Chapter 10 Aniyah
ANIYAH
“M-Miss Glovefox, w-we assure you we’re keeping up w-with your standards,” stammered the mousy male mage, eyes wide behind thick glasses, speaking through the conference call on my laptop.
I laced my fingers together and stared at him like he was sitting right in front of me. “Really? Because I’ve been hearing mixed messages.”
His mouth opened, then closed, garbled nonsense spilling out as he scrambled for a defense. Word was, his club was skimming cash from the girls the moment they stepped off stage. That was a big no-no in my book.
Human strip clubs had their normal revenue streams: cover charges, VIP rooms, drinks and party favors, but that never worked for supes. Our bodies burned through drugs and normal alcohol too fast for them to be profitable.
It wasn't until my parents became bosses that they made magical alcohol for supes, cornering the market. They’d had to assure the US government that the Syndicate would keep a tight leash on those beings influenced by it.
To make this manageable, we made it in small amounts, only offering it in our clubs and casinos, which made the Syndicate richer and stronger.
On the other side of things, it did make the workload that much bloodier, too.
What really made supe-run clubs different was our magical talents. Supe clubs were dominated by the fae, who were capable of tailoring experiences through glamour. We attracted humans and supes alike and charged a premium for it.
The talent was tiered as some could only alter their appearance, while others could alter their entire form.
The top echelon could shift entire settings or even influence the receiver’s mood.
Customers paid upfront to attend a performance or for booking private shows, and the tips?
Those belonged to the talent, every single coin.
But this club? It was taking everything, tips and all, then tossing the performers scraps, claiming low revenue and underpaying their cut to the Syndicate.
A slow week? Understandable. It was a small, rundown club in the rural outskirts of Alabama.
But weeks turning into months? That was when my people started digging, and once I got involved, punishments ensued.
Rubbing my temples, I balked at this mage's excuses, rolling my eyes, but this was part of the job. I didn’t just run a world-renowned sex club, I had to babysit clubs across the country.
It was exhausting. Why couldn’t people just do their jobs without trying to pull a fast one?
He could’ve lived well, but greed got in the way.
Greed wasn’t inherently bad, hell, the Syndicate was built on it, but the trick was keeping what you snatched up and stole. Being strong, smart, and vicious enough to make it stick. That was what made us untouchable. We protected what was ours.
“Mr. Haney, you talk about upholding standards, but your finances don’t match your words.”
He fumbled again, and I cut him off. “From where I’m sitting,” I flipped through papers on my desk, feigning interest in his numbers, “you just got greedy.”
His face lost color, and I offered him my sweetest smile and bat my eyes. When in Rome. “Now, I get wanting more money. Judging by the pictures of this dump, you need it.” I held up a photo of his club, the front sign saying, “We have bobies and boties.” I internally cringed at it.
“My issue is that you took from the talent even though you know they’re the lifeblood of our business.” I wagged my finger at him like he was some naughty schoolboy. “Where would we be without them?”
He wiped sweat from his brow and adjusted his glasses with his middle finger. A fire mage sweating? Could he make it any more obvious that he was hiding something? Idiot.
“T-then how do I m-make more if the t-talent gets it all?”
I just stared, baffled that this moron even had a license to operate. He must’ve inherited the club or bribed someone. No creativity, no clue. A man like him had no place in the skin trade, and that was what finally made me lose it.
Slamming my fists on the desk hard enough to rattle my laptop, I yelled, “Fucking anything else but stealing from the talent! Raise prices! Mug a customer! Record them and blackmail them! We’re a criminal organization, for fuck’s sake!
I don’t care how you get the money, just make sure the talent is taken care of! Talent equals profit!”
Anger pulsed through me, sharp and hot, and I began daydreaming of inventive and creative ways to turn this man's body inside out. If he were in the room, I would’ve already had my hands around his neck, ripping it clean off.
It's just not the same when you're online.
Forcing a calm expression, I narrowed my eyes on the screen and cracked my neck. In the corner behind him, a shadow flickered, forming an outline of a hand making a circle with its thumb and forefinger. He was ready.
Keeping the mage's attention on me, I folded my hands atop my desk, glancing at the watch on my wrist and smiling sweetly. “You know what, Mr. Haney? I have another appointment to get to.”
He visibly sagged in relief. “Oh, y-yes, of course. Y-you’re a very busy woman.”
He looked to the side, and I saw my moment. I winked at the shadow who was waiting for my go ahead, and it all happened in a flash. He turned back to me, but he barely got a word out before a man in all black appeared behind him, slipping a wire around his neck and yanking tight.
“You see,” I began as Haney thrashed, “you’re just not a good fit for our organization.”
Fire flared weakly from his fingertips, sputtering as the wire glowed. It drew in his magic, neutralizing it.
“I believe your talents are better suited elsewhere, but this is the Syndicate.” I shrugged. “We don’t do ‘walk away.’”
He gagged and clawed at his neck, eyes bulging. The assassin held steady, giving me time for my final words. Professionalism, after all.
“Now, we’re going to have to sever ties. I hope you understand.” I let a wicked smile spread across my face, the last thing he’d ever see. “Thank you for your service.”
His body twitched, the last remnant of his life slowly leaving him until he went still.
The assassin unwrapped the wire, one of Riot’s designs that Calix had made for her, built to siphon and store magic, and slipped it back into his pocket.
Then, quick and efficient, he spun the corpse around and sliced the skin.
That done, he cracked open the chest and yanked out the heart.
The blood dripping down the screen gave it a real movie-like quality.
Even drained and asphyxiated, a mage wasn’t ever fully dead. Magic still lingered in the heart. If a strong enough mage got his hands on the body, they could potentially revive him with enough time and magic. But with no heart? No chance. He was now dead dead.
The assassin stepped into frame, dark hair falling into his steel blue eyes, the only splash of color on him. His thin-lipped mouth hadn’t changed since he started, and he held up the heart, voice flat. “Assignment complete. Please confirm.”
How about having a little fun? This assassin seemed uptight and immovable, so he might give me a bit of a challenge.
I leaned forward, making my voice low and sultry, teasing him with a flash of cleavage. “Soooo efficient.” Biting the side of my lip, I taunted, “What would you do if I didn’t confirm? Come after me?” Licking my lips, I watched his eyes dart down, and triumph flared in me.
“Miss Riot told me to say ‘behave yourself.’ Kill has been confirmed.” And just like that, the feed cut. What the fuck?! Riot warned him about me? Ugh!
I slumped back in my chair, my victory stolen by my own damn sister.
Right in the middle of cursing my sister, Van strolled in, envelopes in hand, and looked around the room before putting his jacket on the chair. “Already had that kind of a day?”
“No.” Eyeing the green pullover and black pants he had on, I sat up straighter to feast on that delectable body.
While the outfit gave him a bit of a preppy vibe, the green lit up the softer hues in his hair, giving him a dreamlike look.
“Day’s been normal. Had to watch an assassin take out a piece of shit. ”
He nodded knowingly. “Alabama, right?”
I winked in confirmation as he said, “I already have a replacement set up.” Pulling out his phone, he sent off a text and got a quick reply. “Yep. He’s in place, and we will be getting regular updates until we’re satisfied.”
If that was the only issue today, I would be ecstatic. “Before that, I had to stop Cara and Fashi from murdering each other over Mr. Samuel.”
Van stopped, faced me and blinked. “They’re still fighting over him?!”
His shock mirrored mine. Cara and Fashi were two of my finest, a pair of identical snake shifter twins with a flair for chaos.
One with ink-black hair, the other snow-white, both had eyes like cut rubies.
They were sensual, shameless, and up for just about anything as long as it ended in mutual pleasure, especially if it was rough.
You didn’t find talent like that, you cultivated it.
Too bad they were each other’s biggest rival.
“Apparently.” I sighed, already exhausted by the memory.
“Cara’s pissed because Mr. Samuel asked for Fashi again even though it was just a continuation from three days ago.
Fashi said she should chill since he sent Cara a canary diamond to smooth it over, but Cara still felt slighted.
She even tried to fake her way into the booking with a black wig.
Fashi found out, yanked it off, and they started throwing sex toys and stilettos. ”
Van handed me the mail over my desk before he dropped into the chair across from me and shook his head like he’d just seen his grandma's porn stash… and it was kinky. “That guy’s a bald, chubby human. What the hell could he possibly offer that’s worth all that?”