Page 22 of Demon

“Everything we had in the house,” Sicknote answered.

“Any idea who they were?” I chipped in, tiredness creeping over me, as the first morning light spilled in through the torn off back door.

“Nah. One of them had an ace of spades tattoo behind his ear. Other than that, I’ve never seen their ugly mugs before. They knew we were here, though.”

“Recognise that tattoo, Demon?” Indie asked.

I shook my head. I saw shit loads of tattoos every day and playing cards were as common as the roses and hearts and skulls that etched on to people’s skins.

“Then ask around your tattoo buddies. Someone will have tattooed this fucker. And I want to know who.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Why didn’t Magnet buy a decent door, for fuck’s sake?”

Today was going to be a long ass fucking day. Who needed sleep anyway?

Chapter Eleven

Ciara

Rain clattered against the glass. Thick, heavy drops pressurised by a hot, muggy day yesterday and ready to wreak havoc on the world below. And it seemed it was starting with my windows. I didn’t have to open my curtains to know it was bouncing off the glass, and with the thin single panes, it could almost convince me it would break right through. The heavy onslaught of the weather had cooled the air, a chill creeping in through the tiny gaps around the windows. I snuggled down under the thick duvet, where it was warm and cosy and inviting, and I could stay wrapped up all day. Well, I’d have liked to. I was exhausted, and right now, sleep was a little too inviting.

Maybe just another hour? Assignments are completed better when you’re fresher, anyway. And fuck knows every second of sleep was needed right now. Just an hour. No more. I turned over, pulling the duvet up to my chin and listening to the rain pelting the windows. It was rhythmical, and maybe if I didn’t know that the water that was seeping in through the cracks was making the wooden frames and sills damper than they already were, and soaking the thinning, mouldering carpet, I might have enjoyed hiding in my bed away from the elements. But with a pitiful electric heater as the only source of warmth, drying out the bedsit after hours of torrential rain was not going to be fun.

But my brain was too muddled, too worn out to care, and soon I was drifting off again, my memories crumbling away and the relaxing darkness of sleep washing over me. My arms felt heavy, and my breathing stilled. And then from beside my head, from right under my pillow, came an incessant vibrating. Fuck. I turned over, moving to the other side of the bed, ignoring the irritated buzzing until the call cut off. And then, a few seconds later, it buzzed again. And again, until at the fourth round I launched for it angrily.

Demon.

“What?” I barked, holding the phone alongside my ear, my brain trying to tug me back into sleep.

“I’m outside, Ciara.”

“Outside where?”

“Outside the red-hot gates of hell. Where the fuck do you think?”

Radgie fucker. I was the one just dragged out of a much-needed lie in.

“Why?”

“I need your car.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to drive around town in that rust bucket and look cool. I’m trying to get it fixed.”

“What’s with the fucking sarcasm?” I grunted, ready to take a swing at him.

“What’s with the attitude?”

Why the fuck was he being such a prick this morning? This was making my head hurt. I heard the long sigh down the other end of the phone. I bet he was pinching his nose and the vein in his neck was throbbing with frustration. I’d seen him look like he wanted to bang someone’s head off the table enough times to visualise what faces he was pulling right now. But I had no intention of getting out of bed to test my theory. Which was right, of course.

The noise made me jump, sending my heart scattering into a thousand different rhythms. Instinctively, I pulled the duvet up to my chin, as if the thickness alone would save me from the person on the other side of the door, and then, when my brain caught up, the sudden pang of fright turned into annoyance.

“Ciara. Let me in, please?”

Demon’s voice rumbled through the room, diluting the anger simmering in my stomach, half ignited by the shock and the other half by tiredness.

“Ciara?” He hammered on the door.