3. III
III
Echo
I slumped back in the extravagant chair and pushed my sunglasses higher up my nose, a beating hangover distorting all my senses—eyes squinting, head pounding, gut churning. Why did this meeting have to be midday? When the sun was at its peak, fucking gleaming straight through the glass paned walls, pestering me.
We were situated in one of our finer establishments—the rooftop restaurant empty except for the staff who were cooking our meal. Not that I’d be able to stomach anything.
“How much more did you drink after I left last night?” Aster asked, sipping on her lighter fluid martini like that shit didn’t stink to high heavens.
I grumbled. “Sudo has a way with words… Maybe staying was a bad idea?”
“Maybe?”
Dishes clanged in the kitchen out back, the sound reverberating through my skull. “I can handle her.”
“Echo, you’re twenty-six. One day, someone is going to catch you off guard, and you won’t know what hit you.”
If I wasn’t hungover and dying, I would have laughed. Alas, I didn’t even have the energy for that. Been there, done that. Never again.
She shifted her glass in front of me. “Drink up.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Do you want vomit all over your plush carpets?”
“It will make you feel better, and I need you on your A-game.” She flicked her piercing red eyes my way, the same exact colour of vibrant, running blood. “You didn’t read the file I sent, did you?”
Nope. Not going to answer that . I chugged her drink back in one fell swoop, concentrating on keeping the contents from regurgitating back up my throat.
“Thought so,” she said, with a disappointing undertone. “Just sit back and see how this meeting plays out. I’ll want your opinion later.”
I nodded as a rustling at the entrance caught our attention. A middle-aged man with a big gut and briefcase sauntered towards us, two bulky Ludus Maximus guards trailing close behind.
Ludus Maximus and Vice accounted for two out of four underground crime organisations that ruled over Junction City—well, three now, since the downfall of the Sovereign four years before.
That same monumental event caused a fractured chasm of conflict between the three remaining syndicates. The Treasury disappeared off the map, the remnants of their presence difficult to find unless you knew where to look. Vice? We remained in our lane, rolling in the cash by selling a taste of the forbidden. Ludus, on the other hand, offered their soul up to the devil. Once a formidable powerhouse known for their elite soldiers, forced to its knees due to their paranoid leader.
Suddenly, a new gang wanted a slice of our city, to stake their ownership on what was claimed decades before. Let’s see what they have to offer.
Aster straightened at their approach. Beaming sun rays reflected off her shaved bald head, which led down to the distinguishable Vice tattoo stamped on the nape of her neck—two red snakes coiled and spiralling to form the letter V, a nod to Serpents Row, the streets of which we had all manner of domain and rule.
Objectively speaking, she was one of the most stunning women I’d ever met. Curves made of sin, make-up pristine with killer lips created for seduction. Although I could appreciate her physical appearance, Aster was a surrogate mother figure and the boss I owed my life to.
Mistress of Vice and Kingpin of Serpents Row—our syndicate specialising in all things carnal pleasure and sensual delights.
Vice was a pure banquet of sin, and it was my fucking domain.
The briefcase man with the secondhand suit stilted before our table, step faltering when his eyes roamed over Aster. My lip curled at his open appraisal.
He offered a hand for us to shake, which hung empty in mid-air. “Appleberry, at your service.” There was a beat of silence before Aster motioned for him to sit across from us.
Appleberry? I thought the damn fool was ordering a drink.
“You can call me Mistress,” Aster said. “And this is Echo, my second-in-command.” She tilted her chin in my direction. With the introductions complete, Aster sent the oversized Ludus bodyguards to the level below, Appleberry readily agreeing to the privacy.
With regimented timing, our waitress approached, offering wine, which we all accepted. I was still half-drunk from the night before. Add a potent margarita to the mix and there was no point in stopping.
Appleberry hummed in approval as the expensive liquor hit his taste buds. “Thank you for meeting me today. I am an ambassador of sorts?—”
Aster’s perfectly manicured nails tapped against the table, the tipped claws—sharp enough to part flesh—coloured the same ruby red as her eyes. “Ambassador for whom? I’m offended that your boss isn’t here to meet me in person.”
“Ah, you see, she believes discretion is of the utmost importance.”
“And ours isn’t? How am I supposed to trust her when she can’t even grace us with her presence. That is not a solid foundation to build a relationship on.”
“Do not be alarmed, Mistress. I have been assigned to oversee your transition, and I’ll ensure everything runs smoothly.”
Aster gave a gleaming smile, which made me hunch lower in my chair, questioning whether he’d make it to the first course or if he’d be served as the first course.
“Transition?” she asked, lips puckered into a tight line.
“Your transition to serve under our organisation, Khaos—with a K.”
Aster tsked. “I’m called Mistress because others serve under me .”
“We are not asking you to change your ways. In fact, you can keep everything as is. There will just be a few extra incentives for both parties.”
“I’m afraid I disagree.”
Appleberry shoved his formal tableware aside, dishes and cutlery clinking together, creating a ghastly melody. He finished by thumping his briefcase down on the cleared table like an impertinent fucking heathen. If he chipped one of those ten- thousand-dollar plates—which was a high possibility—Aster was going to skin him alive.
The mistress in question clenched her jaw. “I refuse.”
“You… You can’t refuse.” Appleberry deflated.
“Do you want me to spell it out for you, or will my verdict process through your thick brain easier if I repeat it again?”
His tone raised in command. “You will not?—"
My Variant sparked in my veins at the perceived threat. No way was I letting him finish that statement.
“ Quit acting like a dog without manners and get that fucking briefcase off the table. Now ,” I said, my Variant triggered, making my voice deathly low, words echoing down his ear canal in threatening vibration.
Aster laid a hand on my arm, cautioning me to hold back.
Appleberry’s head shifted in panic, eyes bulging on the wine glasses that were cracked from the manipulated soundwaves. Damn, now Aster is going to skin me alive.
I raised my hand for another drink. I may as well get crazy wasted at this point.
The waitress scurried forward, stretching over the table to reach one of the remaining glasses that were unscathed. My gaze caught on her perfectly rounded ass, which was itching for my palm to caress down her thighs. When she shifted her position to pour a refill, light brown waves cascaded down her shoulder to display a tiny beauty spot located directly behind her right ear. As she retreated, the sweet scent of candy apples remained, causing my mouth to salivate for a taste.
Is this the same waitress that has been serving us the whole time?
Instead of taking that troubling observation as a sign to stop drinking, I decided to quench my thirst and gulped down another mouthful.
Appleberry’s face flushed an unattractive cherry, growing brighter by the second. When the waitress was out of earshot, he hissed between his teeth.
“Intimidate me all you want, but you can’t touch me. We all know what happened with the Sovereign. We accomplished that on our own. With no help from any of you, I might add. You may do well to remember that before you refuse our offer.”
“That’s the exact reason I refuse to work with you.” Aster stood pinpoint straight, rigid as a post, and walked out the restaurant. No look back, no expression change, no word goodbye. As if she’d been possessed by an unknown entity.
What the fuck was that about?
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t know what to do. So, like any sane, half-cut male, I requested a toilet break. Appleberry relented and said he’d wait for me on the balcony.
As I veered for the bathroom, my idled brain had two seconds to process the scenario. One: I should have read my homework. Two: what made Aster walk out of here and leave this disrespectful cunt still breathing?
It didn’t matter. My job description consisted of three main components, which I was happy to fulfil… Intoxicated or not.
Threaten Vice, you die. Threaten Aster, you die. Threaten my whole way of life, you fucking die.
SPENCER
I rocked on the balls of my feet, gaze tracking Appleberry across the restaurant. The waitress uniform I’d stolen was a tight fit, the material constricting, contributing to the suffocating feeling I couldn’t shake.
My hands braced the kitchen bench, anticipation and fear writhing beneath my skin. The call to hurt, maim and kill was unbearable, yet I didn’t want to go out on that balcony. The mere thought of teetering so high already made me nauseous.
Appleberry’s prior comment repeated over and over in my mind, pushing me to the brink of madness.
“We all know what happened with the Sovereign.”
I shoved an errant stove lighter in the back of my uniformed skirt and swiped a full margarita as I passed the vacant table, following him out to the balcony.
He turned at my approach as I slammed into his chest, potent alcohol saturating his suit.
“I’m so sorry, sir, please forgive me,” I said, tone panicked as I swiped down his front.
His beefy fucking hands roamed up and down my arms, attempting to calm my frazzled state. The balustrade loomed on the outskirts of my vision, the only obstacle to the steep drop below.
Don’t look down. Don’t look down.
With great effort, I switched my attention to the task at hand, retreating from his repulsive contact. “Forgive me. I couldn’t help but overhear that you work for Khaos?” I asked with confidence. Up until five minutes before, I didn’t even know they had a name. The elusive gang held Ludus Maximus underfoot, and after four long years, claimed the downfall of the Sovereign.
Appleberry snorted, retrieving a cigar from inside his jacket. “I don’t work for them. I am them, as they are me. We are a single unit, working as one.” He spoke with an elitist air as if his statement made any sense. Which it didn’t. Stupid moron.
“Do you know how I can become a part of this…unit?” He proceeded to pat his empty pockets, searching for his lighter, which I had swiped on impact. I offered my kitchen one instead, glad I could accommodate. “Is it true you got rid of the Sovereign? You must be powerful to overthrow an organisation like that.”
Appleberry regarded me with a sceptical expression. Did I fuck this up already? I wasn’t used to subtle questioning without the assistance of torture devices.
He leant forward, gesturing for me to light the end of his cigar. When he was close enough that I could smell the noxious fumes wafting off him, his breath fanned across my face.
“We are all-powerful,” he said with cultish devotion.
His statement shook me, curing my wayward panic, lulling the thunder in my ears to a calm quiet. All that remained was the echo of my name— our name—chanting on the whistling wind.
King. King. King.
If I was anyone other than myself, I would have questioned him further, bled any answers I could get from his pompous fucking mouth. Regrettably, I was not calm and collected Micah, or even calculating Emerson. I was me …and true to fashion, I held no resistance as my emotions corrupted any semblance of a plan, bringing me to the edge of pandemonium…where I belonged.
My name is Spencer fucking King.
“Were you there?” I asked. One step forward. “Did you hear their screams?” Another step. “Did you watch them fall?”
His pupils dilated at my line of questioning, and that’s all the confirmation I required. I lowered the lighter, bypassing his cigar, the lit end making direct contact with his jacket.
The soaked material caught alight, flames igniting into a spiralling inferno. Appleberry slumped to the ground, rolling in all directions, replicating a human torch.
A strangled shriek reverberated from his burning throat, the high pitch grating against my eardrums.
The sound was poetic and expressive… I want more.
A flash in my periphery refocused my attention. Displayed through the floor-to-ceiling window pane was the underboss of Vice, Echo, watching on with an open mouth and rigid pose. I had only heard of him in passing during my investigations through Serpents Row. However, seeing him in person had me reeling, his potent sexual aura making my damn mouth bone dry begging for a sip.
As if in slow motion, a full glass of wine fell from his limp hand, staining the expensive carpet at his feet.
I licked my lips. His shock gave me an opportunity to appreciate his tall, lean build. I tracked down his frame, his dyed blonde buzz cut, limited edition fishnet singlet, giving way to his toned chest and defined abs on full display. His black-painted nails raised to push his thick, opaque sunglasses up on his head, capturing me with his gaze.
I was immediately seized by a sunburst of brown, green and gold. The gradient of his hazel eyes held me prisoner as I was surrounded with the smell of burning flesh and the whimpering lament of a dying man. It all added to the ambiance of my newfound infatuation which I found impossible to break eye contact.
Death made me horny and screams stimulated my desire, a dangerous concoction for a taste of the forbidden.
I wanted to play and I’d just found my next opponent…or prize. I hadn’t quite decided yet.
His hazel eyes continued to bore into mine, and I couldn’t help it when I raised the lighter to my lips, blew out the flame and winked.