NEON BLACK

  ETHAN DRAKE SERIES

  BOOK ELEVEN

  N.P. MARTIN

  Ethan Drake Series

  BLACKSTAR (PREQUEL)

  INFERNAL JUSTICE

  BLOOD SUMMONED

  DEATH DEALERS

  BLACK MIRROR

  HELL PATROL

  INFERNAL VENGEANCE

  INFERNUM

  BLACK RAIN

  INFERNAL DESCENT

  Deadson Confidential Trilogy

  INFERNAL LAISONS

  DEATH CULT

  DRAGON BLOOD

  Gods And Monsters Series

  SINISTER MAGIC

  OTHERWORLD MAGIC

  SHADOW MAGIC

  HELLFIRE MAGIC

  WILDCARD MAGIC

  ROCKSTAR MAGIC

  Wizard’s Creed Series

  CRIMSON CROW

  BLOOD MAGIC

  BLOOD DEBT

  BLOOD CULT

  BLOOD DEMON

  Nephilim Rising Series

  HUNTER’S LEGACY

  DEMON’S LEGACY

  HELL’S LEGACY

  DEVIL’S LEGACY

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental

  N.P. Martin

  Neon Black

  Ethan Drake Series Book 11

  Copyright © 2024 by N. P. MARTIN

  npmartin.info@gmail.com

  Cover design by NMT Design Studio

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  FREE BOOK

  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

  Give a Damn, Give a Review

  Books By N. P. Martin

  About The Author

  FREE BOOK

  Alright, you sick bastards, listen up. You think you're a real fan of my twisted little world? You want to be the first sorry son of a bitch to get your grubby mitts on every fucked up thing that claws its way out of my depraved imagination? Then it's time to belly up to the bar and join the VIP club, where the drinks are strong, the company's strange, and the shadows are always a little too long for comfort.

  As a VIP member, you'll get the inside scoop on all the wicked shit I've got brewing in the depths of my haunted cerebellum. We're talking exclusive previews, behind-the-scenes glimpses, and first crack at the freshest hell I can conjure up. And just for signing your soul away on the dotted line, I'll even toss in a FREE Ethan Drake novella, a nasty little slice of nightmare fuel that'll have you checking under the bed and sleeping with the lights on for weeks.

  But why stop there? Come find me on Facebook and Instagram, where the madness never stops. It's a non-stop freak show of updates, teasers, and general depravity that'll keep you coming back for more like the twisted little junkie you are. Plus, you'll get to rub elbows with the other sickos who call themselves my fans, compare scars, and maybe even pick up a few new ones along the way.

  So what are you waiting for? Click that image like it owes you money—or visit www.npmartin.com—and get ready to take a long, hard walk on the dark side. And when you're done selling your soul, make sure you give me a like on my Facebook page. Because in this game, you're gonna need all the friends you can get.

  Welcome to the club, you magnificent bastards. Now let's go raise some hell.

  Chapter

  One

  Pan Demic was fucked. Proper fucked.

  That was the only thought ricocheting through my skull when I saw him sprawled out on that filthy concrete floor, his clothes more blood than fabric, his face the color of dirty snow. The whole room stank like a slaughterhouse, all copper and cordite, the kinda perfume that follows me around like a rabid dog. Walking into that dim shithole of a safe house was like stepping into a fever dream, a fucking polaroid from the ninth circle of Hell. Pan Demic, a livewire with enough juice to power half the goddamn city, was now just a leaky sack of meat, his go-go juice painting a sticky black puddle around what was left of him.

  Artemis was clinging to his brother-in-arms like the world was ending, and fuck, maybe it was. He had his hand wrapped around his gun, but it was shaking like a junkie in withdrawal. His eyes were empty, twin black holes of pure agony staring out of a face that had aged a decade in the space of a heartbeat. Surrounding him was a pile of stiffs, each one ventilated by laser fire, courtesy of our friendly neighborhood killbot.

  Speak of the fucking devil, that mechanical asshole was still hovering nearby, its soulless camera eye flicking between Hannah and yours truly. For a second, I thought it might decide to go for another high score, but it finally powered down, deciding we weren't worth the ammo. Still, the threat hung in the air, a reminder that in this world, even the toasters were out to get you.

  Artemis was aiming that cannon of his at anything that so much as twitched, his thousand-yard stare darting between us and the door like he wasn't sure which one was gonna bite him in the ass first.

  Hannah, bless her heart, didn't hesitate. She ran straight to Artemis, her voice tight with worry. "Is he...?" She couldn't even finish the thought, like saying it out loud would make it real.

  But Artemis, he surprised us both. "No, he's... he's hanging on... barely." His voice cracked on that last word, and I felt it like a punch to the gut.

  Relief hit me like a freight train, but I knew we were still neck-deep in the shit. My side was screaming at me, the Redditch Wound deciding now was a great time for an encore performance.

  "Doc's on her way," I said, limping over to get a better look at the damage. Christ, Pan was a fucking mess. It didn't take a medical degree to see where the bullet had punched through, right below his ribs. "Through and through?"

  Artemis just shook his head, looking like he was about to hurl. "Don't think so."

  Double fuck. A bullet bouncing around a guy's insides is never a party. It's more like a wrecking ball, turning organs to paste and playing merry hell with a person's plumbing.

  "He's lost a lot of blood,” I said to no one in particular. Pan Demic's breaths were coming shallow and harsh, like he was trying to suck air through a coffee stirrer.

  I snatched up a rag that looked somewhat less than a biohazard and tried to plug the leak, but the blood just kept coming, dying the fabric a darker shade of murder. Artemis joined in, both of us trying to keep Pan's insides from becoming his outsides.

  "He'll pull through, yeah?" Artemis's voice cracked on the question, begging for a pretty lie.

  I gave him one. "Kid's a tough cookie. But we gotta keep the pressure on till the doc gets here."

  And so we waited, each second feeling like a small eternity, with nothing but the sound of Pan Demic's raggedy breathing and the depressingly familiar whirr of the kill-bot to keep us company.

  Right then, Pan was balanced on the knife edge between this world and the next. I'd be damned if I let him slip off, not after Daisy. Not on my watch.

  My phone chose that moment to start screaming at me, Jacklyn Turner's name flashing on the screen like a bad omen. A lead ball formed in my gut as I jabbed the answer button.

  “Jacklyn.”

  "Drake. It's a shit show here. I'm hip deep in someone's chest cavity and I can't step away. You need to haul the patient to Wilshire General. I'll grease the wheels. Get there fast as you can, and I'll meet you when I can."

  I bit back a stream of curses that would've made the devil blush. This wasn't a mere kick in the teeth; it was a razor-wire garrote around Pan Demic's chances.

  "Copy," I growled, ending the call with a stab of my finger. The silence that followed was like a living thing, ready to choke the life out of the room. I eyeballed Pan, then Artemis, then the kill-bot, a plan piecing itself together in my head.

  "What's happening?” Hannah asked, brow creased with worry.

  "Jacklyn's in the shit. We gotta hump Pan to Wilshire Gen ourselves."

  Artemis's head snapped up. "The fuck you mean she ain't coming? This is Pan we're talking about!"

  I shot him a look that would've withered a lesser man. "Stow it. Shit happens and we deal. Help me get him in the car."

  "Fuck," Artemis moaned, looking at Pan like it was the last time he'd see him breathing.

  "On your feet, soldier," I barked. "Time ain't on our side. Hannah, grab his legs.”

  Hannah hustled over, scooping up Pan's legs while I got my arms under his pits, slick with blood. Art
emis just stood there like a parking meter, gun dangling from his hand.

  We hauled Pan out into the too-bright morning, the sun an unforgiving prick, making everything look like a fever dream. Pan hung between us, dead weight, the wound in his side still pissing blood. In the harsh light of day, it looked obscene, more red than a fire truck on the rag.

  Artemis stood in the doorway, gun in hand, looking at that blazing sun like he wanted to shoot it out of the sky. Or maybe turn the piece on himself, because a world without Pan Demic wasn't a world worth living in. My heart broke for him, just a little. There'd be time for sympathetic ear-lending later.

  Right now, we had a life to save.

  Or at least, that was the plan. But the big blind bastard in the sky had other ideas.

  We were halfway to loading Pan into the Dodge when the world decided to drop trousers and take a big steaming shit on us. The sun, that fiery asshole, just fucked right off, leaving us in the kind of dark you'd expect at the bottom of a well. And not the creepy-but-charming kind of well with a little girl ghost who just wants to be friends. No, this was the kind of well where the things that bump in the night go to cut their teeth.

  It wasn't just dark, it was advanced dark. The kind of dark that has a PhD in felony and a minor in making grown men piss themselves. The air took on a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the feeling that we'd just stepped ass-first into a horror movie where everybody dies at the end.

  The only thing still shining was the slick red trail of Pan's blood, glowing like some kind of morbid breadcrumb trail leading right back to the mouth of hell we'd just stepped out of.

  Artemis snapped out of his funk real quick, eyes darting around like he expected the boogeymen to come crawling out of the shadows. "The hell is this?" he spit, but I had no answer for him. The whole city had gone quiet, like it was afraid to breathe too loud.

  I stuffed Pan into the back seat, but I couldn't shake the feeling that we were about to be stuffed in a blender set to 'fuck you.'

  "This ain't right," Hannah muttered, hand on her piece.

  "No shit," I said, resisting the urge to spin in a circle yelling 'come at me, you shadowy pricks.'

  Then, as if to put a nice big cherry on this shit sundae, a noise ripped through the air that made my balls try to climb back into my body. A screech, like nails on the world's biggest chalkboard, played by a tone-deaf banshee with a grudge.

  "Jesus fuck!" Artemis nearly jumped out of his skin, waving his gun around like a kid with a sparkler on the Fourth of July.

  "Watch where you're pointing that thing," I growled, scanning for the source of the hellish sound.

  A few seconds ticked by, then the sky went from black to blacker, like God spilled his inkwell. And out of that yawning void, something started to take shape. Something big, something bad, and something that was gonna haunt my nightmares for the rest of my likely shortened life.

  It was like a gargoyle fucked a pterodactyl and their bastard offspring was weaned on a steady diet of steroids and hate. Greasy black skin stretched over a frame that would make a linebacker look like a toddler. Horns, spikes, and fucking teeth everywhere. And the eyes... shit, they were holes into an abyss that wanted to eat your soul and pick its teeth with your bones.

  The thing spread wings that blocked out the sky and made a noise that sounded like a T-Rex getting a root canal. Artemis, hand shaking like an alcoholic at an AA meeting, started popping off rounds. The thing just shrugged them off like they were spitballs.

  "Got any bright ideas about what the fuck that is?" I asked Hannah, though I had a sinking suspicion I didn't really want to know.

  "No fucking clue," she said, backing up real slow like. "But I don't think it's here to sell Girl Scout cookies."

  "Hey, you overgrown bat-lizard fuck!" Artemis was losing it, blasting away at the thing with everything he had.

  The fuck-ugly critter, not too pleased with the pea shooter treatment, decided to show us its best party trick. It started vibrating like a sex toy with a busted off switch, blurring around the edges until it didn't have edges anymore.

  I blinked. It was still there. I blinked again. Now there were three of them.

  "Well shit," I said, eloquent as ever in the face of pants-ruining terror. "Did that thing just..."

  "Clone itself?" Hannah finished. "Yeah, looks like."

  Three sets of nightmare eyes locked onto us, promising all kinds of Biblical unpleasantness.

  "Move!"

  I'm a bit fuzzy on what happened next. I remember yelling, then eating asphalt as something that felt like a truck made of bad intentions blindsided me. My skull bounced off the pavement, and the world went starry for a second.

  Pain blossomed like a goddamn rose garden, thorny vines wrapping around my ribs till it felt like an elephant was tap dancing on my chest. Hot breath, reeking of rotten meat and sulfur, washed over my face as a set of jaws that could shred a tank closed around my shoulder.

  I howled, the sound ripped out of me as muscle and bone gave way to knife-edged teeth. Its claws sank into my sides, each talon a white-hot poker jabbing through skin and scraping against ribs.

  Off to the left, Hannah was screaming something fierce. A peek through blood-smeared eyes showed her grappling with her own hellspawned dance partner, all snapping teeth and slashing claws.

  And Artemis, poor bastard, was dangling from the clutches of the third beast, kicking and wailing as it hauled him skyward like he was a sack of feathers.

  The thing on top of me shifted, grinding its teeth as it shake-and-baked my shoulder like a rawhide chew toy.

  I jammed my thumb into its nearest eye, which burst like a grape. The creature shrieked, rearing back enough for me to pistol whip it in the temple with my free hand.

  It was like hitting a side of beef with a nerf bat, but it bought me a half-second to wiggle free. I rolled, ignoring the feel of wet bone poking through the hamburger meat of my shoulder.

  The thing pounced, a living nightmare of muscle and malice. But I was a hair faster, fear and adrenaline tag-teaming to make me move like I had a rocket up my ass. I juked left as it flew past, close enough to ruffle my hair with the wind of its passage.

  It wheeled around, snarling like a rabid junkyard dog. I scooped up a length of rebar, giving it a couple test swings. Not my usual choice of weapon, but beggars can't be choosers when they're ass-deep in Lovecraftian shit.

  We circled each other, a dance older than time—predator and prey, hunter and hunted. Only I'd never been much for playing the victim.

  I feinted left, then swung the rebar like I was aiming for the cheap seats. It cracked against the thing's skull with a sound like a home run at the World Series. The beast yelped, staggering sideways, black ichor pouring from the gash in its head.

  Before I could press my advantage, movement in my peripheral caught my eye. I whipped around just in time to see Artemis, a ragdoll in the beast's talons, being hauled off into the sky.

  "No!"

  Hannah was staggering to her feet, one hand clamped over the blood pouring from her neck. Her monster was nowhere to be seen.

  Behind me, leathery wings flapped as my playmate decided it had had enough of getting its ass kicked. It took off like a bat out of hell, following its buddy into the black.

  I rushed to Hannah, catching her as she stumbled. "Easy now, I got you."

  Her eyes were wide and glassy with shock. "It took him. Jesus Christ, Drake, it took him."

  My gaze tracked the monsters as they disappeared into the inky black sky, taking Artemis with them to God knows where. Dread settled in my guts like a ball of lead.

  "We'll get him back," I promised, though I had no fucking clue how. One crisis at a time. "But right now, we gotta see to Pan. He still breathing?"

  Hannah nodded, a jerky bobblehead motion.

  I hauled her to her feet, and we stumbled toward the car. Pan was sprawled in the back, still unconscious and bleeding, but miraculously breathing. I slid behind the wheel, Hannah riding shotgun. The old Dodge roared to life, and I pointed her toward Wilshire General, pedal to the metal.

  "Hang on, kid," I muttered, watching Pan in the rearview. "Hang on, you stubborn son of a bitch."

  Questions rattled around my skull as I white-knuckled the steering wheel. What the hell were those things? Where did they take Artemis? And how in the ever-loving fuck were we gonna get him back?