Chapter 4
Chapter four
Frankie
Iamble down the road, my phone at my ear. Jackson, one of Lirael’s crew, is on the other end, telling me there’s a problem at one of our brothels. Every day, there’s an issue with the brothels, but it’s rarely one of the prostitutes.
Our sex workers are well cared for, with the best medical care possible, and some of the more popular workers bring in thousands a night.
I remember as a kid, prostitution was frowned upon, but these days, it’s a legitimate form of work, albeit still illegal.
In fact, most of the people in our brothels are there of their own volition, with better pay and healthcare than most retail jobs.
“So, she stabbed him, and now you’re trying to keep him from bleeding out in the front parlor?” I pinch the bridge of my nose in annoyance, trying to make sure I heard correctly.
“Yeah. She got him good. Guess he was pushy and has a bad habit of getting rough.”
“Ok, I’m only a few streets away. I’ll swing by and deal with the guy. How’s the girl?” I ask, holding the phone to my ear as I open the door to my car and get in.
“Pissed off, mostly. Terry is calming her down.”
A smile curls my lips at the mention of Terry. They are a force to be reckoned with and they are willing to fight an entire army to protect our workers. Absolutely over the top, theatrical, melodramatic, and quite willing to drop bodies if need be. Though they don’t prefer to do that.
“I’m about ten minutes out. See you when I get there."
I hang up the phone, driving through the city as quickly as traffic will allow me.
This city leaves a lot to be desired with its randomly angled roads.
While downtown itself is set up in a grid, a lot of the other roads are oddly angled and curved, or only one way.
It’s pretty easy to get lost if you are unfamiliar with the city.
Finally, I pull into the parking lot of the condo that we use as one of our “houses of ill repute”.
The building is a three-story clapboard-style, one of five along this particular block that we own.
It’s only a stone’s throw away from The Plaza, a ritzy area of the city filled with upscale boutiques and fancy restaurants.
This particular location caters to exclusivity. We don’t allow just anyone to come through the doors to purchase a few hours with our workers. Customers must submit to a full physical as well as a background check, and all participants must sign an NDA.
What gets me is that the whole thing is nothing but show. Our workers don’t offer anything different than what’s offered in a lot of our other locations; in fact, they are more limited here. This location provides companionship more than a roll in the sheets, not to say that doesn’t happen.
One of the workers spots me through the downstairs window and throws open the door as I approach.
His face is tear-stained, and a bruise is already forming on his jaw.
Anger swirls through me when I see him. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s smaller than I am, or his hair is only a few shades lighter than Seth’s.
Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s looking at me with big doe eyes that are shimmery from his tears.
Either way, the rage is immediate and I storm into the building with claws already extending.
The scene inside is far calmer than I am expecting.
Terry is sitting on the sofa with the woman, talking to her softly as they rub her back.
The moment they see me, Terry gets to their feet, the expression on their face stormy.
They stalk toward me, their springy amber coils dancing across their bare shoulders.
“This isn’t the first time he’s gotten rough. So, if you could kindly kick his ass out of here, that would be appreciated. I can’t care for my lovelies if I have to deal with little homophobic shits like that,” Terry sighs
Terry is always wearing something bright, and today is no different.
Their upper body is mostly bare, save for a dark orange crop top that barely covers their chest and highlights the natural reddish-orange of their hair.
The ankle-length skirt that encircles their thin waist is a rich brown with iridescent blue whirls and accentuates the deep sepia tone of their skin.
“I’ll be doing more than kicking him out of here,” I growl, and Terry’s obsidian eyes light up.
Terry’s always been borderline psycho and, in all honesty, has made a number of the guys in the organization terrified of getting on their wrong side because they have no qualms about hurting people when necessary.
Anyone that lays a hand on our workers in a non-consensual way learns very quickly that Terry is not someone to fuck with.
I’ve helped dispose of quite a few bodies after Terry got through with them, and not all of the bodies were in one piece.
One of the risks of pissing off a kishi.
I find it interesting how they work and protect the women under their employ rather than eat them like in the myths.
However, having the hyena-shifter in our organization has always proven to be more of a pro than a con.
They stop in front of me, the top of their head barely reaching my chin, but I don’t let their small size fool me.
Even in human form the force of their bite can easily amputate appendages.
I keep my arms away from the back of their head, though.
Just in case the myths are right and they have a hyena face underneath all those locks of hair.
“You promise?” Terry looks up at me, their teeth digging into their full bottom lip and despite the anger heating their gaze, there’s also hope. Why Terry is looking at me with that emotion, I can't begin to guess. They are typically enthusiastic about killing.
“You give me the word and I’ll turn them into mincemeat.
” Terry’s shoulders sag in relief and they throw themselves at me, slim arms wrapping around my back as they bury their face in my chest. I blink down at them, unsure if I should be amused or shocked.
Not only do I not typically allow this sort of contact, but Terry usually isn’t this vulnerable.
“Thank you.” Their voice is muffled, and I’m probably the only one that can hear them. “I just repainted the downstairs, and I'm wearing about five thousand dollars in designer clothes.”
I laugh at their honesty, and when they pull away from me, there’s a small smile on their lips. “So, where is this guy? I think I need to take him for a long walk.”
The two workers have disappeared, probably back to their rooms, and I’m relieved.
The one looked far too similar to my current obsession for my comfort, and I wasn’t keen on how it made me feel.
Just the thought of Seth looking like that has my pulse spiking and a growl threatening to spill from my throat.
It makes no sense. Why am I feeling protective over a guy I might need to torture information out of?
Why am I feeling anything for him? And why can’t I get him out of my fucking head?
He’s constantly popping up in my thoughts for no damn reason.
It’s highly inappropriate because I not only have this unbelievable urge to ram my dick into him, I also want to protect him.
I want to go to his house and demand answers from him.
Instead, I do the only thing I can. I force myself to stuff the confusion into a box in my head and hide it away as Terry turns on one heel and sashays deeper into the building.
They lead me into the kitchen, where I find Jackson leaning against the far wall, cleaning the dirt from under his nails with a dagger.
The lion shifter looks bored out of his mind, but I know it's deceptive.
The man keeping him company looks worse for wear. Long, greasy blonde hair falls across his oily face, partially hiding the gag stuffed into his mouth. Zip ties bind his hands in front of him, a few of his fingers bent in unnatural angles. Looks like someone already went to town on him.
Jackson pushes away from the wall, sheathing the dagger as he stands by the guy. The asshole glances over at me, watery blue eyes narrowed in pain and anger. Despite being bound and gagged, the guy has the nerve to puff up his chest and lift his chin as if he’s going to get up and fight me.
The scent of blood is thick in the air, and I can see the dishtowel tied against his side, red with blood. The fact he’s willing to fight me, means he’s either high on drugs or the wound isn’t as serious as expected.
“What’s the plan?” Jackson asks, his baritone voice deep enough to vibrate my chest. How he doesn’t have men or women throwing themselves at him, I don’t know, but I’ve yet to see him with anyone.
The guy is a looker, with those bright green eyes, full lips, and strong jaw, he is the quintessential definition of ruggedly handsome.
Add to that the leanly muscled physique and bold tattoo work and he’s just about everyone’s wet dream.
“I think we need to go on a hunting trip.” I smile at the fucker zip tied in the chair and whatever he sees on my face has his eyes widening in fear. Good. I hope I can get a decent chase out of him. I need to do something to get rid of this tension in me, and a good hunt should do just that.
Less than an hour later, I’m pulling into the parking lot of Wallace State Park, a gorgeous area full of walking trails dotted with lakes. I’m on good terms with the local Prowl of leopards in the area and routinely come out this way when my inner wolf needs to run.
Hunting a human in their backyard will probably not get me any favors, but I’m sure once I explain the situation, they will understand. Thomas is a logical leader, or Taji, after all. But he would still frown at eviscerating this guy on their turf.