Heartless (Crossbreed Series Book 9)

by Dannika Dark

  Oh God, not now.

  With every step, I realized my father wasn’t going to walk on by. He looked troubled, and maybe it was because I hadn’t called him since this mission began.

  “Bloody hell!”

  I stopped to look at Flynn. His black shirt had a large splatter of bird droppings, more than the average pigeon could deliver. I spied Blue’s falcon perched on the ledge.

  Flynn held up his arms as if they too were soiled. “Wait for me. I’ll be in the loo.” He jerked open the glass door to the shop and growled, “Bollocks!”

  I stormed past the windows to my father. “What are you doing here?”

  “Taking a walk.”

  “One, you don’t exercise. Two, you sure as hell don’t hang out in the city.”

  “Maybe I’m concerned about where my little girl has been.” His face was flushed and unusually sweaty, as if he’d been running.

  I lowered my voice. “You can’t be here. Do you realize the danger you’re putting me in?”

  He reached inside his pocket and pulled something out. “Put this on. Don’t ask questions.”

  I accepted the onyx-looking pendant and gave him a quizzical stare.

  “Hurry up before peabrain comes back.”

  I quickly slipped it over my head. “What’s it for?”

  Crush tapped his eye, hinting it was a camera. What the hell? Had Keystone put my father on assignment?

  I’m going to kill them.

  “So it’s five blocks that way?” he said gruffly, pointing up the road. “Son of a bitch. That’s what I get for listening to a fucking tourist with a map.”

  Flynn eased up to my side. “What’s going on here?”

  “I’m turned around,” Crush grumbled. “That’s what’s going on. Some asshole with a tow truck impounded my bike for parking bullshit. Do you know where the auto pound is on Foxtrail Avenue? This lady says it’s five blocks up the road.” Crush pulled a bandana out of his back pocket and wiped his neck. “They close in thirty minutes, and if I don’t get my bike back, heads are gonna roll.”

  If there was one thing that my father excelled at, it was pitching a fit.

  “She’s right,” Flynn agreed. “Go all the way up until you see McDonald’s on the right. That’s Foxtrail. Take a left and the impound lot is across the street on the right.”

  “’Preciate it. Son of a—”

  Crush went jogging in the direction we steered him, and seeing him run was a sight to behold. My father probably hadn’t run faster than a light jog in twenty years. I would have broken out in laughter had it not been for Flynn clutching my arm and leading us on.

  “Humans are helpless creatures,” he said. “I’m so glad I’m not one of them anymore.”

  “Did you get everything cleaned off?” I asked, noticing how wet his shirt was.

  “Bloody hell. I’ve never seen so much bird droppings in all my life. If you see that pterodactyl, take cover.”

  The adrenaline from running into my father was finally wearing off, but now I was paranoid about the necklace. Would Flynn notice?

  I turned up the sidewalk. “How did it go with the cleaners?”

  Flynn fell into step beside me. “Nothing to fret about.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Just remember, ’twastn’t a favor. Consider it a transaction. I scratch your back and you scratch mine.”

  When we reached our destination, I turned in a circle. Not to get a look at the park across the street or the bicyclists zooming by, but to provide Wyatt a detailed panorama of my surroundings. The building itself was unremarkable. The first floor didn’t have windows, but the second level had arched ones like in an old church. Two buildings flanked it, and there weren’t any pedestrians. Flynn led me through the revolving door, and we entered a lobby with marble floors. The paintings and statues gave off a museum vibe, but there weren’t any visitors.

  Flynn approached the front desk. “I have Robin White for an appointment.”

  The man sitting at the desk gave him a look of derision, and it was obvious they knew each other. “Keep your mitts off the art this time.”

  I observed the nameplate on the security desk. Murphy had a stone-cold look like a beat cop with too many years on the streets, now forced to greet visitors and push papers.

  Flynn turned on his heel while Murphy made a call. “We’re not on speaking terms anymore. Break one statue and it’s World War III. Bloody hell, what’s the point of putting art on display if you can’t touch it?”

  “This is a museum?”

  “Auction house.” He winked.

  “Sounds legit.”

  Five minutes later, a ding sounded by the elevator in the back. Before I saw anyone, I heard a man singing “I Can See Clearly Now” in perfect pitch. When he stepped into view, he didn’t look anything like Johnny Nash. His sharp grey suit and black shoes alluded to his wealth, and he must have had them custom made because the man was a dwarf.

  The singing diminished to a whistle as he walked briskly toward us. He had a kingly walk, as if he were expecting someone to throw rose petals at his feet. When he flared, my eyebrows popped up. I’d never seen a Mage of his stature. For centuries or longer, men were selected as soldiers. But times had changed, and newer candidates had more to offer, which made me uneasy.

  “I’ve got a new one for you, sir,” Flynn announced. “This one is worth her weight in gold.”

  The man stopped in front of me and forced a smile. “Well? Are you going to introduce us or stand there like a fool?” he said to Flynn, never taking his eyes from mine.

  Flynn cleared his throat. “This is Robin White. Robin, this is—”

  “Pablo Leonardo Russo.” Pablo inclined his head. “You may go, Mr. Washington. I’ll escort the lady from here.”

  Flynn rocked on his heels. “And my money?”

  Pablo flicked a glance at Flynn and spoke through clenched teeth. “You’ll know by tonight what my decision is. Either go to work or buy yourself a decent wardrobe with the money I’ve already paid you.”

  Flynn threw up his hands defensively. “I’ll just be on my way. Be sure to call me as soon as you decide!”

  After Flynn made his exit, Pablo gestured toward the elevator. “Miss White, will you join me?”

  Pablo seemed like an affable guy with manners and a code of conduct. Those were usually the ones I didn’t trust.

  “You don’t sound Italian,” I said, walking beside him.

  “My Creator gave me that name. It means little lion. I suppose he thought that would make me sound more formidable, but never judge a book by its cover.”

  When the elevator doors opened, he let me enter first. I rested my back against the wall and grimaced at my reflection in the doors when they closed. Why the hell did I pick today to wear the spiked bra?

  Pablo turned to face me, hands clasped in front of him. “That’s the brilliant part about becoming a Mage, don’t you agree? A new identity, a second chance at defining who you are and what you’re worth to the world.” His eyebrows drew together. “How much did Mr. Washington tell you about this job?”

  “Flynn? Basically nothing. Only that I’d be fighting for money. I’ve been doing it for free all my life, so why not get paid?”

  “We all excel at something, and it’s important to know what those gifts are. People who squander their talents will never know their true potential.”

  Instead of going up, the elevator went down.

  “These aren’t the cage fights you’ve heard about,” he said. “We run a classy operation. Our fighters are paid their worth, and our audience is a mixture. Some place bets, others like to watch. It’s an exclusive membership, and confidentiality is paramount.”

  The bell chimed and the doors opened.

  “If you please.”

  I strutted past him into a carpeted hallway and moved left toward a door.

  He seized my arm. “We don’t go that way.”

  “What’s that way?”r />
  He led me to the right down a slightly longer hall with another door at the end. Once inside, the walls curved as if forming a circle, and the doors were spaced apart. I reached up and made sure my necklace was facing the right way and not tangled up in my hair. Hopefully Wyatt was getting all this.

  “What did you do before working at the White Owl?”

  I walked a step behind him. “I mostly lived on the streets.”

  “And how did someone with your lack of experience acquire a job at such a prestigious adult club?”

  “I grew up in bars, so I’ve got the experience. They were looking for a Mage, and I guess I checked off all their boxes.”

  “It’s unfortunate that we don’t all have responsible Creators who will guide us through the pitfalls of immortality. Perhaps then we wouldn’t have so many like yourself, struggling to make ends meet. You might be surprised to know just how many people have entered this world under false pretenses or even by force.” He glanced up at me over his shoulder. “Is that what happened to you?”

  I pressed my lips together and nodded.

  Pablo reached a narrow staircase against the outer wall and went up two steps before turning to face me. “Is this someone I’m going to have to worry about?”

  I opened my mouth but wasn’t sure how to answer.

  Don’t be eager to answer, Raven. Figure out what he wants to hear.

  “I have patrons with excessive riches. Is your Creator likely to be one of them?”

  I exhaled the breath I’d been holding in. “No. That’s not the kind of trouble I thought you were talking about. I’m an independent, and no one has any claim over me. And you can bet your ass that if some rich guy turned me against my will, I would have milked him for every dime before parting ways.”

  A doleful smile stretched across Pablo’s face. “You’re candid. I once knew a woman like you, but this world ate her alive.” He turned back around, heading upstairs. “Most pretend to be blunt, but they’re professional liars.”

  After a short twist in the stairwell, I followed him to a spacious floor shaped like a donut. Windows circled the center, and when I reached the glass and looked to the other side, I couldn’t see my reflection since they were two-way mirrors. Down below, an empty room.

  “We used to hold the viewings up here,” Pablo said, scooting onto one of many armchairs that faced the glass. “But people wanted more privacy. They were afraid of being blackmailed or found out, so we built them little rooms down below. The renovation took quite some time. We escort them in one at a time through a second entrance to guarantee their anonymity.”

  Pablo’s feet didn’t quite touch the ground, but he made no effort to move or stand.

  I leaned my shoulder against the glass and looked at the outer walls surrounding us. The sandalwood-brown paint and recessed lighting were classy touches.

  “The view is better up here,” he said absently.

  “What does this job pay?”

  “A woman who gets right to the point. I like that.” Pablo stood up and stared down at the empty fighting room below. “Two hundred thousand per match. That’s the baseline salary, but if you’re a proven champion, the sky’s the limit.”

  I joined his side. “How did you get involved in this? You don’t look like a guy who’s into death matches.”

  “Death matches?” Pablo tossed back his head and laughed. “Is that what Flynn told you?”

  “No. But I just assumed…”

  “These are clean fights.”

  “Seems like there would be more money in death matches.”

  He looked up at me and arched an eyebrow. “If you don’t know how to show mercy, you don’t belong here. This audience has a very particular taste in watching a Mage fight.”

  Something about the way he said “this audience” had me wondering if there was another audience, but I didn’t want this interview to come off like an interrogation.

  “That’s a lot of dough,” I said on a breath. “I could use that money.”

  “Splendid. Flynn had nothing but good things to say, but he’s made an error in judgment once or twice. I need to see your skills before I commit to hiring you.”

  I thought about Viktor’s instructions. He didn’t want me to get as far as fighting—just far enough to get names, faces, and proof, which I didn’t have.

  “Can I watch one first?” I asked. “That way I know what to expect.”

  “I’d rather watch you fight. That way I know what to expect.”

  I scratched the back of my head. “It’s just that I didn’t come prepared. Flynn didn’t tell me.”

  He drew in a deep breath through his nose and sighed. “I’m afraid this won’t work out.”

  “Wait, why?”

  “One of us has wasted the other’s time.” He headed toward the door.

  “I’ll do it.”

  He stopped in his tracks.

  “I’m not afraid of fighting,” I assured him. “I’ve done a lot of bad stuff in my life, so it’s not the fighting I’m afraid of.”

  “Then what is it you are afraid of?”

  “You.”

  He turned on his heel. “What, pray tell, could a girl like you have to fear in a man like me?”

  “It’s always the ones you least expect that are the most dangerous.”

  That amused him, just the result I wanted.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were stroking my ego.”

  Damn.

  “I like you,” he added. “Everyone deserves a second chance. Don’t disappoint me, Robin. There’s another set of stairs around the corner. Go down to the room below, and we’ll begin.”

  I glanced at the curve. “Um, what are the rules?”

  He bowed before walking away. “No killing. That’s the only rule.”

  “Wait!”

  Pablo reached the staircase and turned to look at me.

  I gave him a dubious smile. “There aren’t people in those rooms, are there? I mean, this is just an audition.”

  He inclined his head. “Impress me, Miss White. If this doesn’t work out, we’ll scrub your memories of the whole affair. If it does, you’ll become a rich woman.” Pablo disappeared into the stairwell and said, “Very rich indeed.”

  Chapter 21

  “What the hell am I doing?” I whispered.

  I took my time walking toward the stairwell so the camera on my neck could see everything. Were those private rooms empty? Maybe I could accidentally walk into one, then we could nab more than the ringleader.

  The stairway Pablo had directed me to curved, and when I reached the bottom, I faced a door. This stairwell didn’t give access to the viewing rooms. When I opened the door, I entered the large room where the fights took place. Every small sound was amplified, including my boots tapping against the white floor. As soon as the door behind me closed, it locked. There was another on the opposite side, and twenty-two mirrored windows surrounded me. It didn’t seem like that many, which meant they had to be charging these people a fortune. Just thinking about how much my pay was boggled the mind, but it must have been a drop in the bucket compared to what Pablo was making.

  The white walls were polished like marble, and between each window was a rectangular crack in the wall. I cupped my hands on the glass and tried to peer inside one of the rooms. Couldn’t see a damn thing.

  When the opposite door opened, my spine went ramrod straight. A woman walked in with confidence in her step. Her blond hair tied back in a tight bun meant business. She was dressed just as skimpily as I was—black shorts, black tank top, and matching boots. Her shoes gave me pause. My father sometimes wore those in his garage to protect his feet. They were steel-toed.

  She raked me over with one glance, her arms hanging stiffly at her side.

  I approached her, my head high and shoulders squared. “I’m Robin.”

  “I don’t care.” She flicked a glance down at my boots and smirked.

  I took off my long duster
and flung it at the wall. Tying my hair up was a waste of time. I’d been in more scuffles than I could count, and hair got pulled whether you wore it up or down. Our reflections surrounded us like an army. Her physique was more feminine—larger breasts, softer hips, and fuller lips. She was doing her own assessment, looking at the sculpted muscles on my legs and arms. My gaze was colder, my expression stonier, and my determination stronger. At least I hoped it was. Money turned people into jackals, and she looked hungry enough to win this fight even though it was just an audition.

  Or was it?

  The overhead lights switched off except for a cluster in the middle that shone on us like a spotlight. It drew attention away from the ring of mirrored glass.

  “Do we wait for a bell?” I mused.

  She flashed across the room. “We fight when they’re ready.”

  “How do we know when they’re ready?”

  Just then, an intercom clicked on and a British woman began speaking. “The blond fighter is a fourteen-time champion with no losses. The raven-haired woman is an experienced street fighter. This is her first performance. For those interested in placing bets, please do so now. Push the green button when you’re ready.” Her accent was more refined and polished than Flynn’s.

  Oh shit. This was the real deal, and I was about to indulge someone’s fetish.

  When a current of energy rippled through the room, my hair stood on end. It wasn’t coming from the woman but the watchers behind the glass.

  The blonde flashed to the other side, warming up. I bent over and touched my feet to do a little stretch.

  This is ridiculous. I’ve never warmed up for a street fight in my life. Not unless tequila shots count.

  I backed up against a wall while this amateur proceeded to waste her energy prancing around. Maybe it was my impassive stare, or maybe it was the fact I wasn’t as hyped up as she was, but the woman slid an apprehensive look my way. This fight was crucial. I had to make sure my fangs didn’t accidentally punch out. Were we allowed to use our Mage gifts? Not the basic stuff, but our rare gifts. The only rule Pablo had given me was no killing. That meant everything else was fair game.