Chapter 12 Maso
MASO
"I'm going to need to call in that favor you owe me."
Nova Rossey was the last person on Earth I wanted to hear from.
She cackled so loudly through the phone I had to hold it away from my ear. "Are you kidding? I saved five lives. That’s five favors—no matter how hard or time-consuming they are."
"That wasn't the deal, Rossey," I growled.
"Damn straight it was the fucking deal." A pause, then she added, smug as hell, "And even if it wasn’t, it is now."
The plastic phone creaked under my grip. Why was this woman so infuriating?
Didn’t matter. She had me on the ropes, and we both knew it.
But it was worth it.
Even with the bloody jobs she handed me, the sins stacking up on my back like dead weight, it was all worth it.
For my sister’s smile as she picked wildflowers.
For my brother playing in the creek. For my mother humming while she stirred Sunday gravy and my father tending his tomato plants in the backyard.
I’d make deals with devils, be their dog and answer when they called, all of it, if it meant my family stayed safe and comfortable.
"I don’t know what you’re complaining about," she said, voice slick with mockery. "You had blood on your hands long before we ever got involved."
"That was for my family!" I snapped.
That impish little voice came back, sweet on the surface, but I knew what slithered underneath.
The depths of ruthlessness to which the Syndicate’s head family would go.
"You're still doing it for your family. That’s the only reason Ezra spared you when we absorbed your little group. You understand what it means to protect your own. That’s rare in our world. "
She was right. If the Syndicate knew one thing, it was loyalty to blood. Everyone else be damned.
And I couldn’t say I didn’t understand the sentiment.
I let out a rough breath, the kind that scraped its way up my throat. "What do you want me to do?"
Laughter exploded through the receiver. I could practically see her slapping her knee like she’d won a bet. "Oh, Maso. You act like I’m sending you to your death, but this one's easy. You might even enjoy it. Everyone does at the Winged Palace."
My body stiffened. The Winged Palace. I’d heard of that place.
"Isn’t that—"
"Yep! My sister’s glorious little empire where sin is celebrated, depravity encouraged, and every soul that walks in leaves satisfied. You’re going to love it. Guaranteed. It says it in the fine print."
The sigh slipped out before I could stop it, weighted, resigned.
She thought this would be easy for me, and for any other man it might, but all it did was remind me of how my wolf and I only wanted her.
My wolf stirred in the back of my mind, whining for the woman we lost, our mate.
One stormy night, five years ago, she appeared like a dream.
All sopping wet from the storm, her bike in a ditch after it spun out, asking for a place to keep warm.
Before I knew it, my wolf claimed her as mine.
We had one night in this garage, the night that had been seared into my memory as both the best and worst thing that had ever happened to me because as soon as morning came, she had disappeared without a trace.
Slipped right through my fingers. The one who ruined us for the rest. Even when I forced myself to try, no one could ever quite measure up to her.
"What's the actual job?" I tried to keep the edge out of my voice. If I sounded irritated, she’d just twist the knife to get a laugh.
"Super easy," she chirped. "Just hang around there every night and let me know if anyone stands out. That’s it."
That didn’t track. She already had eyes there.
"I don’t get it," I muttered, rubbing my forehead. "Don’t you have people for this?"
Her exaggerated sigh was heard loud and clear.
"Just watch. It’s not hard." She paused, then giggled like an idiot. "Hard. I mean, you probably will get hard, but that’s not the point. Just be sneaky. My sister’s dealing with some stalker situation, and while she’s handling it her way, I’d feel better with backup she doesn’t know about. You know, insurance of sorts?"
Ah. There it was.
She wanted me to play guard dog, but quietly. Not even the flower of the Syndicate could know.
"Look, Masy..." My jaw clenched at the nickname. "I just need another set of eyes. My first set got burned, but he’s still good for scaring the sheep. I need someone sharp. A sniper in the grass. You get me?"
"And what happens when your sister finds out?" I asked, already knowing the risk. No one touched the youngest Syndicate boss—not without paying in blood. Her siblings would raze entire cities if she was ever harmed, Nova included.
Her voice cut through, crisp and haughty.
"I didn’t ask for your input, dick. I asked for insurance.
I even got you a platinum membership. The top-of-the-line membership will get you into all the places you need to be.
Also put some money on reserve in your account in case. You’re number 999. Fitting, right?"
I heard her mutter under her breath, thinking I wouldn’t catch it. "Fucking prickly asshole. Lucky I like him with that thick-ass head on his shoulders."
I hung my head, nearly chuckling. "You know I heard that."
"You were meant to, asshole!"
That got me. A small laugh slipped out. I might not like the Syndicate bosses, but I had to admit I respected them.
Ruthless warlords holding the criminal world together with blood and grit.
Someone had to keep the rest of us in check, and they’d been doing it for generations.
I could admire that kind of strength, even if they were the reason my family needed protection in the first place.
"All right. Let me close things up here, then I’ll head out. Send me the details."
She sighed like I was asking too much. "Sure, sure. Just be there by Friday. Oh—and maybe take your bike. Parking in Manhattan ain’t like the wide streets of upstate Moria."
The city. Of course.
I scrubbed my hands over my face.
This was going to suck.
And in the back of my mind, my wolf howled, already aching for the forest peace we were about to leave behind.
Standing in front of the red locker, number 999, my hand hovered over the door.
The feeling that opening this little box might change my life hit me.
The air was thick with the scent of magic, sweat, and something almost nostalgic.
The place felt eerily familiar even though I’d never stepped foot in it.
Nova had sent me a packet outlining the ins and outs of the Winged Palace.
She also told me to pick out a mask using a separate sheet.
That sounded tedious and unnecessary, so I told her to choose for me.
She laughed and promised to pick the best one to get the job done. All of it sounded ridiculous.
When I placed my hand on the locker, the door popped open with a soft hiss.
Inside, a welcome note instructed me to get into my "preferred method of dress or undress," put on the mask, and head up the lift to “have the time of your life.” Beneath the note sat a pearl-white mask, etched with the number 999 on the left cheek and a collar-like design on the right.
I didn’t know what that meant, but when I looked around, people were already stripping down and putting on masks, all of them with different symbols. Damn, I should’ve read that second email she sent me.
No one questioned the mask or the room. No one spoke. I reminded myself this was just a job. I needed to blend in.
Shrugging off my jacket, I pulled off my shirt and shoes but left my pants on, wanting to keep something a little bit of a mystery.
I scooped up the mask before I moved with the crowd toward this old lift.
Shoulders bumped and rubbed against mine.
Hot, unwanted breath grazed my neck. My wolf slowly turned within, already on alert and ready to take someone's head off.
A tap on my arm had me baring my teeth in reflex. The guy flinched, a twig of a male, with the faint scent of fairy clinging to him. He didn’t make a sound. Just pointed to his lips, then my mask, and back again.
I followed his finger to the black X painted across his mouth. Mute? Did they have a mask rule? Who knew?
He gestured again, this time more insistently. Right. Everyone else in the lift had their mask on. Shit. I gave him a nod and fastened it on.
The lightness of it was surprising. From the outside, it looked like cheap plastic, but once on, it molded to my face like a second skin. Every groove, every plane, sealed in.
The lift groaned to a halt, then the gate wrenched open.
Chaos.
The sound of the main floor—called the Fountain of Desire, according to Nova’s packet—hit me like a wave. Moans. Cries. Slaps. Laughter. Chains rattling. Music pulsing. It was overwhelming and raw, primal and electric.
I stopped moving. Closed my eyes. Breathed in deep. Let the ache bloom and settle along my ribs like a bruise.
It was everywhere now… that scent. Sweet, thick, maddening. My body throbbed for it. I could feel my pulse behind my teeth, but it wasn’t real. Not her. Just magic, twisted to smell like something I’d give my soul for.
My wolf whimpered, low and guttural, confused.
Laughter crackled nearby. A moan answered. Someone yelped.
Then, above all the noise, a sound cut through, clean, mechanical, final.
A switch.
Then light.
Bright, blood-red spotlights sliced through the dark, all aimed at the stage at the back of the room. Shadows danced along the walls, and the crowd fell still for a heartbeat. Anticipation washed through the space like static before a storm.
Whispers broke the silence like fire licking up dry wood.
“I wonder what she’s gonna look like tonight…” someone murmured behind me.
My eyes snapped open.