A test for Alaric to determine if he was on the ball and ready to return to full club duty, which I sensed was on the horizon. The last two months, he expressed boredom and requested more duties to perform, getting more involved with the club.
“Three civilians.” Alaric threaded the laces of his boots. “Two maids and one security. There’s a lot of boxes stacked everywhere. Sheets over furniture. Looks like Raine’s packing up and moving.”
Slade grunted and flicked his cigarette into the hedge of some rich prick’s garden. Flames licked at the leaves and branches until he crunched his hand into a fist, and they died. “Fucker’s got a one-way ticket to Hell. He won’t need his fancy-ass Gucci when it’ll turn to ash.”
Alaric chuckled and wiped sweat from his forehead.
Me, I kept my emotions locked down. Stone cold. Indestructible. Emotion had no place with me. It only served to weigh me down for so long, and I no longer wanted to be chained by it.
“Let’s pay the Raine residence a visit.” Slade gestured for me to take the lead. “Find out where the cunt is hiding.”
Two blocks brought us to Raine’s mansion, a slick, sandstone building, with elegant gardens, plenty of balconies, and dark places for security to hide. Before entering the property, I deadened all communication devices, security cameras, phone lines, or alarms. Black. Silent.
Armed with my 9mm Hellcat, I strode up to the gate, breaking the latches with my magick. No doors stopped death. Handy when we needed to get in somewhere secure. Our boots thumped on the paved driveway as we sauntered up it, around the dry fountain outside the house, past the six-car garage, and up the front steps to a double-door entrance.
Alaric twitched, his Sig P226 jumping, making me edgy. If he got nervous, his weapon might discharge at Slade or me. He wanted back in on full duty, but if he was jittery, it might cause problems.
Slade stabbed his finger on the doorbell. A woman speaking another language muttered as she answered through the solid wood door, “No delivery. Go away.”
“We’re looking for Mr. Raine.” Slade punctuated every word with fire.
My shifter hearing detected the maid’s heartbeat slam, her gasp, and stuttered backstep. “No one here by that name.”
Bitch wasn’t going to rat out her master. Loyal to the end.
Intervening, I twisted the lock and threw open the door. Three sets of boots clipped on polished marble floors at our entry. Dried flowers wilted in the vase on the glass-topped table beside a drum table lamp. Tall ceilings stretched three stories above. Curved archways and pillars. Dome skylight dripping with chandeliers. Winding staircase with wrought iron railings. Opulence everywhere.
The maid crossed her arms over her chest. Black dress with a white apron. Russet skin with wrinkles creasing the edges of her dark brown eyes. Her mouth tightened with worry, a woman who saw many crimes committed on this premises but turned the other cheek.
“Get out or I call police.” Her English came out clipped and broken.
She backed away, sliding out her cell phone. Nice try. No lines in or out of the place.
Moving fast like his hawk, Alaric slipped behind her, blocking her escape.
Slade stepped in front of me. “Where’s your boss?”
The woman’s back hit the banister. “He’s not here.”
“No shit, lady,” Slade growled. “Where the fuck is he?”
Normally in these situations, I swooped in to prevent destruction by Slade’s heavy-handed ways. This time, I left him to his own devices. If the security came, that was another matter, and I’d get involved to protect my president.
“Mr. Raine doesn’t tell us his business.” The maid got defensive and snappy, her body tightening saying otherwise. She knew something. Her soul glowed with secrets.
Slade inched forward like a true predator, boxing her against the marble banister, and gripping the rails either side of her head. “Tell me where he is or there’s gonna be trouble, lady.”
Defiant tears streaked down her face. “I don’t know. He left. Hasn’t been here in weeks.”
“How do we get in contact with him?” She yelped as Slade patted her sides down, moving down to the pockets in her apron, where he found her cell and removed it. “What’s the passcode?”
She spat at his feet and swore. Arabic. Osiris translated the modern Egyptian Arabic dialect for me.I will never tell you, filthy swine.I chuckled. Woman had balls.
Slade’s eyes darkened like a predator’s would before it tore into its prey. His hand snapped, retrieving his Glock, the cold butt of metal slamming to her forehead. “Tell this filthy swine the passcode, and you’ll live.”
Slade would never harm a woman to get what he wanted, but he wasn’t above threatening one to achieve victory.
The woman sobbed the number, and Slade typed it in.
