Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Huntley

T he RedRum is the kind of club where the pounding beat of emo-screamo music and the throaty cries of dark and dirty orgasms drain away the stresses of a bad night—at least, most nights.

Loud. Anonymous. It is the perfect place for someone in any of the ‘other' races to dissolve and devolve after living in the fucked-up shadows of the Toronto streets.

The owner, J.D., and his Otherworld staff run the place with an iron fist of discretion, but also have their fingers on the pulse of the city.

If something is afoot, they either know about it or know who does. It is a one stop shop for anything and everything.

No rules.

"Where are we right now?" Jaxon takes in our surroundings, his head swiveling around like it's mounted on a pike. "You've been holding out on me."

I roll my eyes. "Stop staring. We've got enough trouble on our plates without you pissing off a Nephilim or a warlock."

His gaze widens. "A Nephilim? You're screwing with me, right?"

I scan the booths along the side wall and tilt my head. "You see the redhead with the tats, and the spank black wings? That's the Celt. He's one of the Watcher garrison—the dark angels that police demons feeding in the city."

"Demon killers. Cool. I can get behind putting those fuckers down. And the blond guy beside him with the turquoise eyes?"

I turn my full attention on Jaxon so this might sink in. "That's his ice demon husband. So, if the Celt heard you spout off just now about demons, we'd be getting our asses handed to us."

Jaxon frowns and holds up a finger. "First off, I know how to apologize."

"You won't have to apologize if you say nothing."

Another finger goes up. "Second, I think we could hold our own in a vampire versus dark angel brawl."

I peg him with a droll glare. "No, we can't. We'd be destroyed in minutes and then J.D. would kick us out and we wouldn't get the answers we came for."

He casts the couple in the booth a skeptical look. "They don't look so tough."

I fight the urge to pound my fist into his face and lean in. "The first thing Bran taught me when my training started was that there will always be fighters in the room who are bigger, badder, and stronger than you. Do you see the ink on the Celt?"

"It's hard to miss. The guy is covered: arms, chest, neck. I wonder how far south that fretwork goes. Do you think it's everywhere?"

Fucking hell. He's going to get us both killed .

"Yes, and every bit of that fancy fretwork marks a kill. The guy is immortal and has been slaying for the Choir of Angels for millennia. Now, please, shut the fuck up or go wait for me in the car."

Jaxon makes the universal sign of buttoning his lips and I pray he can do it. On any other night, I wouldn't have brought him here.

This isn't any other night.

When we arrive at the bar, Jaxon climbs onto the seat next to me and casts a sidelong glance. "How do you know so much about the people here?"

I pull a bowl of pretzels over and crunch one. "By hanging out here occasionally and striking up conversation. It's a nuanced science though, so don't try it."

Jax frowns. "You don't think I can hold up my end of a conversation?"

I scoff. "You're one hell of a driver, Jax. Your reflexes behind the wheel are unprecedented and I value you as backup in a scrape, but you can't filter well enough to make conversation here. Please. Keep your pie hole shut tight."

"Rude."

I take that as an agreement and raise my fingers to catch J.D.'s attention.

He slides down the bar and lifts his bearded chin. "What can I get you?"

"Two Scotch rocks, and maybe a bit of local news?" I pull out my billfold, peel two fifties off the outside, and toss them onto the pitted surface of the bar.

"Can't promise anything, but you can ask." He scoops up the cash and then slides two tumblers with ice onto the bar. Grabbing the Glenmorangie off the glass shelves behind the bar, he tips the bottle, giving us each a two-finger pour. "What's on your mind?"

Trading information is a give and take. Unfortunately, I have little to give—for now, anyway.

I press my lips to the glass and toss the liquid bliss back in greedy gulps. "A group of fanger mutts made a move on the Vasari seat tonight. I have it on good authority Francesco and his squire are dead."

"McCullough? That's a damn shame."

Yeah, it is. "I'm wondering who's behind it and who helped them get inside the royal residence."

The guy arches a brow and tops me up. "Those are two big questions."

"Do you have any answers?"

He scans the bar, looking nonchalant. "When liquor flows, there's often talk. People want to rise above their station and alcohol gives them big ideas."

"And have you heard any big ideas that include the Toronto seethe?"

He shrugs. "There's been talk that the king and his son had a parting of ways and the heir apparent fucked off to flex his royal entitlement."

Nothing could be farther from the truth .

Zane isn't some entitled prince. He's smart and strategic and it has killed him to play the idle playboy these past few months.

"And has anyone voiced their desire to rise above their station?"

He shrugs. "No, and I wouldn't expect there would be."

"And why is that?"

He leans in. "Because it's the dark races and mercenary types who come in here. If I were a betting man, I'd say you're looking for someone who wants to take over an empire. The only reason those two groups would cross is to hire muscle to get the job done. Given your comment about the attackers being turned vampires…"

Right. " Whoever is behind this can make their own army."

"That would be my take. Yeah."

I'm still considering who from the true-blood vampire community might want to do that when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, scan the screenshot images of faces popping up on my screen.

The text that comes in next is from Zane:

These men need to die. The woman is mine—she's the one behind this.

I upend my drink and rap my knuckles on the bar. "Thanks for the chat, J.D. Always a pleasure."

Jaxon has the good sense to stay quiet all the way back to the car. He knows I got a text and is practically vibrating with curiosity, but maybe my lecture about him keeping his mouth shut actually sank in.

I fight not to laugh out loud at the thought. Fat chance.

When we're in our seats, I tilt my phone over for him to see. "Zane must have access to the security feed in the residence. He sent us the faces of the ones to take down."

I flick my thumb to swipe the screen and close to two dozen faces stream by.

"Shit. There are a lot of them. I imagined they would've gone in all stealthy and assassinated him slick and quiet. Those images make it look like an invasion."

What he says rings true. The more bodies there, the greater their chance of being discovered and someone sounding the alarm. An assassination team would've been tactically smarter.

Still, Francesco is dead, so who are we to quibble about the wisdom of their coup tactics?

That brings up an important point…

Tapping the text box, I send a question back to Zane:

Are they occupying the residence?

Yes. The bitch left with my father's head, looking very pleased with herself, but her men are still there.

And the members of our seethe?

Some are there. Some got out.

Do we have the numbers to retake the compound?

Not until we know where allegiances lie and how many they have in their army.

What a massive clusterfuck. Instead of continuing a text, I get out of the car and hit the call button, hoping he'll pick up. I may not be his squire, and he may have chosen Scotland over me, but I've earned my place defending the Toronto seat of power.

Zane knows that—doesn't he?

He picks up on the first ring. "Yeah."

"A text stream can be read by anyone. We need to talk. I take it that this is a secure phone?"

"It is."

"Then fuck you, Z. I deserve a fuck ton better than to wake up after having my neck snapped and learn you ghosted me to be part of Zanland again."

"Zanland? What the fuck does that mean?"

"Zane plus Scotland? Zanland. It's what humans do with the names of super couples."

"Humans are fucked. Look, I didn't like how we left, but Scottie was in a state. She'd just seen our fathers assassinated and was battered and bleeding. I followed her lead to calm her down."

And there it is. Zane is the king of rationalizing the reasons why he's right and everyone around him needs to suck it up and get with the program.

"I am sorry you didn't succeed Bran, though. You deserved it, and I know you must be reeling."

That's the understatement of the millennium.

I want to ask him if Bran planned to fuck me over all along, but decide to stick with what's in play and focus on what matters. "I'll go to the compound, get the bodies of our dead, and see what I can find out. Are you going back there?"

"Not yet. Until we know who's behind this, the residence holds too many unknowns. We don't know how many of our people are involved in the coup."

"Are you going into hiding?"

"You know me better than that. I've got industries to run. No. We're just playing it smart. Did you recognize any of the faces I sent you?"

"Not the intruders. Just the asshole who betrayed us."

"We need to find out who this woman is and take her down."

"I've been thinking about that, Z. She's turned. What if she isn't behind it? What if she's in charge of the strike force and it's her maker we're looking for?"

"That complicates things."

"It does. I don't want to go into this without considering all the angles. We need to consider who in our world would do this."

"Fair point."

I pause, considering whether I want to continue in that vein of thinking and whether he'll be as receptive to my thoughts. But then… I don't get paid for playing nice.

"Scotland isn't trained to guard you properly, Z. She's been gone for the better part of a decade and isn't up to speed. These are dangerous times. You need someone more qualified watching your back."

Zane exhales on the other end. "Bran wouldn't have chosen her if he didn't think she could do it."

"We both know Bran had a huge blind-spot for his wee angel. In time, she might get there, but not now. That she dropped me and took you out into the world proves how skewed her judgment is."

"That wasn't personal. Scottie doesn't trust anyone right now. She watched Bran die last night and was stabbed in an alley brawl while escaping. She was wholly unprepared for the power transfer, but thinks her father chose her because there's a traitor in the royal guards."

"And she thinks that's me ? That's fucked up."

"Look. She's reeling. I'll talk to her as things settle."

Unbelievable. Even with how badly things ended between us when she left, she knows me better. "The fact that she has so much sway over the situation after I've dedicated over fifteen years of my life to guard you and the crown burns my balls."

"I understand that, and yet, here we are. Bran chose her and we need to adjust for that. So, until things settle, secure the dead and weed out the traitors."

"And what do I do with the ones I find?"

"Confine them if you can, slay them if you must. I'll secure us a location and let you know where to bring them."

"So you can have the privilege of killing them yourself?"

"Fucking right. I'm envisioning a bloody spectacle in the grand hall. A throat-ripping, head-cleaving, body-burning kind of horror show that will set the precedent so that onlookers what they can expect if they come for me."

I chuckle. "Glad to see having your little playmate home isn't taming the beast. Do you think she can handle meeting the real you?"

A growl fills the other end of the conversation. "Focus on your tasks and leave Scottie to me."

"Fine. I'm on it."

"And Huntley, if you get the chance to free their bodies and bring our fathers home…"

"I'll make a point of it."

And I will. Even as angry as I am—and I'm undeniably furious—Bran and Francesco were great men. They deserve respect in their final death. Taking Francesco's head has already crossed a line. If I can liberate their bodies and bring them to Zane and Scotland, I will.

When nothing more comes back, I put my phone away and get into the car. Jaxon is sitting in the driver's seat, looking curious. "And?"

I grab my seatbelt and guide it across my chest. "We're on clean up and recon. Back to the residence."

Zane

After sending Huntley screenshots of the traitors I know of and the identities of the attacking force, I check my watch. It's after four in the morning and a decision must be made. If we stay here any longer, I'll be trapped for the day.

That could go very badly if these upstarts know where we are and are biding their time until they attack. If I were the one orchestrating this, that's what I would do.

I would wait until full light and then attack.

Having me burst into flame and ash during an escape attempt gets the job done just as well as a bloody throw-down. Except, they need my head and the dagger. They can't prove themselves the conquerors of the seethe without the heads of the reigning family and the corresponding dagger.

I glance across the hall to the bedroom where Scottie is sound asleep. Now that her side is healed, she's unconscious.

She went through a lot yesterday and needs rest.

I don't want to wake her and make her move locations, but I also don't want to be locked out of the business if whoever is behind this goes after my seat.

I can't let that happen.

I also can't simply walk into the office tower like nothing happened and expose myself to being killed. Unfortunately, Huntley is right. Scottie is one hell of a scrapper and Bran has taught her to defend herself, but she isn't the one who trained for over a decade to defend me.

I need Huntley on our team.

Prickly as he is, he's also lethal and driven.

I drop my head back and let off a long sigh. Will this night ever end? It feels like my brain is on fast forward and I can't catch up. Staring at the glow of the computer screen all night hasn't done me any favors.

My eyes are burning, and I rub at the ache and yawn.

I need rest too. When the enemy comes for me, I can't be rundown and weak. Where can we go to rest, have access to the business center, and be secure enough that assassins can't come at us the moment we let our guard down?

I open the file folder that lists the properties within the Vasari holdings with those three criteria in mind. There has to be a place. And if I'm going to be of any use today, I have to find it and move us in the next hour.