Occult Assassin: The Complete Series (Books 1-6) Read online

  Occult Assassin

  The Complete Series (Books 1 - 6)

  WILLIAM MASSA

  Copyright © 2014 by WILLIAM MASSA

  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.

  Want to get a FREE NOVELLA?

  A CHILLING GHOST STORY!

  Not everyone you meet online is who they claim to be.

  Sometimes they may not even be alive...

  Mark found her photo on a popular dating app. Her name was Akasha, and she was beautiful. Seductive. Irresistible. She wrote that she was looking for friendship. Love. A real connection. But Akasha is concealing a terrifying secret...

  Join my newsletter and receive a free book. Emails will be infrequent, spam free and deal only with new books, special offers, etc.

  Sign up here .

  Contents

  1: Damnation Code

  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

  2: Apocalypse Soldier

  The Mission

  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

  3: Ice Shadows

  The Story So Far

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  4: Spirit Breaker

  The Mission

  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

  4.5: The Coffin Collector

  The Mission

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  5: Soul Jacker

  The Mission

  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

  6: Doomsday Disciples

  The Mission

  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

  Also by WILLIAM MASSA

  About the Author

  1: Damnation Code

  Book 1

  Chapter One

  The blade pressed against Steve Delaney’s neck, drawing a line of blood. He swallowed hard, tasting the salty beads of perspiration trickling down his face. How the hell had he gotten himself into this terrible ordeal?

  His day had started off innocently enough. He enjoyed a leisurely breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast, climbed behind the wheel of his Toyota Camry and cranked up his favorite radio station. Rock music filled the car as he hit the sloping, bustling streets of San Francisco.

  In his old life as a restaurant manager his schedule was dominated by a soul-deadening seventy-hour workweek. Stress defined his life. Nowadays, as an EasyRides driver, Steve made his own hours and worked only when he wanted to. There were bills to be paid — God, they never seemed to stop — but at least he wasn’t a slave to his job anymore. The successful professionals among his friends all frowned at his latest career move and hoped that it would turn out to be a case of temporary insanity. To hell with them! Steve was enjoying the freedom and peace of mind that came with his new occupation.

  Steve’s dash-mounted iPhone, which was running Google Maps, lit up. A pin flashed onscreen, indicating the location of a nearby rider. Immediately a countdown kicked in. Being the driver closest to the potential fare, Steve had exactly fifteen seconds to accept the ride or it would be assigned to someone else.

  He tapped the ACCEPT button and twisted the wheel, heading east on the next street. A few minutes later, Steve slowed to a cruise and scoped the sidewalk for his pickup. When he reached the address given, he pushed the ARRIVE tab. This would signal to his rider to be on the lookout for his car.

  A woman in her mid-twenties suddenly strode up to his vehicle. Steve figured her for an employee of one of the many tech-sector upstarts in the Bay Area. She wore jeans, a blazer and geek chic glasses, a look that downplayed her sensuality. With the right dress and makeup, though, this gal would be a real looker, he thought.

  Steve flashed the lady a big smile as she got in the car. “Evening. How are you tonight?”

  “Good, thank you.”

  “Lean back and enjoy the ride. If you’re thirsty or hungry, help yourself to a bottle of water and an energy bar.”

  Refreshments lined the back of the car. They went a long way in winning those all-important favorable reviews from his customers. Good reviews led to more work and in turn, more dollars in his pocket. Managing a restaurant had taught him a thing or two about the importance of online feedback in the Digital Age.

  The woman closed the door. Steve floored the gas. According to the destination on his app, they were headed to Fisherman’s Wharf. Turning down Lombard Street, Steve continued to study his passenger in the rearview mirror. Like everyone else in this town, she seemed married to her smartphone and oblivious to her surroundings.

  Upon closer inspection his initial impression stood confirmed — under the geek-girl veneer was a real hottie. Unfortunate
ly, she didn’t seem like the chatty type, unless you counted instant messages. Steve searched his mind for a funny icebreaker but lacking inspiration, he decided to concentrate on traffic.

  They soon reached the top of Russian Hill and turned left onto Hyde. Fort Mason, Aquatic Park and Alcatraz Island stretched out before them, offering a panoramic view spanning from the Golden Gate to the Embarcadero.

  Just ahead, a cable car clanged its way down the hill. Steve adjusted his speed and followed the rumbling tram at a safe distance. Tourists dangled camera-phones from their seats in the trolley, marveling at the stunning view while taking pics. Steve didn’t blame them. No matter how many times he took this final plunge down the hilly Hyde Street to the Bay, it never got old. Once again he thanked the lucky stars that had steered him away from his old job.

  His good mood came to an abrupt end when he felt fingers grab his hair and violently pull his head back. Cold metal bit into his throat. A terrified glance in the mirror revealed a hunting knife pressed against his bobbing Adam’s apple.

  Oh my God… this can’t be happening…

  “Keep driving,” the woman hissed. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  Fighting back his mounting terror, Steve did as instructed, his hands clammy despite the air conditioner.

  “What are you doing?” he croaked.

  “Shut the fuck up and keep your eyes on the road.”

  She dug the razor-sharp point into his neck, drawing a thin line of blood.

  “Lady, I don’t carry any money on me,” he stammered.

  “I said to keep your fucking mouth shut!”

  This time the knife’s edge cut deeper and Steve received the message loud and clear. It took every ounce of self-control to keep his mind on the flow of traffic. What did this psycho bitch want from him?

  “Do exactly as I say and you’ll be okay. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now lean forward and replace the phone on your dash with mine. Make sure the camera is pointing directly at you. Nod if you understand.”

  Steve nodded once more. Like an automaton, he swapped the phones on his dashboard with one hand while the other steered the car. If he lost control of the wheel, he knew his last sensation would be the bite of the blade sawing through the soft meat of his throat.

  Steve’s horrified features flickered onto the screen of the newly mounted iPhone. The camera was on, recording his fear.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked the knife-wielding passenger.

  “Did I give you permission to talk?”

  The blade dug deeper and Steve bit his tongue before letting another sound escape from his lips. The image on the phone split into two smaller screens. The faces of another man and a woman appeared. Their circumstances were identical to his own. Behind them, someone’s hand pressed a knife to each of their jugular veins. Steve saw his terror mirrored in their haunted gazes.

  Who were these people? This stuff happened in movies but not in the real world.

  A fourth person joined the video call. The newcomer wasn’t another victim but appeared to be the mastermind behind the nightmare. He wore a robotic death mask straight out of some apocalyptic sci-fi horror film. A tangled web of transistors, cables and circuits pockmarked the mask’s texture like cybernetic acne. The figure’s bass rumbling, electronically distorted voice boomed through the moving car, reciting words in an ancient, alien tongue.

  For a frozen moment, the victims onscreen exchanged terrified glances. They must be seeing me on their own screens, Steve thought. Then the knives drew their blade-edges across the other drivers’ throats.

  Steve’s eyes widened as pulsating heat washed down his neck. His hands went for his gushing throat in a desperate attempt to quell the bleeding.

  The other victims fought similarly hopeless battles on the phone’s screen. Tortured death rattles resounded through the Camry, underscored by the masked man’s singsong chant. This had turned into a videoconference from hell.

  Steve’s foot grew heavy and mashed the gas. The Camry hurtled forward, out of control now. The car caught up with the trolley and crumpled into its back end with a ferocious shriek of twisted metal and panicked tourists. A couple of hapless cable-car riders lost their grip and were sent flying like ragdolls.

  Smoke and steam plumed from the contorted hood of the Camry. Pitiful screams pierced the air and the stench of burning oil became overpowering. Steve’s head slumped against the steering wheel, his shirt and jeans drenched a dark scarlet. His dying, crimson-spattered face stared back at him from the cellphone mounted on his dash.

  While his life poured out in a stream of red, a hand reached from the back of the car to collect her mobile. There was a metallic snap as the passenger unfastened her seat belt, followed by the screech of a car door being kicked open.

  Steve shifted his dimming gaze, lips bubbling crimson, the people outside his spiderwebbed windshield now reduced to blurry outlines. Like ghosts they hovered in his fading field of vision until the darkness consumed them and the world turned black.

  Less than an hour later, Steve Delaney’s murderer arrived at the Golden Gate Bridge. Head held high, her gait steady and purposeful, she crossed the majestic red bridge until she reached its center.

  She tilted her head toward the railing, gusts of wind buffeting her hair. Cars whipped by, a pulsing flow of traffic between San Francisco and Marin County.

  Soon two men joined her. They were dressed more casually — jeans, flannel shirts and Converse sneakers — but they all shared the same blank expressions. One other damning detail linked these three individuals. Each carried a blade caked with a dead person’s blood. They’d made the sacrifice required of them but one final offering remained to prove their devotion.

  Without even looking at each other, the three killers scaled the steel railing together, their movements eerily synchronized. Before anyone could stop them, the trio had vanished from view, plunging to their deaths in the Bay below.

  Chapter Two

  The roar of gunfire split the air and echoed across the arid Afghan mountain. Two members of the twelve-man team of special operators went down in a mist of red as Kalashnikovs unleashed a ribbon of lead.

  It’s a trap, Mark Talon thought.

  Instincts overruling fear, the Delta Force operator returned fire. Fueled by a burst of adrenaline, he bolted toward the ridgeline with his HK416 blazing. There was no distinction between himself and the weapon in his gloved hand; they had fused to become one deadly organism programmed to take out the enemy hiding in the steeper hills overlooking the pass. Sweat masked his face and his boots crunched over the rocky terrain. The white noise of incessant popping and hissing accompanied his ascent.

  Like everyone on the team Talon was dressed like an Afghan, sporting the traditional local garb. The Taliban wasn’t fooled. They knew that under the facial hair and headdresses were American soldiers. Someone had tipped them off.

  Talon cursed. He hadn’t quite trusted the guerilla leader-turned-informant when the man told them that Taliban fighters would use this pass to smuggle guns over the Pakistan border. Then again, it was hard to trust anyone in a country torn apart by war. Sometimes you had to take a gamble and hope it worked out. This time the risk had backfired and instead of catching the terrorists in the act, they’d walked into a goddamn ambush.

  Making matters worse, they were babysitting some hotshot reporter who’d been embedded with the unit for the last eight days. Why couldn’t the politicians understand that a “shadow war” meant operating in the shadows? Cameras and journalists weren’t an option. No matter how attractive or charming they might be.

  Michelle Rossi had turned into quite a distraction to everyone, including himself. A dead civilian wouldn’t go over well with the brass but if Talon was to be honest, his concern for the brunette journalist ran a bit deeper. He was embarrassed to admit it, but he was starting to like the reporter. Her safety was the first thing on his mind.

&nb
sp; About fifteen feet from Talon’s position a grenade tore up the ground. The six-foot tall, sinewy operator instinctively dove forward. The impact of hitting the gravel sent a jolt through his entire body, but the armor under his robe absorbed the brunt of it.