by JL Madore
The air smacked him in the face and he pulled up the collar of his biker jacket. Quick-moving traffic on the parkway above created a steady hum, while the newly-fallen snow crunched in a thin layer beneath his boots. He knocked on the back door of the soup kitchen and Brennus opened the way.
“Where are we?” Zander asked.
Brennus tipped his head and gestured down the hall. “Bo’s got him set up with an extra meal. I told Cara you would bring a fat donation back to her once we get things sorted.”
Zander nodded to a couple regular volunteers in the kitchen and headed toward the front of the building. When he emerged into the cafeteria-style dining room, there were the usual nods and waves from people he and his brothers had helped on the streets at one time or another.
He smiled at Cara Zmatic, dishing out today’s offerings. The six-foot-four brawny woman wore a vibrant, slime-green, jump-suit. Her fuchsia apron matched her thigh-high boots and the three-inch earrings dangling over the pot she stirred.
Kyrian rounded the tables and joined Brennus and Bo.
Zander heard Austin in his head and paused. Manners matter, angelman. Despite his anxiety, he stopped to check in. “How’s things, Cara? You good?”
“Peachy-keen, Jellybean. How’s things with you, baby?” Drag queen performers, fellow Toronto club owners, or Lightworld oracles, Cara and her sisters were true gems in any realm. “I heard you got hitched. My heart broke and shattered glitter all over Church street. Any chance she’s just a phase?”
Zander fisted his hand against his chest and chuckled. “No, sorry. I’m a goner, heart and soul.”
Cara winked a glitter-caked lid and smiled. “I’m glad, baby. You deserve it. Give the lucky lady a kiss from me and bring her by the club sometime to see the show. We’ll have a few drinks after and welcome her in style.”
“Will do. I’m sure she’d like that.” Zander was afraid to even imagine what that would mean and pushed it from his mind as he got back to business.
Bo stood over a rake of a man along the side wall. Zander had never laid eyes on the guy, so the personal request for a face-to-face seemed odd. Skinny as a twig, he was a human coatrack laden with worn clothes. The puckered scar on his neck was likely a burned-off gang tat, but by the look of him, that was long ago and a lifetime away.
“Zander, this is Yukon,” Bo said. “He says he witnessed what went down last night but will only talk to you.”
Zander straddled the long, wooden bench and faced the guy. He had the scruff and stench of a street-sleeper and gave off no Otherworld vibes that indicated he was anyone other than who he appeared to be. “I’m glad you reached out, but why me? Do I know you?”
He shook his head. “You took in a boy I knew a few years ago. A scrawny kid, Mohawk . . . always wore camo.”
Zander nodded and pulled a card from his inside pocket. “Colin. That kid is a fine young man now. He runs the kitchen at my club. Come by and try one of his burgers. The kid’s a genius with the Mesquite.”
The guy eyed him, from his leather cuffs to his long hair, to his weapons vest beneath his jacket. Zander gave him a second to let things sink in. Humans found him intimidating and often needed a beat to calm their nerves. “So, you saw our friend last night before he went missing? Was he okay?”
“Last I saw him, he was circling the drain.”
“Tell me. Start from the top.”
Homeless shoveled a couple forkfuls of food in and washed it down. He laid it out exactly as Colt and his men had figured at the scene.
“I’ve seen my share of gruesome, but your friend torched the asshole like a piece of dry kindling. It was harsh.”
“And you’re sure it was our friend?”
“One hand. Long, leather coat. Dark hair. Goatee.”
Zander nodded. “Okay, so, three men down, one bonfire . . . was he hurt?”
“Not then. That’s when the Chevy Tahoe ran him down . . . or maybe that was before lighting the guy up, not sure.”
“He got run down?”
“Yeah, the driver just pointed the grill at him and gunned it. But your friend gets up like he’s some kind of indestructible and goes back down the alley to the first two bodies.”
Brennus cursed. “And let me guess. The men in the SUV doubled back.”
Homeless nodded. “Teed off on him with bats and boots until he dropped and stopped.”
Zander tightened the rein on his beast. He and Danel had never been tight but whoever remained alive after this attack, wouldn’t be for long. “And these men took him?”
Yukon scraped the plate and wiped up the gravy with the last of his bun. “No. They left him for dead. The girl from the coffee shop took him. Said he saved her life.”
“And you’re sure of this?”
“I helped lug him to her car. Heavier than he looks, him.”
Zander glanced up. Brennus had his phone to his mouth and relayed that info. Bo was texting it out. Maybe Danel was safely tucked away at a local hospital somewhere. That would be too easy. Pulling his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket, Zander gave the guy a fifty.
“Any chance you got the plate on that SUV?”
Homeless smiled. “And for another fifty, I’ll do you one better.”
CHAPTER SIX
Seth exited the Enterprise Rent-A-Car kiosk outside the Billy Bishop Airport and hopped into the Navigator’s shotgun seat next to his brother. Phoenix turned the key and got them moving. Zander’s black behemoth of a vehicle was a beast and didn’t so much merge with the flow of downtown traffic as intimidate it to give a wide berth.
Where to? Phoenix asked.
“Back to the club, I guess.” Seth pulled out his phone and dialed up Zander. “Hey, boss. So, yeah, the Tahoe your source saw mow D over, was rented a week ago and paid with a corporate account listed as Anvil Solutions out of D.C.. I’ve got a copy of the driver’s deets and we’re headed back now to look into them. Any chance Ringo has any mad computer skills we don’t know about? Being a blooded-brother with D, maybe he shares the Persian’s gift for facts.”
“We can ask.”
Seth caught the metal click of Kyrian’s antique Van Cleef’s lighter and could almost smell the Greek’s fancy tobacco. “So, what are you boys up to?”
“Warehouse district. Tracking the leads Yukon swiped from the dead Serpentines.”
“Thank the heavens for sticky fingers.”
“We done?”
Phoenix hit the indicator and a soft tick-tick-tick led them off the Gardener Expressway. “Actually, there was one other point of interest. That same corporate card rented a second SUV this morning.”
“You got a name for the new arrival?”
“Hankard,” Seth said. “’Kay, off to the loft to butcher Danel’s computer system, if you need us.”
Ronnie dragged her feet as she got ready for the day. After the clash with her house guest over who was more dysfunctional, she’d gone back to bed for an hour and or two. The alley fight took more out of her than she cared to admit—to herself or to him. As much as she’d like to loaf in bed and binge-watch Gilmore Girls with a bag of cookies, she had a man in her loft . . . and she needed fresh eyedrops ASAP.
Funny. In all the months she’d ogled him and fantasized about what he’d look like naked and prowling up her bed, she never once imagined how stubborn and miserable he would be. Which was crazy because the man wore a perma-scowl and practically growled every word he’d ever spoken to her.
She checked her wrist and sighed at the hour. Time for meds, whether or not he was watching. Maybe she could maneuver him into the bathroom or something. She pulled on a pair of stretch pants, an oversized, purple fleece sweatshirt, and chunky knit socks that she pushed down to gather by her ankles. Comfort clothes would keep her warm while she faced the cold, harsh world of her disease.
She paused at the door, closed her eyes, and drew a deep breath. Here goes nothing. She strode out, head high, and glanced over to the couch, the kitchen,
and then the security pad. Jogging over, she checked the settings and . . . gone.
He’d deactivated the alarm and let himself out. Damn.
She wasn’t sure if she was more upset that he’d cracked her security, left without a word, or that he was out there without knowing he’d killed at least two bad guys last night. He needed to lay low and didn’t even know it.
Double damn. She should have told him.
Pulling up the security feed, she checked the logs to see when he left. Oh, pretty much the minute she’d stormed off and slammed her door. Hopping into the car to troll the streets would do no good. He was a grown man who obviously knew how to take care of himself.
Hell, he was almost indestructible.
With a weird recollection, she jogged back to her room and cycled through the security footage. Had he been limping this morning? She found the recording of him putting on his clothes.
His bruises were gone. His movement unhindered.
The heavy rattle of the steel door rolling on its tracks had her skin tingling. She abandoned the screens and checked herself in the mirror on the way past. “You’re back. About what I said earlier. I think you—”
Her words choked off as she took in the three men inside her loft. The first guy didn’t look menacing, but the two, standing behind him, made up for that in spades. She stopped in the doorway to the bedroom. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just walk into someone’s home.”
The first man dropped a weighty duffle to the floor and opened his gloved hands. A chill shot down her spine. Were those gloves to fend off the cold, or to leave no trace?
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
“Get out,” she said with more force. “I mean it. Go now or I call the police.”
The first man pointed and his goons fanned out and advanced. “You won’t call the police. Now, show us some of that southern hospitality and charm your family’s so famous for, Ronnie.”
No! She turned, slammed her bedroom door, and locked herself in. Racing to the security panel, she activated the panic room lockdown and stared at the screens. The leader unzipped the duffle and pulled out an assortment of saws and tools.
They weren’t burglars. They’d come prepared, and meant to get to her, no matter what. She grabbed her cell from the side table and swiped the tears from her cheek. She should have thought more about the men last night. Should have hit the road and given up the farce of this fantasy life she’d created.
Her father picked up on the second ring. “Hey, kitten—”
“Daddy,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry. Your enemies . . . they found me.”
As her last chance at freedom dissolved, she sank onto the floor beside her bed. He’d come. He’d send men. He’d raze the world until he found her and those responsible for this. The only problem was . . . he’d never get there in time.
Zander fisted his hand in the air and pointed at the Tahoe tucked into the alley with the Rent-a-Car sticker on the back window. The driver’s side headlight was smashed and there was a large dent in the hood where Danel had likely done a spectacular up-and-over. “What are we looking at?”
Kyrian back-flatted next to him against the warehouse wall and frowned. “No idea. What do two humans from Washington have to do with a local barista and three dead Serpentines? This gets more fucking muddled by the minute. Your call, Z. Do we hang back and observe, or charge in, guns blazing?”
Zander almost snorted. Hang back. Hilarious. He pulled out his phone and hit up the group. My location. ASAP
A heartbeat later, they arrived.
He signaled his instructions: Hark and Brennus nodded and disappeared to get a vantage point on the exits, while Seth and Phoenix took out the Tahoe as an escape vehicle and scouted the perimeter. Bo and Kyrian were with him.
Zander outed his weapon and checked the magazine. Brennus whistled that they were in position and at almost the same moment, Seth whistled as well. Zander raised his hand for the count. “There’s one way to find out what’s doing. We ask.”
Kyrian gripped the door handle and nodded.
Three. Two. One.
The penetration was textbook—the response of their bad-guys immediate. Zander dove right and rolled as bullets whizzed past his head. Back on his feet, he advanced before his adrenaline even got pumping.
Kyrian took left and Bo guarded the exit.
Point and shoot. Just. That. Simple.
Straightening to his full height, he strode over to the three humans gurgling and sputtering onto the painted concrete floor. “What’s the best thing about modern industrialism, Greek?”
“Open sightlines and easy cleanup?” Kyrian said, gathering the discarded guns.
“Right you are, my brother.” Zander eyed the three and hauled the washed-out Matt Damon over to prop his ass against the wall. “Hello, Washington. How are you liking Toronto?”
“Fuck you,” the guy spat, wincing as Z pressed a foot on the hole in his thigh.
“Thanks for the offer, but you’re soooo not my type. Now, for the sake of expediency and honestly, because I don’t care about you, tell me what’s doing and why you ran my boy down in the street last night.”
Shrewd green eyes focused as clarity took hold.
“That’s right. My buddy played the part of your hood ornament and I’d like to know two things: where is he and why the fuck you ran him down?”
“Your buddy’s dead. My boys took care of that last night. As for the why? Well, that’s need to know information and you really don’t need to know.”
“Hey, Z,” Bo said, his hand on the knob of a closed door. “Based on the Home Depot tool department laid out here, I’d guess that whatever they want, is on the other side of this door.”
Zander smiled. “Okay, let’s open door number one and find out what we’ve won.”
Kyrian tapped at the security pad on the wall and nodded. “Good news, bad news, boys. What do you want?”
“Good news,” Zander said.
“The good news is, whoever is in there, used the same panic room package that we have at the racetrack and is snug as a bug in there.”
“That is good news. Okay, hit me with the bad news.”
Kyrian stepped away from the control panel and shrugged. “Whoever is in there, used the same panic room package that we have at the racetrack—because it’s impenetrable and will take about a week to get in there.”
Zander sheathed his gun. “You win at that game, Greek.”
Kyrian pulled out his phone. “Hey, Colt. We got three dead humans involved in Danel’s disappearance. Have you got time to come clean this up? You rock, demon. ’Kay, I’m texting you the addie. See you soon.”
“Fuck you,” the human said, listing down the wall. “I’m not dead and I’m not scared. I’ve used that bluff more than once myself, asshole.”
Zander laughed. “Except, he isn’t joking. You don’t know shit about our friend. You tried to kill him—twice—but that was a ‘wrong place, wrong time’ kinda thing. Intel on him is the only reason you’re valuable to us. I don’t give a shit that you’re hired muscle here to kill, detain, or kidnap Coffee Girl. It’s not happening. And we can’t let you spout off about us either. Sucks to be you.”
Worry crept into the guy’s expression and he took another look at his men, dead on the floor. “Bullshit. You’re not going to kill me.”
Kyrian rolled his eyes and one-shotted him in the chest. “Okay, so how do we convince her to come out?”
A restless day filled with broken dreams haunted Cassi until she couldn’t endure it any longer. After abandoning all attempts to sleep, she checked in with DonorWatch, and wandered the halls of their hotel refuge. Anxiety and trepidation plagued her. What was going on?
There was a time, not long ago, when she would have brushed away her worries, leaving the concerns outside the walls of her home to the males. She’d grown a lot since then.
She also had more to lose.
Wrapping her arms around her waist, she breathed and tried to rid herself of the looming sense of foreboding. When that did nothing to calm her nerves, she sank into one of the chairs in the entrance lobby and pulled out the cell phone Kyrian gave her a few months ago.
Programmed with only a handful of numbers, she called her husband. His message came on before it even rang, and she contented herself by listening to his deep, velvety tone.
Sweet Prince, that man’s voice resonated within her at a sexual frequency. “Oh . . . hello, love, it’s me. You’re obviously busy and I’m feeling rather foolish for bothering you. Forget I called. I’ll see you tonight. And be careful. I love you.”
“Mistress?”
She stood to greet her best friend and royal advisor as he came through the front double doors. “Safe home, Dougal. Where have you been?”
Dougal bowed his head and stopped before her. “I tasked Ravage, one of our new hunters, to keep watch on the cache of red-metaled weapons stored at Castle Wandread. He called me earlier to say that Emma moved a large horde last night. He tracked her to a warehouse by the harbor.”
“The Toronto harbor?”
He nodded. “He said she was inside for twenty minutes and left with a large satchel about an hour ago. It seems that she sold those weapons to another species.”
The hairs on Cassi’s neck stood on end. The idea that weapons circulating in the streets were designed to negate her husband’s immortality made her sick. The fact that they were invented by her father, and were being distributed by her half-sister, made things ten times worse.
“Do we know who owns the warehouse, or which species we’ve just supplied Watcher-killing weapons?”
Dougal shook his head. “Stryker occupied a location in the fashion district and another in a local, wooded valley. We don’t have any intel on the waterfront area and are too new on the scene to have sources within the Otherworld community.”