Back From Hell (Revenant Files Book 1) Read online

  Back From Hell

  Revenant Files™ Book 1

  D'Artagnan Rey

  Michael Anderle

  This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2021 LMBPN Publishing

  Cover Art by Jake @ J Caleb Design

  http://jcalebdesign.com / [email protected]

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  Michael Anderle Production

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  Version 1.00, September 2021

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-68500-498-9

  Print ISBN: 978-1-68500-499-6

  The Back From Hell Team

  Thanks to our Beta Team:

  John Ashmore, Erika Everest, Kelly O’Donnell, Larry Omans

  Thanks to our JIT Team:

  Zacc Pelter

  Wendy L Bonell

  Peter Manis

  Dorothy Lloyd

  Jackey Hankard-Brodie

  Jeff Goode

  Angel LaVey

  If we’ve missed anyone, please let us know!

  Editor

  SkyHunter Editing Team

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  Books By D'Artagnan Rey

  Books By Michael Anderle

  Connect with Michael

  Chapter One

  The Wicked Easy. The easiest place to sin in Sulfur, Louisiana.

  The large sign held the attention of a young man in a long, dark trench coat who stepped out of his car into the dark, rainy night and adjusted the strap on his eyepatch. He certainly hoped it proved to be so. He strode to the entrance but a large bouncer blocked his path.

  “You look a little young to be here,” the man said and noted the long blond hair, thin skin, and sharp features of the new arrival. With the eyepatch and the resolute look in his other eye, he did briefly question his deduction. Still, rules were rules.

  The young man held his coat open slightly with one hand and slid the other in to retrieve his wallet and show him his ID. The bouncer read it somewhat skeptically. According to the card, he had turned twenty-five a few months earlier and his name was Jack House.

  “IDs are easy to fake,” he said and tapped the bottom right of the card before he produced his to point out that the young man’s was missing the intertwining pattern.

  “True enough,” he admitted with a sigh, took his wallet out, and produced a collection of twenties and fifties. “This seems real enough though, don’t it?”

  The bouncer studied the stack—which appeared to be around three hundred dollars—and decided there were times when it was in his best interest to fuck the rules. “Welcome to The Wicked Easy,” he proclaimed as he took the stack and opened the door for him.

  With a nod of thanks, the customer walked inside and looked around. The venue was bustling for a seemingly sleepy town. Tables were stacked with drinks and an abundance of smoke had already formed almost a haze throughout the room. He nodded, moved to the bar, and grinned at a couple of barely clothed ladies who all but purred at him as he passed.

  Still smiling, he sat on possibly the only empty stool but it took a few minutes for one of the bartenders to approach him. The thin, tanned, mustachioed individual greeted him with a wily grin that revealed one gold-capped tooth in place of his right canine. “Good evening. Are you looking for some debauchery?”

  “Is that the special?” he asked and studied the man. He was very well dressed in a black vest over a red shirt with some kind of swirling black pattern and black slacks with a golden chain. The outfit made him wonder if the proprietor was originally from Las Vegas. He should probably have checked into that before he came.

  “Every night,” the bartender said with a laugh before he looked quizzically at him for a moment. “You seem a little young to be here.”

  “I already settled it with the good man outside,” he responded. “Can I place an order?”

  “Sure thing.” He propped his elbows on the bar. “What’ll it be, my friend?”

  He slid his hand into his coat again and retrieved another bundle of cash with a deft hand. “I need some information,” he explained and placed the notes on the counter. “And I’m looking for the proprietor of this bar.”

  The barkeep looked at the money for a moment and pursed his lips before he chuckled as he tapped a finger against the wood surface. “Well, you are certainly no cop since that would be a badge and not a bribe. And even if you were, you would merely be returning what we already paid you.”

  “True enough.” The customer rested his hands on the bar and looked into the man’s eyes. “But that’s not the information I’m looking for.”

  In response, the other man chuckled and followed it immediately with a sharp whistle. “Hey, big guy. Clear the table!” he ordered and another large bouncer nodded silently as some “woos” and “ahs” erupted around the bar. The barkeep picked the cash up. “We’ll consider this your entrance fee into our game,” he said as he began to walk out from behind the bar and gestured for the young man to join him.

  He stood casually from the stool and followed, his hands in his pockets as the many gazes in the bar watched him stroll to a round red table the bouncer had cleared before he placed a black box on the surface. The bartender rolled his sleeves up and opened the box to reveal a deck of cards with shining red-and-black designs on the back, reminiscent of a demonic face. “You’ve played blackjack, I presume?”

  The young man took his seat, slid his hand into his pants pocket, and produced another small black box, which he opened to reveal cigarettes and a lighter. He lit one and took a puff. “I certainly have.” The bouncer placed an ashtray next to him. “Appreciate it.”

  “Good,” the bartender-turned-dealer said with a devious smile. “Then there is no need to explain the rules except how the bets will work.” A stack of ten black chips was placed in front of the dealer and the gambler. “We don’t play for money here, only special prizes.” He gesture
d to his ten chips. “We play one chip for one chip. If I lose all my chips, I’ll tell you anything you want.”

  “And if you win?” the young man asked after another drag and let the smoke slide out between his words.

  The dealer’s smile turned to one of mockery. “I’m damn sure you know,” he said with a hissed laugh. “You aren’t the first to come in with…interesting orders.”

  “I had to ask.” He gestured to the cards and shrugged. “I guess with the motif you have there that the wager is ‘my soul?’” he asked and gestured theatrically with his fingers.

  The dealer shrugged casually. “In a manner of speaking. Let’s simply say you’ll be indebted for a favor owed. That’s how things work around here.” He pointed to the party behind them in the main lounge. “It’s not like it's anything too bad. Some of them owe favors and they don’t look too sad about it, huh?”

  “What about him?” he asked and pointed to the silent bouncer. “He doesn’t seem to be having a fun time.”

  The dealer shrugged. “He’ll loosen up after a while, trust me.” He placed his hand against his chest. “Now, to officially get this started, let’s take a moment to introduce ourselves. My name is Lucien and I’ll be your dealer.” He pointed across the table. “And you are?”

  “My name’s Johnny and I’ll be your player,” the young man replied with a small smirk of amusement. His stare became determined when the other man extended his hand to shake.

  “Well, Johnny. My information against your soul. What do you say?” The dealer picked one of the cards up and held it beside his face as he mimicked the demonic grin on it. “Are you up for a little sin?”

  He chuckled at the man’s overt theatricality, nodded, and shook his hand firmly. “It might be a sin but I’ll take your bet and you’ll regret it.”

  The other man laughed as his hand grasped Johnny’s and shook it hard. “That’s the spirit!” A white shimmer encased the chips for a brief moment before it vanished. The dealer shuffled the deck. “All right, what will your first bet be?” Johnny gathered all ten of his chips and placed them into the pool without comment, much to the other man’s surprise. “You aren’t very patient, are you?”

  “More than you might think,” he responded with a shrug, “but in this case, I still have things to do so let’s hurry this up.”

  Lucien leaned back toward the bouncer. “This is gonna be an easy night,” he declared with glee before he straightened and dealt the first two cards—a jack for Johnny and a seven for himself. The young player’s next card was an eight and the dealer placed his second card face-down. “So then, what will you—”

  “I’ll stay.” The young gambler said and waved his hand over the table. The dealer pressed his lips against his teeth to stop himself from laughing. This boy might have played blackjack but he did not know the real rules—one never let the dealer dictate the game and more importantly, shuffle the deck. He flipped his card, prepared for the nine he had snuck to the top of the deck, and stared at the queen in surprise. Seventeen. He couldn’t hit again.

  Johnny leaned closer as both Lucien and the bouncer gaped at the outcome in shock. “I guess that means I win,” he stated flatly and pointed at the dealer. “Now, tell me where Ciro is.”

  “Ciro?” the man asked, utterly gobsmacked. “How do you know about—ah!” He spilled the chips as he lurched across the table. Everyone nearby looked at them in surprise as he stared at the other man and tried to clench his teeth to stop himself from talking. “Ciro is in the…baasemeent…” His words strained as he attempted to hold them back. “S-sssecret entrance… I-i-in the k-kitchhen. P-pull the chain.”

  “I appreciate it.” Johnny pushed from his chair and turned to leave but his path was blocked by both the new bouncer and the one from the entrance. “Huh. I thought we had an understanding.”

  “Play again,” Lucien demanded and used the table to support him as he stood, his slicked-back hair now as wild as his eyes. “You cheated!”

  “Can you prove it?” the young man asked as a large hand settled on his shoulder. He sighed and nodded. “Well, since this seems to be for pride, all right. One more game.” As he turned to face the challenger, he slid his hand inside his coat. “We need a new bet, though. I don’t have anything else I want from you so if I win, I get to shoot you.”

  “Do what?” the dealer asked in disbelief.

  “You heard me.” He pulled out of the bouncer’s hold and moved to the table, where he thumped his hand onto the surface. “Deal the cards.”

  “Like hell will I accept a bet like—” A card flew off the top of the deck to settle in front of the player’s hand. “What?” Lucien gawked at the king of diamonds as another card landed beside his hand that now clutched the table even more desperately. He tried to move past the unfortunate truth that it was a two while the deck dealt the player the ace of clubs.

  “Well, would you look at that?” The young man slid his eyepatch off slowly to reveal a pure white eye with a glowing white iris, something that caused dread in the other man when he saw it. It seemed the boy knew the real rules of the game after all. A silver revolver clicked against a button on the long coat when Johnny drew it and Lucien stared down the barrel at a familiar blue light. “Blackjack.”

  Chapter Two

  The partygoers yelled in shock and anger when Lucien was shot but their outrage was tempered by confusion when they realized it was certainly not with a normal bullet. A blue light pierced his chest but left no wound, and a red humanoid figure emerged from the dealer’s back with a shriek of pain before it vanished.

  Johnny turned to fire at the bouncer who stood next to him and tried to catch his comrade’s body. His shot struck him in the head but again, no injuries appeared before a green figure slid out and faded away. He spun and unleashed two more shots when the two bouncers behind him tried to tackle him.

  Both stopped in the middle of their rush and a red figure was cast out of one and a blue out of the other before both disappeared. Many of the patrons rushed outside, but a few stayed to try to deal with the trigger-happy gambler. Some held knives or broken bottles or while others simply used their fists. He made short work of them, which confirmed that he wielded no ordinary revolver as he did not need to reload. Not only that, he was damn accurate with it too.

  Some bottles clinked near the bar and Johnny noticed that two scantily clad bar girls had retrieved machine guns. “Oh, well shit.” He dove into the private room as they fired and the barrage ripped through the flooring, tables, and walls as they tried to catch him in a hail of lead.

  “Take care of them,” he ordered his invisible companion and ducked as a few bullets whistled over his head and flung himself prone behind one of the walls. “No, I don’t care that they are ladies. They have guns.” After the firing stopped, he peered through one of the holes in the wall to see them reloading. “Now would be a good time.”

  Behind the two gun-toting women, two bottles of vodka elevated sharply and swung down on their heads. This made them stagger a little but did not knock them out. “They are resilient, aren’t they?” Johnny muttered as he scrambled quickly out of the private room when the women turned toward him. He fired two shots and struck one in the head and the other in the ribs.

  A blue figure burst out of the first woman with a horrifying shriek before it departed with a hiss. The red figure that emerged from the second tried immediately to return to its host. Unperturbed, the young man walked forward and fired several shots in succession until the entity finally released its hold and disappeared and the body slumped heavily.

  “That one was clingy. Yeah, it was a nice grouping, though,” Johnny commented but was distracted from that thought when someone stirred behind him. He leaned back into the private room. Lucien had pushed to his knees and now clutched his head.

  “What happened?” he gasped and tried to get his bearings when the young man approached. “Who are you?”

  “Johnny, but the better question is w
ho are you?” he asked as the man groaned again, still holding his head as if he thought it might explode.

  “Uh…James Shelton.” He dragged in a deep breath. “Where am I?”

  “At a bar that will be out of business soon,” he replied. “What day do you think it is?”

  James took a moment to think. “Isn’t it Friday?”

  “What month, day, and year?”

  “First of November, Twenty-Nineteen?” the man asked and the young man whistled, surprised by his answer.

  “Damn, three whole weeks. Well, at least you won’t be possessed for Christmas.”

  “Wait, possessed? He recoiled. “I was?”

  “Yep.” The bouncer began to awaken along with the others behind him. “You and everyone else who is waking up. Do you mind giving them the details? I have something else to attend to at the moment.”

  Johnny marched out of the private room and into the kitchen where two cooks attempted to slice him with butcher’s knives. He blocked their attack, kicked one in the knee to topple him, and twisted the arm of the other to force him to drop his weapon.