2. Cane

"Bossman doesn't like people trying to fuck him over."

Cane watched one of his trusted men loom over a terrified-looking Jones, who had been bound to a chair in the center of the room.

The room they were in was nothing more than a glorified broom closet, all concrete walls and damp floors. A single light bulb swinging from the ceiling cast a murky yellow light, and a solitary chair was barely staying together under the weight of the man in it.

Cane might have gone a bit overboard with the action movie-inspired, bad guy-owned interrogation room, but he did love a classic. And it got the message across, the message being: this sad excuse of a space might be the last fucking thing you'll see if you don't tell me what I want to know.

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and slinging one ankle across the other. The picture of casual serenity. He was boiling on the inside though. Months of tracking down vague clues as to where his money was disappearing had made him very grumpy.

His business was hemorrhaging. Slowly. Little by little. So little he hadn't even noticed it at first, the run of ‘bad luck.' It wasn't uncommon in this field for things to not go smoothly, but Cane had started to notice a pattern lately that disturbed him.

A drip leaking from a full bucket would eventually empty it.

Cane wasn't about to let that happen.

"Tell Cane he can go fuck himself." Jones spat, blood splattering all over the run-down concrete floor.

"I can hear you just fine," Cane said, uncrossing his legs and taking a stalking step toward his underling.

He looked worse for wear even by Cane's fucked-up standards. There was blood gushing out of an open wound on his left cheek, and Cane was pretty sure he'd just stepped on one of his teeth. There went his ambition to have a necklace made out of the teeth of his enemies. He'd never get it done if he kept destroying the parts for it.

"Then let me go!" Jones screeched, voice cracking and eyelids barely open as he looked up into Cane's eyes. "I already told you everything I know."

Cane tilted his head, stepping closer and looming over the man. "So you say," he said. "But see…I'm having a hard time believing that."

"I'm telling you the truth," Jones said, bound hands starting to shake now that Cane was actually there. It always went like that. They all acted tough as shit when they thought he wasn't around.

The moment he appeared, all bets were off. There was whimpering, blubbering, peeing of pants and throwing up of lunches.

He would have been flattered if it weren't getting so fucking old.

"L-look, I don't know what happened, okay?" Jones rushed to say, tripping over his words. "You have to believe me. Please!"

"There's no use in pleading," Cane said. "The only way you're walking out of this room is if you tell me who you work for."

"I work for you!" Jones said.

Cane rolled his eyes outwardly, even though he felt the burn of rage deep in his chest. A cowardly traitor and fucking slow too. The worst combination.

"You have one more chance." Cane shrugged. "I don't know who's on the other side, but I'm willing to bet I can do much, much worse than they can."

"But—"

"So the way I see it—" Cane turned his back on Jones, shooing his enforcer out of the room and rolling up his sleeves. "—your options are limited to who can kill you more."

"That doesn't even make sense!"

"I don't have to make sense." Cane walked over to the corner of the room and gripped the leather straps of his bag of wonders. He pulled the bag into the middle of the room, shitty light bouncing off the worn-out surface of it.

"W-what's that?" Jones asked.

Cane crouched next to the bag, his legs spread and elbows resting on top of them. He laced his fingers together between his knees, balancing on the balls of his feet. Jones's eyes were wild as he looked around the room, searching for any possibility of hope or escape. There was none.

"All of my favorite things," Cane said. "You've probably heard the rumors, right? And you've definitely heard the one about what happens to people who betray me."

Jones bit his bloody lips. "Cane, you have to believe me. I don't know what happened."

Cane hummed. "I'm feeling generous today, so I'm gonna give you one more chance to tell me who's behind this. Just one name and you never have to see what's in the bag."

"Please, please," Jones whimpered. "I just found myself there. It was like I woke up from a bad dream, and then I didn't know what to do so I just went along with her. I couldn't get out of it!"

Cane's head whipped up.

"Her?" he asked, smirking. Just one person came to mind who identified as a female that had it out for him. "Gloria."

Whatever color had remained in the guy's face drained completely. Terror took over in a split second, and Cane reveled in it. Fear had a smell. Rancid and uncomfortable when it entered your nose, but Cane loved it. Especially when it meant he was right.

"No…no, please, she said she'd kill me if I said anything!" Jones shook his head wildly, eyes wide and snot dripping down toward his lips to mix with the blood. "It was just some information. That's all! I didn't do anything else. She was going to kill me if I didn't keep giving her something. Once she gets a hold on you, she won't let go! I didn't mean to cross you, Cane. Please…"

"Oh, I know you didn't." Cane reached for the zipper and pulled it open, the metallic sound loud in the small space. "But I find it offensive that you seem to be more scared of Gloria than me. It hurts my feelings."

"I didn't mean to…I didn't mean to…" Jones repeated, a pathetic little sound breaking from his trembling lips when Cane pulled out a set of pliers and set them on the ground. "It was already done before I could stop myself."

The excuses were getting tired, and so was Cane.

"You should have given me a name at the start. I would have made this quick and easy."

"I'm sorry," Jones cried, shaking his head and watching in horror as item after item appeared from Cane's bag to join the pliers on the floor. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Cane picked up a small metal hammer, the handle custom carved just for him. Not a lot of people knew, but it carried the same intricate design as the tattoo on his calf—one of the first ones he'd ever got. Wildflowers and bones.

The hammer was infused with caster magic. Paid for handsomely to make sure it broke bone every time it was used.

He gripped it before standing and walking toward the man, then paused.

Cane blew a breath out through his nose as he watched Jones's squirming, blubbering figure begging him under his breath.

The night hadn't exactly gone as planned, that was for sure. But he'd found out where the leak was.

Gloria's pathetic attempts to take over his business and territory by using a guy who knew next to nothing weren't going to be solved by Cane offing him. There would be no satisfaction gained from it. Only more work.

Cane growled and stashed the hammer in his back pocket before bridging the rest of the distance. Jones curled up as much as he could in defense, squeezing his eyes shut.

Cane pulled out a switchblade and released his bonds.

Jones blinked.

"If I see you in Slatehollow again, I won't be as generous," Cane said in a low, menacing voice.

Jones let out a choked breath of relief before his face clouded over again. "What about Gloria?"

Cane grabbed him by his shirt and hauled him upright. "She'll be too busy dealing with me." He shoved Jones away from him, sending him stumbling against the wall. "Now get lost before I change my mind and put a couple hundred slates on your head for whoever is willing."

Jones hurried to the door, shakily opening it.

"See him out," Cane said to his enforcer, who was still waiting.

He got a raised brow, but the guy did as he was told without questions, pulling a bloody Jones behind him.

Cane ran a hand over his face, wondering what the fuck had just happened. Not a single word that had come out of Jones's mouth had made any sort of sense, and yet the damage was done and Cane could feel it clearly.

He wished he had the time to mull it over, but he had a fight to oversee to try and recoup at least some of the lost revenue.

He was about to walk out when someone knocked on the door.

"WHAT?" Cane whipped around to find Ares raising a placating hand in the air.

His dark hair was braided close to his scalp, the long end of it draped over one shoulder. He had almost as many piercings as Cane did and had him beat on the amount of tattoos covering every visible inch of skin.

"Sorry to interrupt, boss, but…" Ares took in the state of the room with curious eyes. Cane knew he'd be pissy about not being included. "Liquidating? Without me? I'm hurt."

"Not this time," Cane said through his teeth. "But we do have shit to look into."

"And not just here," Ares said, his face twisting into a grimace. "You should probably come up."

"Fine!" Cane slammed the door behind himself, striding through a maze of narrow hallways and entering the main area of his warehouse.

It was nothing like the space they'd just vacated. This was decked out to high heaven. Cushy seats surrounded a massive cage in the center of the room. There were several bars scattered around the place serving every drink imaginable. Beautiful hosts and hostesses in provocative clothes meandered around, bringing food and drinks to patrons. The top level was reserved for glass private booths, the richest and most powerful preening from up high as they watched the lowlifes below. Pricks.

Cane surveyed the room, not noticing anything out of the ordinary at first.

There was a fight about to begin, the two men in the cage shirtless and rowdy, waiting to throw down. The crowd was pumped and cheering, bets being placed and threats being made.

But then something caught his eye.

A hostess was walking past him with a tray of bottles, the fancy, glittering kind that rarely came down from the top shelf. There were five of them on her tray, which was strange enough. He'd seen two bottles go at a time, max. That was thousands of slates' worth sitting right there, and instead of walking toward the VIP sections where the high rollers sat, she was making her way to the lower tables.

What the fuck?

"Desiree?" he barked.

She spun around, a little surprised. "Yes, boss?"

"Who ordered those? Did they pay already?"

"Pay?" Desiree blinked. "I thought they were free."

"Free!" Cane growled, snatching a bottle from the tray. "This is worth more than your college tuition. Are you trying to fuck with me?"

"N-no!" she stammered. "Tess at the bar told me to take them to the table. That they were free bottles. I had nothing to do with it, I swear!"

"Take them back to the bar, and don't give out anything else unless it's paid for. Nothing in this place is free, not even the air. Got it?"

She nodded diligently, hurrying off.

Cane was about to follow in her footsteps, determined to get to the bottom of whatever the fuck had come over his people when Ares grabbed him on the shoulder.

"Problem's this way, Boss."

"That wasn't the problem?" Cane asked.

Ares grimaced again, nodding over to a guy lounging at one of the tables in the corner. He had a cigar hanging from his mouth, sunglasses on, scantily clad girls on each arm fawning all over him, and more girls and guys milling around the area, posing.

It wasn't anything that stood out to Cane as weird. His clientele weren't exactly run of the mill, so what if this guy looked like he'd come out of an old movie? The things that did catch his attention were the slates that were being exchanged and the very obvious way people were approaching and leaving with girls and guys to the bathrooms or shady spots.

Now Cane knew people traded in more than fights in his place. He usually overlooked it. But a guy thinking he could run shit under Cane's nose was a completely different story.

"Motherfucker."

"I don't know who let him in," Ares said.

"Well I know who'll be seeing him out." Cane stormed over to the table with Ares hot on his heels, getting pawed at by multiple sets of hands as soon as he was close.

It was like fighting an army of breasts and ass cheeks.

"Hey!" Cane yelled at the man across the low table. "Idiot!"

The guy peered over the rims of his shades. "Had a problem with one of the dolls, fella? I'm sorry. We don't compensate for busting early. Take that up with your momma."

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck.

"This is my fucking place, asshole. I'll bust your face all over this table if you keep on talking, and then I'll go visit your momma. How about that?"

The guy pouted. "Uncool, man. Very uncool."

Cane had entered the fucking multiverse or something. This guy couldn't be real. "Who the fuck let you in here?"

"There was no guy at the door, then I got inside and some other dude said I could do trade. So I set up shop," the guy said easily.

The vein in Cane's head was about to explode. There was no fucking way. "No one was on security?"

"Nah, fella." He took a drag on his cigar. "Thought it was a bit strange, but to each his own."

Cane's head whipped around, expecting to find Ares ready to receive an order, but he was nowhere to be found. A ruckus to his left showed him fending off a woman who was trying to brain him with an eight-inch plastic stiletto, and behind him, the two fighters in the ring were…kissing?

Cane tried to make sense of it all. Tried to find an explanation. But nothing came.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS GOING ON IN MY WAREHOUSE?!" he shouted.

A few people looked over at him.

"Bad night? I got a girl for that. Or a guy. Or both."

Rage catching in his throat, Cane rushed to his office, slamming the door behind him and grabbing his phone. He stood against the tall glass overlooking the entire space, listening as the call went through.

"Candy Cane!"

Cane held the phone away from his ear, squeezing his eyes shut and reminding himself that one: the cursebreaker brought in a lot of money with his fights, and two: he was a fucking cursebreaker and people would notice if he went missing way too quickly for Cane to get away with it.

"I don't need your shit right now," he hissed.

"Why'd you call me then?" Ash asked, one of his damned lollipops rattling over his teeth as he spoke.

"The ring is cursed."

Ash dropped the annoying act immediately. "Cursed how? What's happening?"

"A whole lot of bullshit that's not supposed to be happening," Cane said through clenched teeth, looking through the window at the chaos unfolding.

"Yeah, man, you're giving me nothing," Ash said. "I'm gonna need a bit more detail than that."

"I walked out of a…conversation tonight to find one of my bartenders handing out top shelf liquor as freebies."

"You think you're cursed because you have a shit bartender?"

"Two of my fighters are fucking dry humping in the middle of the ring as we speak," he growled, watching the new kid attacking the other fighter with hickeys instead of the right hooks he was known for.

"Is it hot?" Cane heard an unfamiliar voice ask.

"Not now, pipsqueak," Ash whispered before returning to the call. "Okay, so freebies and two dudes going at it. Not really curse material, I don't think."

"There's a pimp running game like he's moved in and telling me to take my stroke game up with my mother. My security just walked off the job to fuck knows where, and a hooker is attacking Ares with a stiletto. As we speak I'm watching Moore buy Sebastian Aster a drink."

"Moore got Aster a drink?" Ash asked.

The two crime bosses had a notorious feud that went back generations. Everyone knew about it, because they didn't shut up about it. Family this. Family that. But apparently they were breaking bread right now without an issue, laughing and clinking glasses.

"Yup."

"Wait…" Ash said. "A pimp asked you if you were an early shot?"

"Yes!" Cane grated out, just about ready to find the cursebreaker and delete him.

"Yeah, no, you're absolutely cursed," Ash said.

"Fuck you," Cane said. "When can you be here?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you!" Cane snapped, ignoring the twist in his stomach before he said the next words. "Are there any other cursebreakers I have the displeasure of knowing?"

"No, and even if you did I'd be your favorite," Ash said. "But this isn't my domain, man."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Cane asked. "You're a cursebreaker. I'm cursed. Break it."

"I'm a bonding curse expert," Ash said, and fuck Cane's life, he'd never thought to ask what Ash actually did. "As far as you've described, nobody there sounds like they're bonded to anything."

Cane watched people coming and going freely. Didn't seem like they were bonded, but what the fuck did he know?

"Then what the hell does it sound like?"

"Hmm. Let me think. So it's not me, there are no animals involved, so Wren's not it. I doubt it's object related since there are so many varied cases, so Midas is out too. That leaves Black, Fix, and Hart. Anyone dead?"

"If orders were followed, yes," he threw out just because.

"I meant anyone who's not meant to be," Ash said.

"No, not yet. They seem to be having a jolly good time."

Ash laughed. "Where the hell did you learn that from? You sound like my brother."

Cane gritted his teeth. "Can we focus?"

"Right, so no guts spilled, no eyeballs rolling around, no maggots crawling from skulls, that kinda thing?" Ash double-checked.

"No," Cane growled again, "but those are all good ideas. Who can I pay to do that to you?"

"Cursebreaker blood, baby. Can't be cursed no matter how much you wish it upon my sweet, sweet ass."

Cane rolled his eyes at Ash's smug cockiness.

"But since there's none of that grossness," Ash continued. "That means Black is out too, so you can thank your lucky stars for that. That narrows it down to interpersonal or nuisance curses. No way for me to know for sure, sadly."

"Not even if you came down here?"

"Nope," Ash said. "But on the bright side, Hart and Fix are the best at what they do. They'll sort you out. I'll send them over first thing tomorrow morning."

"Hart," Cane said slowly, his heart jumping at the name in time with the strobe lighting streaking by. "Uppity? Three-piece suits? Stick shoved up his ass?"

They weren't really questions.

"Aww, it's like you know him," Ash crooned. "Yes, that's him. Why? You got a crush, Candy Cane?"

"Bright and early, Cursebreaker," Cane said, dropping the call and leaning his forearms against the cool glass.

He could take the hit of some fights going astray and the bar tab being way off. He wouldn't be ruined by it. As long as it got handled as fast as possible, he'd be fine. There was no reason for panic to creep up his spine. He'd ignore the ghost of a mocking laugh in his ear.

At least he had the uptight little cursebreaker to look forward to.

Bright side, Cane.

Look on the bright fucking side.