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Kori blinked, and I glimpsed something she was about to dance around, without actually denying—a trick syndicate employees learned quickly. “You will never find a better financial opportunity than what Jake is offering you. You’ll never find a syndicate with better security or fringe benefits. But if you go into this thinking you can work Jake Tower with a smile and a joke, he will roast you alive, feast on your flesh, then pick his teeth with your fucking bones.”
“That may be the most honest thing you’ve said yet.” But I felt my smile slipping. “Colorful, too.”
Kori sank into her chair again, and I watched her face as understanding bled into fear for a moment before her defenses slammed into place and left me staring at a carefully blank expression. But she couldn’t undo what I’d seen. She’d shown me a glimpse of the gritty reality beneath the shining surface of Tower’s empire, and that wasn’t supposed to happen. At least, not until I had a chain link tattooed on my arm.
“So now what?” She gripped the arms of her chair like it was all that was holding her up.
“Now you take me out on the town. Show me the syndicate in its natural habitat.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Is there anything I can show you that’ll make a damn bit of difference?”
“Why else would I be here?”
Kori sat straighter, eyes flashing again, this time with new understanding. Possibility. “You need something from him.” I could practically see the bulb flare to light over her head, and I wanted to smile. “I’m a bad recruiter. I’m a suck-ass recruiter, but you haven’t even flinched over anything I’ve said or done, and that means you need something bad enough that you don’t care what you’d have to sign to get it.”
I arched one brow at her. “I do care what I’d have to sign over. But I also know that nothing in life is free.”
She frowned, like that cliché meant more than it should have for her, and I wondered what she’d paid for whatever she got out of signing with Tower. “So tell me what you need, and I’ll get it for you.”
I shook my head slowly. “That’s not how the game is played.” Because if she knew that what I needed was her sister’s corpse, she’d try to kill me where I sat. So why was I more disturbed by the thought of being hated by her than of being killed by her?
“Fuck the game. I don’t wanna play.”
“You don’t have any choice,” I said, and fury rolled over her in waves almost thick enough for me to taste.
“Don’t ever say that to me,” she growled, her hands clenched around the chair arms so tightly I was afraid she might break them off.
I exhaled slowly, backing carefully away from whatever psychological land mine I’d nearly stepped on. “That’s not what I meant. You have to play the game because I have to play the game. I want something Tower won’t want to give. Which puts me in a pretty difficult position.”
Kori actually rolled her eyes. “I don’t think you fully appreciate how badly Jake wants to secure your services. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t give you, if you ask nicely and do a little ass kissing. Money. Car. Apartment. Women. Hell, men, if that’s what you like.”
“I don’t—” I started, but she spoke over me.
“Recreational chemicals …” Drugs, of course. “Fine art. Exotic pets. A surrogate mother for your unborn child. He’d give you nearly anything, short of his own wife and kids.” She stopped abruptly, forehead furrowed with a sudden unpleasant thought. “Please tell me you don’t want his wife. Asking for Lynne would get us both killed.”
I scowled, repulsed by the thought. “No, I don’t want his wife.”
“What, then? Tell me, and I’ll get it.”
I arched both brows, trying to hide a grin. “You should be careful what you offer a man you just met. What if I asked you to kill someone for me?”
“You wouldn’t.” She leaned back in her chair, obviously comfortable with her assessment of me.
“You don’t know me, or what I want, or what I’m capable of. But I’m telling you that what I need, Tower’s not going to want to give me. So if you want to make your boss happy you may have to go around him to get it. Are you willing to do whatever that takes?”
Kori watched me, her expression carefully blank, her gaze steady and colder than I’d seen since the moment we met. “Maybe you belong here after all.”
Seven
Kori
“It all begins with the grunts. The foot soldiers, with just one chain link,” I said, when we were far enough from the doormen that they wouldn’t overhear me explaining the inner workings of the Tower syndicate to a man without marks.
“The bottom layer of the pyramid?” Holt said as we crossed the covered hotel entrance and stepped onto the sidewalk, greeted by honking horns, the bite of exhaust, and what little breeze reached downtown from the river.
“Exactly.” I wasn’t sure how much he already knew, so I started from the beginning. “This is the rank I highly suggest you skip, and I don’t think Jake will balk at that, if you ask nicely.”
“What’s he like?”
“Jake? He’s disciplined. Patient.” In the same way a cat is willing to wait as long as it takes for the best shot at its prey. “Jake likes order. Rules. Straight lines and neat little boxes. I couldn’t walk a straight line even stone-cold sober and neat boxes tremble in my presence. Which is probably why I’m constantly in trouble.”
“You? Trouble? I am shocked and appalled.”
I glanced up to see Holt watching me with no hint of a smile. “You may be the most sarcastic man I’ve ever met.”
“It’s a gift.” We stopped at the corner, but only had to wait a second for the light to change so we could cross the street. “So, what is a grunt’s primary duty?” Ian asked as soon as we stepped onto the opposite curb.
“Depends on the color of the mark. Rust is the most common. A rust-colored mark means unSkilled muscle. They’re sentries, on the lookout for anything that doesn’t belong. And they’re everywhere, whether you see them or not. They do much more than the police to keep crime rates down on this side of town.”
Unauthorized crime, anyway. No one intervened when Tower ordered someone found, punished or killed. But that was one of the things we didn’t talk about. One of many.
Ian glanced at the people all around us, carrying shopping bags, having breakfast at the outdoor tables spilling onto the sidewalk from various restaurants, or just rushing to and from wherever they had to be on a Saturday morning. “What’s green?” He nodded toward a woman stepping out of a coffee shop with a cardboard container of steaming paper cups. The two chain links on her arm were the color of tarnished copper.
“Green is for unSkilled service. She’s a secretary, or accountant, or something like that. She’s not muscle, but she’s not Skilled, either.”
“And there are red marks, too, I assume?”
“Yeah. Red for the skin trade, same as for most other syndicates, but they don’t work on the street. Private appointments only. Their clientele is established and wealthy, and unlike Cavazos, Tower marks them on their arm, same as all the other initiates. He doesn’t see the point of either degrading or hiding them by putting the marks on their thighs.”
Holt’s brows rose. “Prostitutes are people, too?”
“It’s just another way to serve.” I couldn’t spit the lie out fast enough. “Of course, whatever you want would be on the house—at least until he marks you.”
Ian scowled, and I wasn’t surprised. Jake was right; Holt didn’t want a whore.
“And your mark?” he asked, glancing at the half sleeve covering the top quarter of my left arm.
“Iron-colored links are for Skilled initiates, no matter what the position. I’m security, obviously, though no longer on Tower’s personal guard.”
“Why not? Did Tower get a splinter on your watch?”
Yeah. A big metal splinter to the chest. “Something like that.”
“So, after you recruit me—assuming you recruit me—what will your job be?”
“I don’t know.” I would never work as Jake’s guard again, nor would I be trusted to protect his wife or kids. “General security, maybe. Like the guards stationed every where at the party.”
Ian grimaced. “That sounds boring as hell.”
But I’d take boring over the basement any day.
“What would I be doing?” he asked, as we turned another corner.
“Whatever Jake needs done. Blinding the opposition. Punching holes in a defensive infrared grid, so his men can get in.”
“But we’re talking about crime, right? Criminal enterprise?”
I hesitated, trying to decide what he wanted to hear, and how best to merge that with the truth. “That sounds a little …”
“True?”
“Yeah.” I frowned. “That sounds a little true. Also, insufficient. Not all of the syndicate’s business is illegal. Some of it’s just highly discouraged by legal, spiritual and political authorities.”
“Semantics.” He brushed off my reply with an ironic grin. “What are we talking about? What’s his bread and butter?”
I hesitated, weighing my options.
“What’s wrong?” Holt glanced at me as we stepped onto another crosswalk. The light changed before we were halfway across the street, but no one bothered walking faster.
“I’m not sure I’m allowed to answer the kind of questions you’re asking now, but I’m supposed to do whatever it takes to keep you interested. Which means I’m walking the line between a couple of conflicting orders.” And if I actually got caught between them, my body would tear itself apart trying to obey both at once.
“I’d never intentionally put you in that position,” Ian said. “So if I ask something you can’t answer, just tell me and I’ll withdraw the question.”
I frowned up at him, trying to decide whether or not he was serious. Nice guys didn’t usually last long in syndicate life. Neither did nice girls, which was why I’d signed on to protect Kenley.
“Have you ever been bound?” I asked, and his sudden, startled look darkened quickly into something I couldn’t interpret.
“No. So, no, I’ve never felt resistance pain, if that’s what you’re getting at. Nor have I been caught between conflicting orders. Have you?” he asked, watching me carefully, and I nodded. “What’s it like?”
“It’s like dying, in slow motion. One piece of you at a time …” But my words faded into silence when a pair of unfamiliar eyes caught my gaze from several feet ahead on the sidewalk. I pretended not to notice, but it took real effort to keep tension from showing in my step. The stranger had glanced at me, but his gaze lingered on Ian, and his casual stance was as false as my grandmother’s teeth.
The would-be poacher was young, which hopefully meant he was inexperienced, but I was unarmed, which automatically put me at a disadvantage.
I prattled on for several more steps without really listening to myself. Waiting. Hoping Holt wouldn’t freak out when the shit hit the fan. You never can tell with civilians. And finally, as we stepped even with a narrow alley, a hand grabbed my right arm from behind and something sharp poked me to the left of my spine, through the thin cotton of my blouse.
“Scream, and I’ll cut you,” a young voice whispered into my ear, and I rolled my eyes as he pulled me into the alley. Ian didn’t even get a chance to look surprised before a second man—this one bald—shoved him after us.
“You okay?” Ian asked me, his voice soft and taut with caution as he backed away from the bald man, who carried a knife no one on the street would be able to see. If anyone noticed us at all. With any luck, no one would.
“I’m good,” I said, stepping carefully as I was tugged steadily backward. “They don’t want me. You feel like being abducted today?”
“Wasn’t on the agenda, no.” Ian stopped with his back to the brick wall, halfway between the bald man and the one holding his knife at my back.
“Plans change,” Baldy said. “Come with us quietly, or he’ll gut your girlfriend.”
I rolled my eyes again. This was a farce of an abduction at best. “First of all, I’m not his girlfriend. Second, it’s kind of hard to gut someone from behind, dumb ass.”
The hand around my arm tightened, and the first fiery threads of anger blazed up my spine. “Anyone ever tell you your mouth is going to get you in trouble one day?”
“Only hourly,” I said, and Ian laughed without taking his attention from the bald man’s knife.
“Last chance,” Baldy said.
Ian glanced at me, brows raised in question. “What do you think?”
I shrugged, in spite of the knife at my back. “Well, they’re not total morons. Knives instead of guns, so no one will hear gunshots. And they’ve got balls, coming after you in broad daylight. That one’s a Traveler,” I said, nodding at the bald man. “I’d bet my last drop of vodka on it.”
Ian frowned. “How do you know?”
“Because the other one can’t drag you through the shadows while he’s threatening my life.”
Baldy scowled, and I gloated silently.
“So should I go with them?” Ian asked, and I could hear the amusement in his voice. He was neither scared nor rattled, and I was pleasantly surprised.
“Nah.” I twisted away from the knife at my back and pulled the man holding my arm off balance. He stumbled, and I jerked my arm from his grip, then faced off against him with my feet spread for balance. “I’d hold out for a better offer.”
Knife guy reached for me, and I kicked his kneecap from the side. He crashed to the concrete on one hip and swung his blade at my leg. I kicked the knife from his grip, then stomped on his hand, satisfied by the crunch of several bones, and even more satisfied by his howl of pain.
Something scuffed against concrete behind me, and I twisted to see Baldy lunge for Ian.
Shit! I started toward them, but stopped, surprised when Ian simply stepped out of his path, then slammed Baldy’s wrist into the corner of the Dumpster. The knife clattered to the concrete at his feet, and Ian kicked it beneath the Dumpster. His motions were smooth and fast, and he hadn’t come close to breaking a sweat.
The man on the ground in front of me pushed himself up with his good hand, and I squatted to snatch his lost knife. When he stood, I stepped up behind him and held his own blade at his throat. He stiffened, good leg holding most of his weight, arms out at his sides, and I almost laughed. “I take it back. You are a complete moron.”
“Who are you?” he asked, in spite of the blade I held.
“Kori Daniels. Why? Were you expecting Little Miss Muffet?”
“Daniels? No shit? That’s just my fuckin’ luck,” he said, and his voice shook, in spite of false bravado. “I bet two hundred dollars they’d find you facedown in the river.”
I shook my head, though I’d had similar thoughts, myself. “So now you’re stupid and poor.”
The bald man grunted, and I looked up to see Ian’s left fist crash into his face. Again. His head slammed into the brick wall—hard—and a cut appeared on his right cheek. Then his eyes closed and he slid down the wall to slump on the ground, unconscious.
Ian stepped out of reach in case the bald man woke up. A hint of a grin rode one corner of his mouth when he saw me gaping at him. “Why do you look so surprised?”
“Because I’m so surprised.” Jake didn’t know Ian could fight; if he had, he would have told me.
I considered that new information for a second, trying to decide how long I could get away with silence on the matter, while the man in front of me breathed shallowly in concession to the knife at his throat. “What’s your name?”
“John Smith,” he spat. And that was exactly the alias I’d expected—a generic fuck-you to the question no one with half a brain would ever voluntarily answer.
I slid the knife beneath the short left sleeve of John’s shirt and he flinched when I split the material with one upward stroke. The cotton flaps parted to reveal a single iron-colored ring. No surprise there. “How much is Cavazos offering for Holt?”
“Hundred grand, unharmed. Seventy-five, if he’s bruised or bleeding.”
I glanced at Ian over John’s shoulder, brows raised in appreciation. “Not bad. But he’ll go higher.” I stepped back from John and shoved him hard enough that he fell to his knees in front of me, facing Ian.
