoring each syllable as it dripped off his tongue. I think we can come to an agreement.

I knew how long he’d been waiting to say those words. My brother and I had been looking into Roman’s dealings and trying to prove he was the one producing Tinker, the hottest drug on the market. Created by grinding up pixies, the high was supposedly incredible.

Roman’s public holdings were well-known, he created and owned GeoTrac which was one of fastest growing GPS companies in the world. He dabbled in private ventures and real estate, as well as owned the local club Gas Lamp. While most people saw the public front - the ever-bachelor and philanthropist - I knew better.

While we had never been able to prove our case against him, I knew something was wrong. I wasn’t sure what Roman was, or how deeply his ties went, but he was entrenched in Houston.

And you have no one to ask for help, Roman said with gleeful energy.

I remained silent. There was no one waiting to arrive to my rescue at the last moment. Certainly not the government that betrayed me or anyone from the Bureau. I knew there was only way this would end.

But what to ask for… Roman said as he tapped his chin in faux contemplation.

We both know how this ends, I said. You want me to be yours. I had found a small slice of peace working with my brother, even if it hadn’t been perfect, and would never have entertained working for Roman if John hadn’t been in this situation. I felt the life I had wiggled myself into fall away. With John barely breathing, a string of dead-end jobs behind, I knew I could only live with myself if John made it. Roman had asked me to join his team, and I was out of options and ready to pay the price.

He dropped the taunts and looked me in the eye. Yes, you will be of my flesh, my Hand, Roman said.

I felt myself blanch - I knew the price would be steep, but that didn’t sound like a job offer. I wasn’t sure what he was or what he meant, but I had a sinking feeling that I would regret my ignorance very soon.

It’s only fair. A body for a body. Unfortunately, you don’t have much time. Roman paused for dramatic effect. Tick tock, kitten, said the alligator.

Roman bared a smile full of teeth at me. It even reached his eyes.

Limp on the couch, John’s breath labored on. I knew what I had to do.

Just do it already, I replied.

I placed my hand in Roman’s and his carefully manicured fingers tightened around my scorched palms. Roman smelled like cedarwood, dark and woodsy.

I felt a looming pressure close over me, like heavy syrup enclosing my entire body. I didn’t try to fight it as it fell snug against my skin. Then the feeling somehow went deeper. I was already bone-tired and knew whatever came next, it would be worthwhile if John made it. I would accept responsibility for once.

Now we are tied together, Jacqueline Anderson, Roman said as the moment of power ended. I felt like Captain Hook must have while buried in the belly of the alligator.

What are you? I asked him. The uncertainty of what I had done settled around me like an uncomfortable friend’s arm.

Once the matter with your brother is settled, I look forward to us getting to work. Charlene will make the arrangements for your brother, Roman said, ignoring my question.

I was feet first in a new disaster, not surprised it was of my own making. I released the breath I didn’t know I was holding the moment that Roman left. I wouldn’t let my unease at becoming a Hand - whatever that was - prevent me from making sure John got taken care of. My own wounds could be taken care of later. Then, I would get to the people who thought it was a good idea to mess with my family.

Charlene appeared at the doorway. As head of Roman’s household, Charlene was always crisp and at the ready. Even during the early hours of the morning, her all-white ensemble was perfectly coordinated. A string of pearls graced her neck.

I bent over to pick up John, wavered in exhaustion and pain, and followed her awaiting glance. With Roman gone, I let the limp return as I trailed behind her through the house.

Charlene’s Louboutin heels clicked across the Spanish tile. John’s blood dripped behind our procession.

Still tightly wound, Charlene?

This is one of the last remaining architectural landmarks in Houston, Charlene said as she ignored me. It almost sounded like she was a docent on their tour through my latest bad decision. The original residence is over 8,000 square feet, covering 3 floors. Lawrence and I live in the coach house across the estate. Charlene paused for a moment and added, Try not to break anything.

She opened a mahogany door near the back of the house and led us into a guest room. I set my brother down on the pristine white comforter of the queen bed. I turned him so he lay flat and made sure he was perfectly arranged. The scent of sandalwood tickled my nose as I readjusted the pillow underneath his head. Soot already stained the comforter.

John would be okay, even if he looked too small on the bed, I tried to convince myself. My brother might have been born a few years too late to be the older one, but he had always looked out for me. I wasn’t sure where I fit without him.

We had worked together for the past two years. I was the private investigator to his special agent. I consulted on supernatural cases, especially when a bounty was involved, because of my powered status. Right before the supernatural decided to come out of the metaphorical closet, the government had identified the super gene. These genes were meant to indicate potential for extra-ordinary abilities presenting in humans. In an effort to capture the talent of a budding generation, the government asked parents to register their children who tested positive for genetic promise. I had been sent to their talent development program via the Powered Relocation Act. I had no contact with my family during my years in the program. When I aged out at 18, I held a series of dead-end jobs until John insisted I try private investigations. When things still weren’t lining up, we started working together. I had almost hit a groove while working together, almost unheard of for me. The almost slice of life I had made with John was gone now, and it was all my fault.

I needed to find who did this. I knew it wouldn’t make him wake up, but I needed to give him his place in the world back. Even if I was too late for me, maybe I could make it better for him.

The physician will be here shortly, Charlene said. Her voice dragged me from my thoughts. Her heels clicked themselves out of the room at the continued silence.

I felt the burns and scratches begin to itch as they healed. Instead of scratching, I pulled open the drawers on the side tables and dresser until I found what I was looking for.

I grabbed the white towel, walked to the bathroom, and wet it. I returned to John’s room, noticing the trail of soot my boots had left along the tile. I smirked before turning back to my brother. I grabbed a chair from the side of the room, pulled it to his side, and sat on the hard cushion. The pressure in my right leg released as I took the weight off.

My chipped black polish looked garish against the plush white towel. I pressed the towel against his forehead, beginning to brush off all the dirt and dust. I diligently cleaned his face while avoiding his wounds.

I just wished he would wake up. His eyes remained closed and I refused to let myself tremble.

He had to wake up. He had done so much for me, and I kept getting it wrong. Receptionist job? Fired. Entrance to the policy academy? Expelled. I had managed to pull something together as a P.I. in the past year and then I’d gotten him suspended from the police force. Some kind of sister I was turning out to be.

He had to wake up. The need to hurt someone was building. There were only so many ways to make the turmoil stop: drinking, bounty hunting, and pounding pavement. But my favorite was when I knew I was going to win, when the adrenaline kicked in and I was unstoppable.

He had to wake up. He had to remind me what the right thing to do was. I knew my instincts were wrong - I had been in and out of trouble my whole life. But it was hard to remember what he would have wanted when I could feel my blood boiling at his broken body. Someone had to pay.

I jolted at the swift knock on the bedroom door. Charlene hadn’t been gone long and I hadn’t thought the doctor could get here so quickly. The physician entered with purpose. A woman with a tight bun and matching expression pushed a cart of equipment behind him. I only recognized a defibrillator and IV stand.

The physician was salt-and-pepper at the temples, dapper despite the early hour in his white coat and dress pants. A slightly askew bumblebee-printed tie pulled to the right. He made swift eye contact with me before setting his medical bag on the bed. He spoke to me as he took my brother’s pulse and checked his breathing.

What can you tell me? he asked.

Someone had tried to kill me and take my brother out as a bonus. They had gone for the overkill, attacking me right before the building went up in flames. They had put in the extra effort to make sure I ended up in the blast. Unfortunately for them, they hadn’t counted on my survival.

We were caught in an explosion. He was shot just before. I didn’t add any extra details.

The woman pushed John’s sleeve up, tied a yellow cord around his bicep, and tested for a vein. Then she grabbed a wet wipe and brushed the inside of his elbow. Finding the pale throb, she inserted the IV. The woman undid the t-shirt I had tied around John’s shoulder. A small gush of blood came out. She rolled him onto his side.

Looks like it went straight out the other side, the woman commented before rolling my brother’s back onto the bed.

What about you? the physician asked, taking in my soot-covered self.

Just help him, I said. The aches from the explosion and my right leg’s burns could wait.

Are you sure, miss? We could - the physician began.

Just help him, I said forcefully. I stood too quickly and my legs knocked the chair into the wall behind me.

The physician sighed. Now, I need to know. Is there any history of allergies, illnesses, medical conditions I should be aware of? He looked too sympathetic. I would have preferred no bedside manner, it was easier to keep everything I was feeling in then.

No, he’s fine. Strawberry allergies, nothing else. The kind eyes continued to glance at her while they administered to her brother.

Very well. We’ll need to run some tests, the physician said as he looped his stethoscope around his neck. Right now, he appears to be stable and breathing on his own.

I felt Roman at the doorway. I stared at the physician, ignoring Roman’s presence, and willed the self-assured doctor’s confidence to become my own.

Go and get some rest, the doctor insisted. I’ll let you know if there is any news.

The woman placed a small device on John’s finger and the sound of his heartbeat filled the room.

I took a breath to refuse when Roman said, There’s a room upstairs for you. Pleasant mask in place, he looked almost innocuous. Almost.

Fine, I conceded. With one last glance at John, my whole body creaked as I followed Roman toward the kitchen staircase. While not nearly as grand as the sweeping staircase in the main entrance, there was still a marble cherub sat near the base of the steps.

When we reached the second level, Roman’s back blocked my view and couldn’t see which door he was headed toward. Seeing Roman’s bedroom door, I blanched and my boots halted. The last time I was here was a whirligig of fun that I wasn’t ready to relive. As Roman kept walking, I realized we were continuing toward the end of the hall.

Now, now, Jacqueline, Roman said with a knowing glance. My reluctance had to be painted on my face. I had a feeling I would be seeing you again, so I had these quarters put together. He opened the bedroom door for me and I hurried inside.

I couldn’t bring myself to be polite and thank him like my brother would have insisted. Instead, I shut the door in his face.

Leaning back against the door, I hauled in a breath. Held it for five seconds. Exhaled. Then took another square breath like my court-appointed therapist had taught me.

The bathroom was pink too. Pink curtains, pink towels, blush pink tile. Roman must have spent a fortune just to annoy me. Or he was thinking practically. Blood washes out to pink anyway.

I threw open the shower curtain and turned the heat up as high as possible. As the steam built up, I toed off my boots and peeled off my destroyed jeans. As I took of my black t-shirt, I gasped at the pain flaring across my back. The shirt joined the discard pile next. I undid the braid that was barely held together anymore and shook my hair out. Small pieces of plaster came out, but otherwise not too bad for a Thursday.

I stepped into the claw-footed tub that doubled as a shower and let my head fall under the powerful stream. The drain swirled gray and pink and left me feeling red, hot, and angry.

I wanted to punch the annoyingly pink tile.

I was mad at myself for this situation I had ended up in. I never thought I would end up here again - at someone else’s whims. I would do what I had to, keeping John safe was priority number one. If I wanted to get out of this, I would have to take care of whoever was after me. I was sure that my brother’s safety would be revoked the moment I no longer worked for Roman.

I was mad at the person who had forced me into the role of Hand. The person who had taken John from me was going to pay.

I was also mad at John. Why had he ever trusted me? Why did he have to get himself shot? I knew it was irrational, but I couldn’t help but think that some fault landed on him.

I let out a scream and punched the mocking tile, shattering it from the wall. Again. Another. I screamed until I didn’t have anything left. To fulfill this bargain, I screamed out the pain and the frustration and the anger.

Helpless again, I thought. For ten years in the program, I had been subjected to government testing, poking, and prodding in a facility designed for inmates. I had been kept separate from my parents, and even Olivia had been released because she didn’t show any signs of progressing into powered. It was a time in my life had I done my best to erase from my mind.

Catching my breath, I realized my knuckles were bleeding and a chunk of tile was missing. I sighed and placed my head back under the steaming hot water. I rested my hands on the wall and closed my eyes, releasing another controlled breath. In and out.

The water circling the drain turned from gray to clear. Time to get out, put my game face on, and get some food before facing the the day ahead.

Wrapping a fluffy pink towel around myself, I noticed my reflection in the mirror above the sink. Bare faced, blue eyes too wide, and dark hair curling around my shoulders made me look younger than my 28 years.

I left the bathroom to find my favorite knife and a new set of clothes laid out on the bed. I walked toward a pink canopy bed with a plush, pale pink comforter. At least it didn’t have kittens on it, god knows that pet name shouldn’t have stuck around. I fought a laugh. He knew I hated pink. The bedroom, which I had sarcastically dubbed the Anna Kendrick Memorial Room, was in stark contrast to the knives and dark clothing. Jeans, t-shirt, jean jacket. It was all there, albeit ironed. The dark shirt was sleeveless and had an upset unicorn on it with the phrase I’ll cut you.

I sat and sank into the bed. While I wanted to get up and search for my almost-killer, I also knew I needed to rest. Even with all my strength and quick healing, I had been literally blown up. All of the aches shouted at me to lie down. I knew I didn’t have to keep going, not anymore, because John was safe. It was time to rest and regret later.

I could have sworn I smelled sandalwood as I drifted off.

I awoke with a jerk to the fading scent of smoke and the feeling that I was being watched.

Roman stood at the foot of the pink canopy bed. The physician would like to speak with you. You slept the day away, he said. I had never been woken up by Roman, but it wasn’t something I was keen on repeating. Even if we were tied together.

Sharp pain struck my arms and legs as I tried to sit up. The cut on my back split open as I peeled myself off the comforter. The other cuts had sealed and I noticed my leg felt better as I swung it to the shag carpet. I didn’t show any signs of discomfort, so there was no sound but the slide of the comforter.

I glanced at the bedside table and saw a little after 6PM. I had slept almost 12 hours.

You’re looking lovely, Roman added.

I responded with an internal eye roll. It’s one of the perks of the job.

He gestured for me to follow. Still impeccably dressed, he pivoted and left. He didn’t walk any slower for me. I hid the remainder of my limp and noticed a few aches setting further in. I followed him into the kitchen where the physician and Charlene were waiting.

The physician began, Your brother is stable and the gunshot was taken care of. He was very lucky that it didn’t hit anything vital. He paused and waited for me to fill in the blanks, like how my brother had gotten a bullet in his shoulder in the first place. I didn’t.

However, he suffered a serious head injury and burns along his extremities. Based on the seriousness of his injuries, we don’t know if, or when, he will wake up. Right now, his body is recovering. He’ll need to be cared for until then and I would recommend transferring him to a hospital -

What do you mean ‘if’? I interrupted. It was like I was in slow motion, I could barely keep up with what he was trying to tell me.

His injuries include damage to the occipital lobe and cerebellum. Combined with potential smoke inhalation, his brain sustained extensive damage and lack of air. He is breathing on his own, but there is no telling when he might wake up.

It went without saying that the longer it took, the more likely it would be that would stay asleep. Unconscious, I corrected myself.

What can you do? I asked the doctor.

We can make him comfortable and track his vital signs. We will take good care of him and continue running tests to see if we can determine more.

I nodded at the doctor and tried to take in the information. I had signed myself away to Roman, so John better get some damn good help.

If there is anything necessary for John’s care then Charlene will take care of it, Roman said. Charlene nodded.

Everyone seemed so calm about it. They were pressed and proper and didn’t seem concerned with the news they delivered. I knew it wasn’t the doctor’s fault, but why were they so god damn calm?

I wanted to hit something, or someone. Either would work right now. I felt the slow build of tension within my body as my thoughts spiraled.

I stalked away to the living room, trying to breathe. Surely there would be more to this? Roman wasn’t human. I had made a deal. There was no way that this was all that they could do. He had lied to me.

Charlene, Roman, and the physician continued their long-term care options behind me at a low murmur. The overstuffed chairs mocked my physical pain by looking so inviting and unyielding at the same time.

A large oil painting hung over the couch. I didn’t know much about art, but I figured it was an expensive modern piece by its bright red circle with a squiggly line through it. Something people could afford to pay a fortune for and then pretend they knew what it meant.

Roman’s presence appeared behind me. I felt, more than saw him, this time.

You will fulfill your bargain, he reminded.

But not now, I said. The pressure built. Not before you save him.

We both stared at the painting in response, refusing to look at the other.

I can sustain him, he is alive. Is he not saved? I didn’t agree to restore him, Roman said. I could sense the pleasure in his voice and knew my fears had been realized.

I was ready to fight someone. If it was Roman, I was more than ready. I caved first by tossing a disdainful glance his way. You would try to double talk your way out of our deal? I asked lightly. I knew what his answer would be. I knew him and I came here anyway.

Oh kitten, that’s what I do. He grinned at me, knowing there was nothing I could do to undo our bond or help John. John will be well-cared for, but I’m not obligated to do much else. He bounced lightly back and forth, savoring the moment.

So, all of this is for nothing? I asked softly.

Roman cocked his head. His brow furrowed in fake concern and