Nemi was distinctly unimpressed. She kept twittering at me and fixing me with beady stares, and I didn’t know if it was due to the rain, or my life choices. Did hummingbirds worry about life choices? She’d already darted out to feed from several flowers and returned without seeming to get wet at all. I assumed she was ducking the raindrops, but I had no idea how.
It wasn’t a talent I possessed, apparently. My cloak had an oiled surface that repelled water, but in this deluge, the rain soaked my pack and worked its way in around my hood into the shirt beneath.
I was so fucking tired, and vibrating with a tension that could get me killed if I wasn’t careful. To join Slade, I had to prove myself all over again. So I moved through the pouring rain, aware of the lean mercenary shadowing me to my right. Others spread out in our wake, and Slade’s large frame moved along the street to my left.
The big shifter had hit Antlin running. Apparently, the minor underlord who ran this city for Victor had not done a thorough job of it.
Slade was determined to whip the locals into shape, and make them understand that everything they did began and ended with our almighty bossman. We’d already paid a visit to four bars, three crystal dealers, and acasa de putas—brothel. Word of our heavy-handed presence spread like wildfire.
The night traffic along this street was busy enough to keep me wary, but the locals knew hunters on the prowl when they saw them and avoided us. Mostly. So far, I’d only had to kick one up the side of the head.
The idiot had been lucky it was me and not Slade. My new boss took the zero-prisoners rule to new heights. So far, his killtally for these streets was six. By the light in his eyes when he ran his claws into them, he relished this part of his job.
Slade was ruthless and vicious, but far from stupid. It made him one very dangerous shifter to work for. His men respected and feared him. Trust never entered the equation.
In the mouth of an alley, he pulled us into a group—twenty mercs, ready for mayhem.
“Got one more hit planned for tonight,” he growled. “A Poletuber plant along the river. The crop grows really well in this swamp. Dealers have been sending proceeds in to us, but considering the size of the operation, I think they’ve been skimming profits. Poletuber juice is selling for top currency right now.”
“Would like some of that juice for myself,” one merc, a Dire, growled. “Last time I scored some, I sampled every female in two brothels.”
Coarse laughter all around. Slade’s blue eyes gleamed. “We shake more profits loose from this manufacturer, and we’ll drop you losers a vial or two. We deserve some entertainment.”
I listened, and absorbed. There was so much about these realms that I didn’t know, and any comment could reveal as much. “Poletuber juice” went into my mental file as an aphrodisiac. It didn’t surprise me that the obsession with sex expanded well beyond the human world.
We approached a large, single-story building on the outskirts of the city, and Slade sent mercs out to each side to surround the place.
“You four, with me,” he said, and this time, I was included in his head nod.
The other three mercs eyed me up—a newcomer, delegated to accompany the boss. It boosted me in their world order, and I knew they wouldn’t like it.
They’d better get used to it. I was going nowhere but up.
I was aware of a scurry of motion above our heads as we walked straight up to the front entrance. The guards posted on the roof either ran to inform their boss—or if they were smart—just ran. Some of Slade’s mercs climbed the ladder to chase the guards down.
I’d run faster if I were them.
Slade himself tossed aside his cloak as pale fur with vivid stripes sprouted over expanding muscles. He used brute strength to smash straight through the front door.
The guards on the other side took one look at us, and bolted. There was clearly a limit to how much bravery money could buy. We spilled into the foyer—and caught sight of the production plant through large windows along the hall beyond. Huge vats lined one wall, and the workers all wore masks.
Slade ignored the double doors leading into the plant and continued down the hall instead. A particularly foolish guard tried to stop him at a door—Slade shredded his throat with one swift slash.
We sidestepped the gurgling body and entered the office.
A tall, very thin male rose from the desk within. His face was devoid of color—but on closer inspection, that faint, greenish hue was likely his natural skin shade.
It did turn slightly more yellowish as he glowered at Slade. “What is the meaning of this? You have no right?—”
“I have every right,” Slade growled. He was half transformed—jaws just long enough to display long teeth, arms huge and fur covered, hand human but with curved claws—and seemed able to hold himself like that. An impressive mix of beast and man towered over the owner. “Underlord Victorownsthis place. And you’ve been holdin’ back on him.”
There was no mistaking the skin going paler now. “I submit monthly revenues,” he protested.
“This fuckin’ place should be making twice that,” Slade snarled. “You’ve been skimming ever since Victor came on the scene.”
The male’s eyes narrowed as he ventured into the realm of stupid. “We reported to the local underlord, who reported to Brock. Not to Victor. He’s fortunate we are sending anything at all.”
Slade moved so fast I couldn’t see his attack—and the plant owner found himself dangling by the neck from a massive fist. “Victor has taken over Brock’s empire. If you wanna fuckin’ live, I suggest you reconsider.”
