Only the devil, p.1
Only the Devil, page 1
ONLY THE DEVIL
THE SINFUL STATE SERIES
BOOK 2
ISABEL JOLIE
Copyright © 2025 by Isabel Jolie.
All rights reserved.
Cover Design: Regina Wamba
Editor: Karen Cimms
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This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Formatted with Vellum
To every woman who’s ever been called difficult for refusing to be complicit.
Stay difficult, darling. The world’s counting on it.
CONTENTS
Playlist
Prologue
1. Jake
2. Daisy
3. Daisy
4. Jake
5. Daisy
6. Jake
7. Daisy
8. Jake
9. Daisy
10. Jake
11. Daisy
12. Jake
13. Daisy
14. Daisy
15. Jake
16. Daisy
17. Jake
18. Daisy
19. Jake
20. Daisy
21. Jake
22. Daisy
23. Jake
24. Daisy
25. Daisy
26. Jake
27. Jake
28. Daisy
29. Jake
30. Daisy
31. Daisy
32. Daisy
33. Jake
34. Daisy
35. Daisy
36. Daisy
37. Jake
38. Daisy
Epilogue
Bonus Epilogue
Author’s Note
Gratitude
About the Author
Also by Isabel Jolie
The only two things you can truly depend upon are gravity and greed.
– Jack Palance
Greed is not a financial issue. It’s a heart issue.
– Andy Stanley
PLAYLIST
“Money” — Pink Floyd
“Do I Wanna Know?” — Arctic Monkeys
“The Hand That Feeds” — Nine Inch Nails
“Welcome to the Black Parade” — My Chemical Romance
“Bring Me to Life” — Evanescence
PROLOGUE
The darkness swallows me whole. Without the floodlights, I’m running blind, arms outstretched, trying to remember the layout. The hangar’s metal wall hits my palms first, cold and unforgiving. I feel my way along it, trying to control my ragged breathing.
“Jake?” I whisper.
My foot catches on something soft.
I drop to my knees, my hands finding fabric, warmth, the solid bulk of a body. My fingers trace up—cargo pants, broad shoulders, beard.
“Jake. Jake!”
My fingers skid through something tacky; I lift my hand.
Blood. How much blood?
“Please, please, please,” I pray, searching for the wound.
My hands find his chest, feeling for the rise and fall.
That’s when I hear the thuds.
Footsteps. Measured. Deliberate.
Not rushing like someone fleeing a crime scene. Walking like someone who knows exactly where their prey hides.
Trapped prey, meaning there’s no need for quiet.
The crickets go silent. Even the wind holds its breath.
This is all my fault.
What have I done?
CHAPTER 1
JAKE
One month earlier
Rain drums on the windows, my beer’s sweating, and from the look on his face it’s clear that Hudson’s not here to celebrate. He walks in like he owns the place—tall, pressed, all sharp edges. Even in a dive bar on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, the man commands the room.
“I’ll take an IPA,” he tells Noah, who’s leaning against the bar. “Put it on KOAN.”
“Yes, sir,” Noah fires back, all clipped and professional.
This was supposed to be a pat-on-the-back beer after our first op, but Hudson’s posture says mission brief, not congratulations. I settle deeper in my chair, rain rattling the windows, and remind myself that at least this kind of job comes with a paycheck and no chain of command breathing down my neck.
KOAN’s pitch is simple: go where the government won’t, cut down corruption where influence puts people above the law, and take the jobs too messy for official channels. Remote when we can; boots down when we have to. It ain’t the Navy, but it’s still a fight worth showing up for.
We knocked out our first op two days ago. This little rendezvous reminds me of the team I left behind, and with that reminder, there’s an undeniable pang. My old team, they’re off fighting the real battles. The ones often fought in the dark, the ones that make a real difference. But every frogman taps out one day. My day just came a mite earlier than expected.
Sucks to say it, but I aged out of that world. Wasn’t the hearing, although artillery over the years did a number on it, leaving me asking “What?” way too often. Wasn’t the shrapnel so deep in my shoulder that it’s there to stay and makes for crap sleep any night after a shoulder routine. Nope. All it took was one perky young doc with attention to detail. Heart abnormality. Boom. Goodbye, Navy. The other offer on the table? Corporate-park security. I chose KOAN.
In what feels like a half-assed team-bonding exercise, I’m crashing in a rental with my new KOAN teammates, but we’ll be packing up this week and heading to our own places until we’re needed again.
Light rain drenches the brick sidewalk and pavement outside The Ugly Dog. The raindrops trickling down the glass panes lend a sense of satisfaction that I knocked out my long run this morning and can sit back guilt-free for a celebratory drink with my team.
It’s a far cry from the team I left behind. But I’m still kicking. In combat and in life, you take the hits and keep moving. That’s the game.
When I met Hudson, KOAN’s director, I wasn’t sure if I’d like the buzz-cut stiff, but like me, he’s former Spec-Ops, although he went the Army track. He hasn’t said what brought him back into civilian life, and I haven’t asked.
Whereas I’m more of a full beard, floppy hair, screw-the-dress-code type, he’s textbook military. I can see why he’s the top dog. He’ll be good with clients, and from what I can tell, he’s as level-headed as they come.
The most important factor though—the reason why I insisted on a face-to-face before I took this job—my gut says he’s trustworthy. Sure, a paycheck’s nice, but I’m not one of those pricks who will break laws and kill for a living. Yeah, sure, some would claim I’ve gone dark, and I suppose I have since our little outfit is privately funded and aims for projects authorities either can’t or won’t touch, but like I told Hudson, I’m not here to wag my tail for a paycheck. Any project has to pass my sniff test before I buy-in, and he seems fine with that—another reason why he’s OK in my book.
Hudson drops into the head chair, coaster twisting between his fingers. “Jake.” A quick nod.
“Quinn coming?” I ask, meaning our resident tech. Odd one—doesn’t even play Call of Duty. I thought every coder did.
“She’s busy.” He doesn’t elaborate. Typical.
I glance at Noah, still jawing with Gwen at the bar. Gwen’s here most days, always with a smile and her old black Lab underfoot. A wall of dog photos grins down on her—ugly mutts, handsome retrievers, all of them loved. She laughs at whatever Noah says, sliding two full pints his way.
“So. What’s our next gig?”
That had been one of my hesitations about joining what you could call a “start-up.” But they assured me we’re fully funded, and even if the work hits a dry period, we’ll get our paychecks.
“Let’s wait for Noah before I read you in.”
We both look his way—still chatting up Gwen.
“I’ll nudge him,” I say to Hudson.
My boots echo in the quiet as I cross to the bar.
“Where’s the music, Gwen?” Noah asks.
“Whatchu wanna listen to?”
“Anything but country,” Noah says, then looks to me. “You need another?”
“No. Came to get your hairy-ass moving.
“Oh?” Noah’s gaze falls on Hudson and his ramrod straight posture, staring out the window at the rain, clearly waiting.
When Hudson suggested we meet at The Ugly Dog, we thought it was all for the ole “good job, pat on the back, here’s a beer,” but apparently not. And I’m down with that, on account of staying employed and all.
“Hey there, boss,” Noah says as we both slide on opposite benches, Noah facing the pub, me looking out on the rain.
Hudson holds his beer up for a toast. “Here’s to a job completed. Well done, both of you.”
Our glasses clink and I set mine down without taking a sip.
“What’s our next gig?”
I don’t need a recap of the past project. There’s no report to write.
“Ironically,” Hudson says, “Rhodes MacMillan has hired us.”
My brows lift. Our last op had been tailing MacMillan himself—only to learn the real snakes were his so-called friends. Rich people problems. “Corporate espionage?”
Hudson shakes his head and flips his phone around. A photo fills the screen: sharp brown eyes, earrings climbing her lobe, dark hair pulled into two bushy little puffs. Lips set like she’s about to tell the world where to shove it.
Daisy Jonas. Hard to forget.
I remember the heat of gunfire, the stink of cordite, and her zip-tied hands trembling not with fear, but fury. She’d been ready to fight with nothing but rage and a glare. Tiny but fierce didn’t cover it. Not my usual type—hell, not even close—but damn if I didn’t like her fire. That girl could’ve been born in combat boots.
“She’s MacMillan’s employee,” Hudson says. “Programmer. Someone close to her lost everything in a financial scam. She’s taken it on herself to dig in.”
“She’s gonna play detective?” Noah smirks.
Hudson’s mouth tightens. “MacMillan thinks she’s putting her head in a noose. He’s asked us to provide protective detail.”
I didn’t think we really did that, but I won’t complain, given the size of my paycheck. When it comes to the sniff test, there’s no moral problem with protective detail, even if it’s a gig that won’t change the world. “Is there an ongoing police investigation?”
“No. At least, not from the US side. At first glance, the company appears above board. Ms. Jonas believes the owner is too connected for anyone to dig deep, and she got herself a job working in the DC office.”
“She’s going rogue,” Noah says with an appreciative grin.
My first instincts were spot on; she’s fierce. But I’ve got questions.
“Couldn’t she use ARGUS to get whatever information she needs and hand over the evidence to the cops?” ARGUS—MacMillan’s company—is an AI wizard that knows all. “Or the SEC or whoever deals with fraud?” Financial crimes are not my wheelhouse, but it seems getting hired by the firm is an unnecessary step.
“She’s used ARGUS to conclude the firm has powerful connections that are likely killing any investigations. And she also uncovered some interesting coincidences.” Hudson runs a finger over the rim of his pint glass. “It’s why Rhodes called to inquire about our resources. Daisy’s convinced this firm is targeting unsuspecting investors, people like veterans and retirees. The person who lost everything was building a class action lawsuit before he died.”
“Was it a suicide?”
“No. Natural causes. He was old. Vietnam vet. But she wants to complete what he started. She’s convinced there’s fraud and thinks she needs to be onsite to find it. MacMillan says she either wants to get enough information to force the SEC or the DA to investigate or get what’s needed for some law firm out there to file a class-action suit. Given what MacMillan just went through, he’s concerned she might be…” Hudson lets the sentence drag.
“In over her head,” Noah fills in.
Hudson gives a brief affirmative nod and raps the table with his knuckles. “She’s more than an employee to MacMillan, she’s a friend. Sydney says she’s one of his best friends.”
Sydney’s one of our KOAN teammates. She played front and center on our last op and wound up falling for MacMillan. The two lovebirds are taking this week to regroup. I think back to Daisy, and Sydney’s comment that she doesn’t live in DC, that she shouldn’t have been there to be used as bait.
“That’s why Daisy was in DC,” I say.
“The firm is headquartered in New York, but they’ve got servers in Virginia and a small outfit of sales guys in that area. Her job, where they hired her, is actually outside of DC, in Virginia. Basically the DC suburbs. We’re taking the case, not only as a favor to Rhodes and Sydney, but because KOAN is intrigued. We’ve done some of our own research, and we agree with Daisy. Something is off and someone’s pulling strings. There’s no other explanation for why there’s not an open investigation.”
“According to the news these days, the SEC is short-staffed,” Noah says. “Same with the FBI.”
“True. And the fraud needs to hit a significant dollar amount before it’s going to become a case. That might be all it is.” Hudson raps his knuckles against the table. “But given we’re partnering with MacMillan, there’s no harm in offering protective services when we have the available resources. If Daisy uncovers something more, we’ll be on the ground level to take the ball and run.”
“Makes sense,” I say. “I still don’t get why MacMillan doesn’t just hire us to do the investigation. Daisy’s not an investigator, right? She told me she’s a programmer. If they’re only hiring coders, Quinn could get the job and while she might look like your neighborhood librarian she’s got skills.”
“Everything you said is correct,” Hudson confirms. “But Daisy’s refusing help. She got the job without asking for MacMillan’s approval. She resigned from ARGUS, but he’s refused to accept her resignation. He’s worried about her, and Sydney suggested us. Typically, we’d refer him to a security outfit, but this has the potential to be a KOAN case.”
“Look at Syd hooking us up with our next gig,” I say, grinning. “I’m in.” Something about this feels personal—maybe it’s the whole “life you save” thing. Not to mention, the victim is a veteran. Who the hell fleeces veterans?
Amusement coats Noah’s ugly mug, but not Hudson’s.
“What? I like Virginia. And Jonas is cool.” I pointedly say in Noah’s direction. “But if these people who hired her are the scammers she believes they are, wouldn’t they clock her as a risk?” I’m basically thinking it through while talking. “Or is she counting on them not connecting the dots to her connection to a fraud victim?”
“He was her mom’s neighbor, not a blood relative,” Hudson answers. “There’s nothing to connect her as she hasn’t lived in Los Angeles for years. In theory, she should be safe, but protective detail is a precaution MacMillan wants to take.”
“If you’ve got unlimited funds, sure,” Noah says, catching my eye, probably thinking the same thing I am. These billionaires are lunatics.
“He’s instructed us to spare no expense.” Jobs like this are KOAN’s sweet spot—power plays, hidden rot, the kind of corruption that counts on nobody looking too closely. “So, Jake, can you be ready to head out tomorrow? For now, we’ll keep the base here.”
“One person?” Noah asks, not bothering to hide his skepticism.
“For now. Jake, since you volunteered, when you hit the ground, check it out, provide an assessment. Report back with resource needs. And Noah, you’re off to LA.”
