by C. M. Cevis
“That seems a bit hostile, don’t you think?”
“I haven’t gotten hostile yet, Roger.”
Roger stopped walking, listening as Chloe’s laughter trailed behind her. Keeping tabs on her was going to be harder than he’d thought.
~*~
ROGER CAME TO THE NEXT night with a peaceful sigh, not that the peace would last long. Nothing was falling apart, but he was pretty sure that either Samson or Chloe were keeping tabs on him. Which meant that he had to change how he got things done and checked in with everyone.
He’d already stopped having regular meetings with his happy little band of murderers since the last thing that he needed was to get caught doing something incredibly stupid. That had been what had gotten Bannon caught. Instead, their meetings were virtual, in a private chat room of all things. That meant that Roger had to be home and online at a certain time. He’d taken to trying to be home most nights at that time, and on the computer as well. In case someone was watching, his meetings with the others wouldn’t seem like out of the ordinary behavior. So far, his deflection seemed to be working.
He’d heard about the murders that the others had done via the news, as he’d made a rule not to talk about them out loud. There hadn’t been many, but there had been enough to show up in the papers and to cause some panic in the city’s vampire populace. The opinions of the people were shifting thanks to his ingenious idea, and people were beginning to think that Max was making an example of everyone that he could find. Max was being seen as a threat, and more were beginning to be afraid of the man that had been chosen to rule the city. That had never been the kind of leadership that Max wanted, but that was what he was going to get. There was pressure, but he was distracted with finding Owen. Roger needed him to stay distracted until it was too late. That was the plan.
See, Suzerain was a position that was decided by the Directorate, and then handed down from generation to generation, unless the exiting Suzerain had no children, had no idea who to pass the mantle onto, or the person that he chose was terrible at the job. The idea was that with Owen gone and Max vouching for him, Roger was the clear choice for the next seat of power. And with the city turning on him without him noticing, getting him to step down would be easy.
The plan was going perfectly, and there was no way that anyone could ever tie it back to him. Not Samson, and not that Organization woman whose name wasn’t important enough for him to remember.
The body count was now up to five in the last week. A bit quicker than Roger wanted, which he informed the others of in the vaguest terms that they could manage. They talked about ways that they could approach without the risk of leaving loose ends to clean up and came up with a few ideas before they all signed off for the night.
It had been a productive meeting, and Roger was satisfied that his plan was working perfectly. For now, at least. Part of him wanted to check in with the shifters to make sure that everything was being handled on their end. They were the weak link, and part of him was pretty sure that if the ball was dropped, I would be them who dropped it. But contacting them now would be too much of a risk. Instead, he had no choice but to trust that they were handling things as needed.
Roger stepped out of the main entrance of his apartment building for the night and looked straight into the distrustful gaze of The Org woman, whose name he could suddenly remember now that her gaze was boring holes into his head. Chloe stood along the street, leaned back against what looked like some sort of muscle car. Her arms were crossed over an impressive rack that he’d noticed before but took the time to appreciate now that her arms had pushed it up towards her face just a bit more.
“Good evening,” he said, coming down the stairs with an unconcerned gait as he slipped his hands into his pockets.
“You want to help, right?” she asked.
“Sure,” Roger shrugged. Chloe smirked.
“Get in.”
Roger wasn’t a fan of being commanded to do anything, but this did mean that he could watch her with her permission. Sort of.
Chloe drove Roger to the other side of town, handed him a list of hardware stores along with a list of questions, and dropped him off with a promise to return in a few hours. Roger growled his frustration at being asked to do grunt work and was just about to toss the whole damn thing in the trash and call for someone to come get him when a voice interrupted his temper tantrum.
“You’re not about to bail on her, right?” Roger turned to face Samson’s smug smirk and sighed.
“Of course not,” he said, not even trying to hide the annoyance in his voice this time around.
“Good. Let’s get started, shall we?”
27
MAX HAD BEEN TRYING TO get work done for hours at this point and barely gotten through five pages of the stack. He sighed and tossed the pen down on his desk, taking off his glasses so that he’d have the freedom to rub his aching eyes with his fingers.
“Are you alright?” Samson asked, having put the book that he’d been reading since the whole paperwork ordeal started.
“Not really,” Max said without thinking. The snap of Samson closing his book almost made Max jump.
“Come on, let’s get out of here.” Samson stood and waited for Max to do the same.
“I thought I was the one in charge here,” Max chuckled, but Samson’s face didn’t change.
“I’m here to look out for your well-being, correct?”
“Sure,” Max agreed.
“Then get up, because you need a break for the sake of your well-being.” Samson folded his arms across his chest and fixed his face to something akin to I’m not moving until you get the hell up, old man.
Max got up.
“Where am I going exactly?” he asked as the two of them exited the office and walked towards the elevator bay.
“There’s a cigar bar nearby that I’ve been to a few times since I arrived here. It’s nice, peaceful, and you can get a good drink and a quality cigar to calm your nerves.”
Hell, that didn’t sound like a half bad idea. “Alright. Lead on.”
The place was just like Samson described it, and Max could almost feel the stress lessen as his sense were caressed by the smell of someone’s very expensive, very fine cigar. Samson said something that Max wasn’t paying attention to the young girl who stood at the front door, and she led the two of them past what appeared to be the normal rabble, and into a small semi-private room towards the rear.
“It’s a bit quieter back here, so I normally prefer this area to the larger room up front,” Samson said, motioning for Max to take a seat in what looked to be soft and over-stuffed armchair. The two men sat, Samson motioned for someone to bring them something Max wasn’t sure of and wasn’t quite sure that he cared, and Max allowed himself to sink into the chair as if his life depended on it.
“How did you find this wonderful place?” he asked as two scotches and two cigars were set on the table between them.
“By accident, honestly. The door isn’t marked very well, as you probably noticed when we arrived, and one night I noticed several people going into and out of it. I came in out of sheer curiosity and found that they don’t mark the door on purpose. They choose to grow their business through word of mouth.”
“Interesting business model,” Max said, leaning forward to grab one of the cigars, clipping off the end, and lighting it.
“The owner said that while the business grows more slowly, he has more loyal customers and more customers that he doesn’t have to watch for fear of theft. Apparently, that’s a big problem for a lot of businesses in this area.”
“Hm,” Max grunted around the cigar. “I’ve heard that before.”
“It’s a shame, really. There are so many nice places around here that are so paranoid about their client base stealing from them, that their overly cautious nature makes their businesses unpleasant to frequent.”
The two men sat there in a warm, comfortable silence for a few minutes. Max wanted to thank
Samson for getting him out of that office, he already felt better than he had all day. Owen was still pressing on his mind, of course, no trip to a bar was going to change that, but he felt more clear-headed now. More able to take on the day.
“Fancy meeting you here,” a voice said. Samson turned, his face not registering shock at the older, war-worn man that stood over there.
“Sarge, this is Maxim. Max, this is Sarge. He’s from the Directorate.” Max hesitated, and then pushed himself into a more upright position.
“What is this about?” he asked.
“Samson here has so much trust that you are not involved in something nefarious that he asked that I come down here to meet you and tell you what we know. Well, what I can. More than anyone else knows.”
Max glanced over at Samson, who didn’t flinch or bat an eye in response. “I am trusting you, Max, much in the way that you have trusted me all this time. With what is happening in this city right now, there is so much that you would benefit from knowing, but that I can’t tell you.” Samson explained.
“But I can,” Sarge said, taking a seat in an empty armchair and lighting a cigar that he’d brought over to their area with him.
“Alright,” Max said, sitting forward. “I’m listening.”
“First, Samson was familiar with you for several months before he was assigned to take Bannon’s place. He had actually been sent to look into Bannon in more detail, as there had been some rumors that he was involved in a few things that he shouldn’t have been. Once Bannon slipped up and outed himself to you, we were free to remove him from the equation, but Samson had been instructed to keep an eye on both you and Bannon, and to take him out if he deemed it necessary,” Sarge explained.
Max looked from Samson to Sarge and back again. “And what would have made it necessary?”
“If he had done anything that put either your life or the life of your son in danger, I would have had full clearance to kill him permanently without having to check in first,” Samson said.
“Alright,” Max sighed. “But Bannon isn’t here, and Owen has been taken.”
“What is going on with your son right now doesn’t seem related to what Bannon was involved in. However, there are several larger concerns that the Directorate is keeping an eye on. We aren’t sure that Owen has been taken as a part of these concerns, but it’s not something that we can rule out.” Sarge said.
“What concerns?”
Sarge and Samson exchanged a look. “Over the last few months, there have been several instances of vampires in higher ranks being sold out to local shifters. There is no consistency, other than the ranks and that those who do the damage are shifters of some sort.”
“Who would sell us out? We usually garner enough fear in other races to not have to worry about that kind of thing.” Max asked, more to himself than to Samson and Sarge. If they knew, the situation would have been handled and he wouldn’t be having this conversation.
“Exactly. There is also the fact that a lot of these plots have access to information that we don’t normally let out of our sight.” Sarge explained.
“Information about us, that gives the shifters involved an advantage,” Samson continued.
Max had a lightbulb moment. Samson was trying to tell him something. “Is it possible to manipulate silplacid somehow so that it can keep a wellborn docile?”
Sarge sighed before he explained. “It is possible to manipulate it through magic, yes. But the witch who does it would have to be very powerful and most likely have no morals.”
“As Chloe said,” Max whispered absently.
“Who would know this?” Samson asked.
Sarge said back and took a few moments to think. “Not many people, to be honest. If that is something that had been passed on to someone, we need to know who told them.”
“We don’t know that anyone shared it, but an agent from the Org who is working on finding Owen said that she’d heard a rumor that silplacid could be charmed to keep a powerful wellborn down, but that it was just a rumor. She didn’t seem to put any serious stock into it.”
“The agent seemed trustworthy. I believe her when she says that it’s simply something that she heard, but it’s troubling that she heard it,” Samson added.
“Very. That’s not something that we want getting out.” Sarge sighed.
“Though that would explain why Owen hasn’t turned up somewhere. He is not a weak being,” Samson added.
“He wouldn’t take kindly to missing his release party. That alone would probably have resulted in bloodshed. My son has quite a temper when provoked.” Max said.
Sarge chuckled. “So I’ve heard. Interesting kid you’ve got there. For what it’s worth, I truly hope that he’s found safe.”
Max nodded his appreciation for the comment. “I feel so helpless.”
“Samson, if you trust this agent, maybe you can help her, hm?” Sarge asked. Samson’s eyes traveled to Max’s, uncertainty in his gaze.
“Considering what is going on right now, I’m not certain that I’d be comfortable leaving Max on his own.”
“From what I understand, Max can take care of himself just fine,” Sarge replied. Max smirked, he was right. He had done a lot of damage before he’d taken on the position with the Directorate. He had no problem protecting himself and had only agreed to the bodyguard thing because he’d been told that he had no choice.
“That I can. If she needs help that you can provide, please help her.” Max agreed.
“I thought there was more to you than I’d been told,” Samson said with a grin. “I had to actually concentrate on not having my ass handed to me that first night in the boxing gym.”
“You made him fight you?” Sarge said, a laugh guffawing from his belly. “Wow, that’s harsh. Don’t you trust our judgment, Max?”
“Not even slightly,” he said with a laugh. “You all make terrible decisions regularly.”
“I’d be offended on behalf of my bosses if it wasn’t true,” Sarge said with a smirk.
The three men seemed to sigh in unison as they looked around at each other.
“Now what?” Max asked.
“Now, we return to the office so that you can continue your paperwork, and once I’m sure that you are secure there, I go see if I can find Chloe before I die of boredom waiting for you to stop avoiding things,” Samson said.
“Most people wouldn’t dare speak to me like that, you know,” Max said taking one last puff of his cigar and putting it out in the fancy frosted glass ashtray.
“Most people haven’t had you kick them in the nuts as a last-ditch effort cheap shot,” Samson fired back.
“Well damn,” Sarge said, laughing as he stood. “That’s a pretty harsh reaction to losing.”
“I am a terrible loser, so sue me,” Max said, straightening his suit a bit in preparation to leave.
“He does admit that he was losing though. I’ll take it,” Samson said with a shrug.
“Don’t press your luck,” Max said as Samson turned and began leading the procession out of the bar, laughing.
28
NOAH HAD BEEN IN HIS room for almost an hour now happily ready some book that no one but him gave a shit about when his phone rang. He ignored it and kept reading. It rang a second, third and fourth time before finally, exasperated, he got up and answered the damn thing.
“What?” he growled into the receiver of that stupid cell.
“Why the hell haven’t you been answering your damn phone? We need you out at the factory.” Leo snapped.
“No, you don’t.” Noah sighed, flopping down onto his bed.
“Yes, we do. That’s why I’m calling you.”
“You’ve got how many others out there with you? Get them to handle whatever it is that you think only I can handle. I’m busy here.”
“Busy doing what?”
Noah frowned. “Shit, Leo. I’m busy doing shit that clearly doesn’t involve you, seeing as I’m here and you are there.”
> “You know, I’m getting pretty sick of your attitude,” Leo responded with a tone that said that he was probably making that stupid face that he made when he was faced with a situation that he had no idea how to handle. He made that face a lot.
“Yeah? That’s interesting. Are we done here? You’ve already got several people out there, and you’re the one who told me to come home. You don’t need me out there,” Noah said, turning to face the door to his room as what sounded like a herd of elephants came down the hallway outside.
“Noah,” Amber said before the door was fully open. “Everett’s hurt.” Noah frowned. Everett was one of the older shifters and not a slouch in any way. If someone had bested him, they were someone the pack needed to watch out for.
“Did someone get him bandaged up?” he asked, standing and hanging up on Leo. He’d call him back later.
“He’s locked in the bathroom downstairs, says he won’t talk to anyone but you.” Noah sighed. Why he was the chosen one, he had no idea, but he wasn’t going to let Everette bleed out somewhere while he was thinking about it.
A small crowd had formed outside of the first-floor bathroom, but they parted when Noah approached and knocked softly on the door. “Ev, you in there?”
There were several seconds of nothing, and then the quiet click of the door unlocking. Noah pushed the door open and slipped inside to the sound of Everett breathing heavily.
“Lock the door back, would you?” He asked.
“Yeah, okay,” Noah said, though he had no idea why. It wasn’t until he rounded the corner and got past the wall that he saw.
Everett sat on the floor, his back against the wall and clearly in pain. He was holding his side, though there didn’t look to be blood there. The cut across his jawline and his what looked to be broken nose, they were bleeding all over the place. Noah inhaled sharply, nothing the tang of blood, but not smelling anything life-threatening in the elder. Thankfully.