---

For a list of all the Devil’s Pact Chapters and other stories click here

This is a revised version of the story that I published on Smashword starting back in 2014. It is rewritten with much-added material. However, I did have to age up some of the characters so no one is underage in this version.

---

---

Click here for Chapter 3.

---

---

The origins of the Patriots has been lost to history. Did the originate in the aftermath of the Miracle? Or was their genesis after the birth of the Theocracy? Perhaps their founding could be traced all the way back to a single FBI agent that was swept up into the Tyrants’ depraved world.

—excerpt from The History of the Tyrants’ Theocracy, by Tina Allard

Sister Cuntrag – South Hill, WA

Your new name is Sister Cuntrag.

The hated thought repeated over and over in my mind.

Your new name is Sister Cuntrag.

It was my new, hated name, given to me by that bitch Mary, my new Mistress. I had cried and cried all night until my eyes dried, trapped in this cramp, dark closet. Time lost all meaning in here. My entire body ached. I was kneeling on the floor, my hands cuffed behind me, my wrist chaffed. My butt was on fire from those sluts spanking me and all the people who fucked me.

Your new name is Sister Cuntrag.

I failed to stop Mark. I had no idea there were two Warlocks. And a demon. I walked right into the trap. I had been soiled, my Gift stolen from me by the Demon. I felt so empty and helpless. I was no longer immune from Mark’s powers. His commands chained me to him.

I was his Thrall now.

I was Sister Cuntrag. Even in my thoughts, I was that hateful name. I had to obey Mary. Mark had given me that command. His words were chains, binding my soul.

“Please, God, please save me!” I begged again. My voice croaked, my lips parched.

And then a hand caressed my back in the dark, the touch electric. Pleasure filled my body. The Ecstasy fell upon me, I wasn’t forgotten by the Archangel Gabriel.

“Thank you,” I whispered, sobbing with bliss.

“You have been soiled,” the angelic voice whispered in my mind. “Lilith has polluted you.”

“Please! I served faithfully! Just free me, Gabriel.”

“You are here because of your own Pride,” Gabriel answered, anger tinging his voice.

“What? I followed Providence,” I protested. “I did my duty! Do not abandon me in the lion’s den.”

“No, you did not!” There was anger in his voice. Disappointment. “You wanted to punish Mark. To humiliate him. You let your pride get in the way of the Creator’s Providence. Yesterday, Providence guided you to the South Hill Mall. You parked your car next to Mark’s mustang. He was in the mall. All you had to do was let him seduce you. But you were too fixated on dominating his Thralls, on doing it your way. Not the Creator’s way. You have brought your circumstances upon yourself. Your selfishness may have doomed the world.”

The touch vanished, the pleasure faded.

Anger welled inside me to replace the ecstasy. “Damn you, Gabriel!” I croaked. “I served faithfully for thirty years and you cast me aside! One fucking mistake! Goddamn you, Gabriel!”

My only hope was Sister Theodora Mariam. The Ecstasy would fall on her. She would somehow have to overcome two Warlocks and a demon to free me.

Hope died inside me and I sobbed harder.

* * *

Jessica St. Pierre – Tacoma, WA

I waited outside the Federal Building in downtown Tacoma. It wasn’t a large building, and looked more like a train station than an office building. Old, red bricks formed the facade, leading up to a massive, glass skylight.

My cameraman waited nearby, holding his camera in one hand as he played around on his phone. Freddy didn’t care at all that I had stumbled on to the biggest story of the year. The Puyallup Police Department might be working to protect a wanted terrorist.

I’m positive I saw Mark Glassner at the crime scene in South Hill last night, talking to the Puyallup Police. Not only did the police fail to arrest Mark, there had been no mention of Mark’s involvement in the shooting.

But the Chief of Police, Arthur Hayworth, had personally visited the scene. If my theory was correct, he was under Mark’s control somehow. It was shocking to contemplate the head of a police department could be aiding a terrorist.

And if it was true, I would win an Emmy.

An excited flutter passed through me. With an Emmy, I would have a bright future ahead of me.

I pulled a compact out of my pocket, checking that my honey-brown hair was still perfectly styled and there were no smudges to my makeup. I was still just as beautiful, my skin dusky. All my mixed ancestry had combined to give my face almost perfect beauty.

I was made for TV reporting.

I just had to make a name for myself.

The doors to the Federal Building open and Special Agent Peterson and his partner walked out. I strode up to the lead agent on the Glassner case, my heels clicking on the cement. My hips swayed, my tight skirt clinging to my ass and my breasts jiggling in my half-unbuttoned blouse.

Peterson smiled when he saw me, drinking in my figure, and then his expression faded when he noticed the camera. He was a balding man in a cheap suit. His partner was younger, fresh out of training, her sandy-blonde hair in a tight bun.

“Jessica St. Pierre from KIRO 7 news,” I said. “Can I have a minute of your time?”

“Not really,” Agent Peterson growled.

“How well is the Puyallup Police Department cooperating with the investigation?” I asked anyways, thrusting my microphone into their faces.

“Just fine,” Peterson barked.

“But it doesn’t concern you that Mark Glassner so easily operates in their city? He was spotted yesterday at the South Hill Mall and released from the scene by a Puyallup Police Officer.”

“That hasn’t been substantiated.” The FBI Agent glowered at me.

“Several eyewitnesses all agree,” I countered. “I interviewed them myself. They witnessed Mark interacting with the cop. They reported that the cop even identified Mark by name.”

“Mark Glassner is a dangerous terrorist,” the woman said. “The Police Officer you refer to may have been exposed to the mind-altering gas the suspect uses.”

“And you are?” I asked.

“Agent Noel Heinrich,” she answered, pulling out a pair of mirrored sunglasses and slipping them on her pretty face.

“So you think the Puyallup Police Department has been compromised?”

Peterson snorted, his lips tightening. “Of course not. That’s preposterous.”

Agent Heinrich stared at me for a moment. “Why do you think that? Is there something you know?”

“Me, no,” I laughed as I lied. I wanted that Emmy.

“Just because you’re a reporter, doesn’t mean you can withhold evidence,” the female FBI agent continued.

I almost rolled my eyes. I could do whatever it took to get the story. “It’s just a question. Speculating on Mark’s pattern. What would the consequences be if Mark had compromised the police department?”

“He hasn’t,” Peterson growled. “Now we have work to do. We need to catch this suspect before he causes anymore harm.” He stalked off.

“Friendly,” I muttered, lowering my microphone.

Agent Heinrich pulled out a card, handing it over. “If you do come across anything that proves your suspicions, call that number.”

“Would I get an exclusive if I did?” I asked, arching my eyebrows. I could almost taste that Emmy.

Agent Heinrich didn’t answer. She turned and strode after her partner.

“There’s definitely something to this story,” Freddy muttered, lowering his camera. “That Peterson reacted. He’s hiding something.”

I glanced at my cameraman and blinked in surprise. “Are you actually trying to contribute?”

The slovenly man shrugged. “I’ve watched enough liars through the viewfinder to recognize one.”

I nodded my head, glancing at the FBI Agents. They feared the Puyallup Police Department was compromised, too.

“We need to start staking out that neighborhood. We need to catch glimpses of Mark coming and going. If we park out on Shaw Road in sight of the Mountain View Terrace, we can prove he lives there and that the police didn’t arrest him.”

Freddy nodded. “We should also check the police scanners. See what radio calls are made. I know a guy that tapes them. It’ll give us something to do while we stake out the street.”

I grinned. “Let’s go, Freddy.”

* * *

Agent Noel Heinrich

“Do you think that reporter knows something?” I asked as we walked down Pacific Avenue. The Federal Courthouse was only two blocks down the street from where we worked.

“Maybe,” my partner muttered, glancing back at the news van. “No one else is asking those questions.”

“Does she have a source or some evidence, or is she just speculating?”

“The story of Mark and the cop was broken by that woman,” Peterson said. “I watched her report this morning. She might just be extrapolating from that one incident. If Mark can gas one cop, what’s to stop him from gassing more?”

I swallowed, glancing behind me. Our gas masks were in the trunk of our car, but maybe we should wear them everywhere. It would be uncomfortable, but what if Mark did try to gas us? He already seemed to have the Puyallup Police Department under his control.

Not that our supervisor believed us. Luckily, SAC Kemp, the Special-Agent-in-Charge of the Tacoma Branch, did. That’s why we were heading to the courthouse to convince Judge Grant to give us a wiretap warrant on the Puyallup Police Department.

We had to know if Chief Hayworth and his cops were compromised. If they were, this case would get messy.

I hated this case. I wish I was back in Quantico. I itched to call Kirby and spill my guts out. This Mark had to be stopped, and I was fearing traditional methods weren’t up to it. But Wyatt Kirby would know what to do. He had been my training instructor two years ago. I could always count on his solid advice.

He was retired now, making a fortune in the private security world. I was sure he’d have an idea or two on how to take down Mark. I felt better, some of my tension melting now that I made the decision to call him.

Peterson and I strode into the Federal Courthouse, flashing our badges and walking through the metal detectors. They beeped as we passed through. We took the elevator up to the fifth floor and walked down to the Judge’s office.

Peterson knocked at the door.

“Come in,” a gruff voice growled.

Judge Grant was a tall, thin man, a ring of gray hair circling his head, all that was left, the rest lost to male pattern baldness. But even with his loss of hair, he was a hard looking man, his face craggy, and his eyes intent.

“Do you really want a wiretap on the Puyallup Police Department?” the Judge demanded, tapping the probable cause paperwork for the wiretap sitting on his desk.

“Yes, your Honor,” Peterson nodded. “We have reason to suspect Mark Glassner has used his gas on at least the Chief of Police, if not the entire Department.”

The Judge’s face paled. He sank back down. “Do you have any proof?”

“Just our gut, your Honor,” I said. “But we spoke with Chief Hayworth last night, and he was very dismissive of Mark. He didn’t seem to think it was appropriate to spend resources hunting the man down. The chief claimed all Mark was guilty of was some petty larceny.”

The Judge drummed his fingers. “How does this Mark do it? Control people?”

“Gas,” I shrugged. “That’s the best guess.”

“But our chemist can’t figure it out,” Peterson grumbled. “Whatever he uses, it breaks down fast and doesn’t leave a trace. But what else could cause it? Magic?”

The Judge didn’t laugh.

“It doesn’t matter how he does it,” I said. “It just matters that he is committing serious crimes. There are eyewitness reports of one Puyallup Police Officer aiding Mark in his crime of shoplifting, kidnapping, and sexual assault. A young woman kidnapped from Seattle was spotted with Mark at this incident yesterday. And with the Chief’s lack of concern, I’d say there is a pattern that warrants probable cause for a wiretap.”

The Judge leaned back. “Agreed. I’ll approve it for all the Department’s communication lines, and Chief Hayworth’s home and cell.”

“Thank you, your Honor,” Peterson smiled.

* * *

Samantha “Antsy” Glassner – Tacoma, WA

“It’s a waste of money to go to Florida,” my dad grumbled, cracking open another beer. It wasn’t even eight AM, and he was already drunk. “Save your money so you can move out.”

“I’m not paying for the trip, Dad,” I sighed. If I could move out, I would. But that would mean leaving Mom all alone with my asshole dad. “Remember, Donna’s paying.”

“Right,” he muttered, turning his attention back to the TV. Drink beer and watch TV, that’s all he did.

That and hit Mom.

“Come on, Antsy,” Mom said, walking out of the back room carrying my suitcase.

Dad gave me the nickname Antsy when I was a kid. I used to squirm all the time. I could never sit still. So Dad kept saying I had ants in my pants. And it just kinda stuck. Everyone in the family called me Antsy now.

Mom had a beautiful smile on her heart-shaped face. We looked a lot alike, and it was comforting knowing I would still have it in twenty years. Her hair was a rich brown, which was our major difference. I inherited Dad’s black hair.

Mom blinked when she saw what I was wearing.

“What?” I asked, arching my eyebrows as she disapproved.

I wore my tightest pair of jeans shorts, my thong visible as the shorts hung low on my hips. The back pockets had hearts drawn on them, guaranteed to make guys stare at my bubbly ass. I wore a leather-print belly shirt so I could show off my flat stomach, a gold chain encircling my belly, a charm dangling down to the front of my jeans.

I looked hot.

Mom did not approve. But she was real uptight. She went to church all the time. And if if wasn’t church, it was some ministry her ladies group from church ran. She often went with Betty, the Black girl that lived up the street. Betty would often pick up mom, the pair spending hours out of the house at one church function or another.

I didn’t blame Mom for wanting to get away from Dad. I tried to get her to leave him a few times, but she wouldn’t hear none of that. She was too Christian, believing in the whole death do us part.

“Well, you are a grown woman,” Mom muttered, shaking her head. “You can dress how you want. It’s your own business.”

“Yep,” Dad said, his eyes lingering on me. I shuddered. He never touched me, but sometimes I wondered if he wanted to.

“Let’s go, Mom. I don’t want to miss my flight.”

I was off to Miami for the week. Sun, surf, and hot guys. I couldn’t wait. Donna and I were going to get into so much trouble. It was the perfect way to celebrate the end of another year at college. And to get away from the shitstorm my brother was causing.

Mom and I walked out to the car. None of the news crews were around. They sometimes popped up to try and interview one of us. It was so wild thinking my older brother was a terrorist. Mark had always been a fuck-up. He was almost like Dad, but he never hit anyone.

And now he’s raping women and robbing banks.

Of course, I knew a few girls that thought Mark was so amazing. They were all just begging to be dominated like one of the women that blathered on the news, singing my brothers praise after he raped them or whatever he did.

Mom put my suitcase in the trunk of the car and we were off. I glanced at her as she drove to the freeway. “Have you heard from Mark?”

“Only that one time I called him,” she admitted. “I’m afraid if I call him again, the FBI will find him.”

“You think he’s innocent?” I asked.

“Of course. Your brother’s no terrorist. I don’t know what he’s doing, but he can’t be doing the things the news and police say he’s doing.”

“And the women who all talk about him…doing things with them.”

Mom’s cheeks grew red. “Well, they all say they wanted it. So it can’t be rape. Just fornication, which is a sin, but not a crime.”

I shook my head. “I don’t get how he does it. He’s such a fuck-up. Where did he discover a mind control gas?”

“Your brother has always had potential. It’s just…” She closed her mouth.

“Dad beat it out of him?” I muttered.

“I guess.” Mom shifted in her seat, her lips tightening. Mom didn’t like to talk about Dad and how abusive he was. She was in denial or something.

“This mess isn’t stressing you out?” I asked. “I know it’s annoying the fu…fudge out of me. All my friends pester me about Mark.”

“A little,” she admitted. “But Betty’s been very supportive.”

I shook my head. Betty was only a few years older than me. She went to school with Mark. My brother even had a crush on her once. It was so weird that my mom and her were friends. I mean, I guess she’s an adult, but Mom has friends her own age.

“Well, I’m glad Betty’s helping you out.”

Mom smiled. “Yep. She’s been relieving a lot of my stress.”

“That’s good. I…” My phone rang.

It was Donna.

“Oh, hey,” I said. “I’m on my way to the airport.”

“Antsy,” Donna said. “Listen, something’s come up.”

My stomach fell. “The trip’s off?” I hated saying those words.

“For me. But you can still go. I mean, it’s all paid for. But a family things come up.”

“Okay,” I muttered, scrunching my face.

“I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Have enough fun for me as well,” she laughed. “You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

“I don’t have to go,” I said, guilt nibbling at my stomach.

“No. You have to,” Donna adamantly said. “You need to get out of town. Get away from your fucked-up brother. You need the break. It’s only going to get worse. When the catch him and try him, it’ll be a media circus for years.”

“Fine. I’ll go.”

“Good.” I could almost see her smiling. “I didn’t think it would take much arm twisting.”

“Well, it is a free trip to Miami,” I giggled, then stopped, remembering she wasn’t going.

“Okay, I got to go. Take care and get laid by some stud on the beach.”

My cheeks reddened. I hoped Mom didn’t hear that. “I will. Bye.”

Mom looked at me with a questioning raise of her eyebrows.

“Look like I’m going to Miami alone.”

To be continued…

Click here for Chapter 5.

If you enjoyed the story, support me on Patreon!

I have released a part 43 of the revamped Devil’s Pact on Smashwords. Read this post for more information if you’re interested!