Chapter 17 #2
Maltraz nodded. He reached into the breast pocket and produced a slip of paper, unfolded it, and ran his claw along the line items. “Three wolves,” he said, more to himself than to me. “Good. The Asian one—she’s the singer?”
“She is. Fresh off the plane last week. Never even seen a Western city.”
He smiled. “That’s how I like them. Pristine. Uncontaminated by American pop culture.”
He flicked the paper onto the desk. “And the rest?”
“All virgins. All debt-encumbered, none with parents in-country. We’ll have them drugged, bound, and on the boat by dawn.”
Maltraz steepled his fingers, watching me over the points of his claws. “Efficient, as always. I admire your devotion to the craft.”
I tried to keep my hands from trembling. The air was getting thicker by the second. Every breath felt like I was huffing a glue stick.
“We aim to please,” I managed.
Maltraz laughed—a dry, barking sound that set the windows quivering again. “You always have, Waylon. But tonight is special. Tonight, I want a demonstration of your loyalty.”
My spine went cold. “Anything.”
He leaned forward; the chair creaking under his mass. “I want the Lawson wolf. The dancer. I want her in the VIP suite, ready for me before midnight. No substitutions. No excuses.”
Shit.
“Of course,” I said. “She’s been prepped. I’ll have Rage bring her up as soon as you’re ready.”
He smiled again, and this time the teeth looked even sharper. “You are a man of your word.”
He leaned back, plucked a gold cigarette case from his jacket, and tapped one out. The tip was already smoldering. He didn’t light it. It just burned, exuding the same sulfur-and-honey stench that was pouring out of his skin.
I could feel the sweat rolling down my back, pooling at the waistband of my slacks.
Maltraz flicked his eyes to me. “You’re sweating, Mr. Steiner.”
I tried to laugh. “Comes with the territory. Some of these clients are more dangerous than the product.”
He considered that, then shrugged. “True enough.”
He tapped ash onto the Persian rug, watching the embers fizzle out. “I have a particular fondness for the Lawson girl. Her bloodline is rare, almost extinct. Did you know that?”
I nodded, keeping my face blank. Of course I knew. I’d had her file run through three different labs, just to make sure she was as clean as she looked. But I hadn’t known what it meant until Maltraz showed up last month, offering twice the market rate for a confirmed Lawson.
“She’s a special case,” I said. “Very valuable.”
“Indeed.” Maltraz uncrossed his legs, stood, and circled behind my chair. “It would be a shame if anything happened to her before the transfer. Accidents are so… inconvenient.”
He was close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating off him. The hair on my arms stood up.
“She’s secure,” I said. “No one even knows she’s in the building. Not even the staff.”
Maltraz’s hand settled on my shoulder. The pressure was light, almost friendly. But the claws dug in, just a hair.
“Excellent. Because I would be very, very unhappy if she vanished.”
I swallowed. “Understood.”
He let go, stepped around to face me, and smiled once more. “I’ll be in the lounge. When you’re ready, have her brought to me.”
He left without another word; the smell lingered like a bad memory.
The door closed with a soft, final click.
I sat there, staring at the empty chair, trying to keep my heart rate below triple digits.
There was only one problem: Harper wasn’t here. Harper wasn’t anywhere.
She was gone, and now the most dangerous thing on earth was hungry for her blood.
I had ten minutes to invent a miracle, or I was dead.
No—worse than dead.
I was a liability.
I grabbed the phone, punched in Rage’s number, and tried not to scream.
“Find her,” I said when he picked up. “And if you can’t—fake it. Use one of the lookalikes. Just don’t let the demon know we’ve lost the real one. Not until we have a plan.”
Rage grunted, then hung up.
I wiped my hands on my pants, leaving two wet streaks.
I had nine minutes left.
The devil was waiting.
I’d barely gotten my pulse under control when Maltraz called me to the lounge.
The VIP suite was a converted library, all mahogany and velvet, the air humid with spilled liquor and centuries-old books.
The demon sat at a poker table, shuffling a deck one-handed, claws flashing in the lamplight.
The smoke from his cigarette twisted in the air, coiling into animal shapes that vanished just as quick.
A girl in a blue silk robe knelt by his side, hands folded in her lap.
She was pretty enough, but her eyes were empty—dosed to the gills, probably, or just resigned to whatever was coming.
Rage stood in the corner, arms crossed, looking everywhere but at the demon or the girl.
He caught my eye and gave the smallest shake of his head.
We were in deep shit.
Maltraz beckoned me closer. “Have a seat, Mr. Steiner.”
I obeyed, trying to look casual. The girl trembled when Maltraz ran his hand through her hair, but she didn’t flinch or cry.
“Where is my toy?” the demon asked, voice a purr.
I went for the lie, praying it would stick. “She’s on her way up. The handlers are prepping her.”
Maltraz’s smile was gentle. “Is that so?”
He snapped his fingers. The girl at his feet jerked upright, then toppled forward, face down on the carpet.
Out cold. He leaned forward, folding his hands over the cards.
“Let’s not do the dance tonight, Waylon.
You know I hate it when people waste my time.
You dared to lie to me? You know that my boss is the father of lies. ”
I dropped the pretense. “She’s gone.”
He stilled, every muscle locking in place.
“Explain,” he said, and the word shook the table.
“She was taken,” I said. “Last week. Out of the alley. No trace. We’ve combed the city, the cameras, everything.”
Maltraz stood, slow, letting the chair grind against the floor. He was on me in a heartbeat, faster than I could react. One clawed hand wrapped my throat; the other slammed into the table, splintering the polished wood. He lifted me until my feet left the floor.
“Who took her?” His breath was pure brimstone.
“We don’t know,” I choked out. “Someone good. They wiped our security, spoofed our trackers. It was clean.”
He squeezed just a fraction. “You have ten seconds to give me something useful.”
I flailed, desperate. “I have the footage. The week before she was taken. There was a man who paid large for her. But the video footage was blurred. We got one shot from the main floor. But it’s just a face.”
He dropped me. I collapsed onto the carpet, gasping.
Maltraz knelt beside me, his face a mask of rage. “Show me.”
I staggered to my feet and led him down the hall to the surveillance room. The wall was a mosaic of monitors, all blank except for one, playing a loop of the alley behind the club. I cued up the footage, hands shaking.
“This is the last sighting,” I said, voice hoarse.
The video showed Harper walking to the truck behind Rage. He rounded the truck. When she grabbed the door handle, she vanished. Then another monitor showed two weeks before when a man paid for her in a VIP room. Before the video blurred, there was a second his face was clear.
Maltraz leaned in, nose inches from the screen. His eyes glowed brighter, casting a red light over the keyboard.
“That’s the only good frame,” I said. “Everything else is static. But the way he moved—military, for sure. Special ops, maybe.”
Maltraz was silent for a full minute. Then he smiled wide and terrible, showing every tooth in his head.
“Arsenal,” he said, savoring the word. “Iron Valor Pack.”
The name hit me like a punch to the gut. Iron Valor. The pack we’d crossed a few months ago, when we’d paid back a debt to Verdant Hollow by allowing them to use Morgantown in some messed up shit against Iron Valor.
Maltraz turned to me, his expression flat. “Sorry Waylon. Our little slave is off the table.”
I shook my head, not trusting my mouth to work.
“The Council is watching me when it comes to Iron Valor. It means I cannot touch her or them, at least for now.” He flicked a claw at the screen. “She is off the table. Unless something changes.”
I swallowed, my mind racing. “You want me to let it go?”
His eyes narrowed. “No. I want you to find something better. Something more valuable. The sister, perhaps.”
I tried to hide my relief. “We have a line on her. Paris. We don’t have an exact location, but we’re close.”
Maltraz’s mood changed instantly. The monster faded, replaced by a slick, predatory calm. “That’s different,” he said, voice almost playful. “As long as she’s not in Iron Valor hands, she’s fair game.”
He clapped me on the back, hard enough to rattle my bones. “You usually deliver, Waylon. Don’t disappoint me again. And if you ever lie to me again, it will be the last time.”
I nodded, already plotting the next move.
Maltraz left the surveillance room with a swirl of sulfur and smoke. The air cleared, and I was alone, staring at the frozen image of the man who’d cost me my prize.
Arsenal. That son of a bitch. I called Leo in. “Pull a file on Arsenal from the Iron Valor Pack.”
He had it in my hands in less than an hour. I scrolled through every detail: ex-military, owns a gun shop, Iron Valor’s Sergeant at Arms. The kind of guy who’d cut your throat and eat a sandwich while you bled out.
I stared at his photo, memorizing every line.
The game had changed, but I was still in it.
Tonight, I’d lost a pawn. Next time, I’d take the queen.
“Prep the Paris team,” I said. “We’re moving on Lawson’s sister.”
Leo didn’t ask questions. “ETA?”
“I want to move on this within the week. I want her on a plane as soon as possible.”
“Understood.” His fingers flew across his keyboard.
I sat back, letting the tension melt out of my shoulders. The club below throbbed with bass, a thousand strangers getting off to the women grinding before them oblivious to the war brewing above their heads.
I watched the monitors for a while, letting the city’s light blur together.
Let them think they’d won. Let Iron Valor celebrate.
The next round was already mine.