Chapter 7
RACK
“Sir, we need Mr. Winstale’s final signature before we can move forward.”
The voice crackled through the car speakers, too sharp, too eager. I could practically see him on the other end, leaning forward over a desk, papers spread out in front of him, one hand pressed flat against them as if that would somehow push the process along faster.
“It’s cleared T&D, passed the human government’s approval, and marketing is already lined up. The factory is prepped—everything’s ready to go on this revolutionary product Mr. Winstale created. We just need—”
I kept my eyes on the road, fingers tapping once against the steering wheel.
“His signature in order to start production,” he repeated, his tone shifting to something more desperate, more pleading.
Revolutionary. The word hung there, hollow.
I let out a quiet breath through my nose, holding back the scoff that wanted to follow. He didn’t see the full scheme. To him, it was just another launch of a product he needed to keep within the timeframe he was given.
To us, it was leverage. A market that we were testing the waters in.
“I’m heading to him now,” I said, my voice cutting through his ramble. “I’ll remind him.”
There was a brief pause on the other end, papers shuffling faintly.
“Please do, Mr. Marlo,” he said quickly. “Timing is—”
My thumb pressed against the control on the wheel, cutting him off mid-sentence. I didn't need to hear the rest. It was just going to take up more of my time that I needed for other things.
Silence filled the car, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of tires against the pavement. I exhaled slowly, leaning back into the seat.
Six months.
Six months of development, approvals, revisions, negotiations. And now it sat waiting on his desk, waiting for a single signature.
For us, the world had shifted in those six months.
The Winged Palace had been attacked and almost blown up. Whispers still circled about how it was a close call. How this was a sign that the Syndicate wasn't so impenetrable. Then came the underground experiments, surfacing like fucking daisies, each one worse than the last. And now that damn blade.
My back tightened as my fingers squeezed the steering wheel.
A weapon that could kill a supe with hardly any effort didn’t belong anywhere near the open market, or anywhere at all in my opinion. Too dangerous for everyone around.
We had bigger problems to deal with now, and that was why Calix ditched out on the product launch, pushing it to the side without any word. But they didn't know that.
It was one of the problems of running both a criminal organization and legitimate business. And that was where I came in. Keeping him on track of both lines.
The road curved sharply as I drove higher, the city falling away behind me. The house came into view at the top of the hill—no, not a hill. A statement. Calix had insisted on the elevation, wanting the sight lines.
He’d stood in front of the city planners and spun it as architecture. Security. Visibility. Preparedness. What he really meant was control, because from up there, nothing could approach without being seen first.
I glanced at the clock on the dash, thinking about when I last saw him over at FangTech, and realized it was too long.
He’d locked himself in his personal lab for long enough that even Gladis, his housemaid, called me to ask if he had been home since nothing in the house had been touched for several days.
I pressed harder on the gas. Wind rushed through the window as I opened it and slid my hand out. The air resisted at first, pushing back against my palm, slipping between my fingers as if testing me.
All it took was a slight bit of focus, and it yielded to me. With just a flick of my fingers, the current shifted.
Pressure built around the car, rolling forward, pushing the tires faster against the pavement. The vehicle surged ahead as the wind wrapped tighter around it, becoming a bullet on the road.
The doors rattled faintly under the strain, and my lips pulled up.
Playing with air and fire always put a smile on my lips, even when I didn't want it to. In this business, showing no emotions was critical, especially as a second-in-command. I needed to be on point, always ready for whatever came my way, and to anticipate my boss’ needs.
Strength and perseverance were the only things that mattered, and in my particular position, my magic was also a requirement.
See, while Calix was an innovator, he was still a vampire.
Super strength and healing were great, but he needed to be able to test fire power and infuse magic into rune spells so his vision would come to life.
That was where I came in. I was his magical power, and I had plenty of it.
That made me particularly valuable for the Syndicate.
The other part was that I grew up with them, the Desmond kids. I knew all of their quirks and faults. I knew how to navigate between the bosses and communicate even when they were raging balls of chaos.
Seeing the gates coming fast at a distance, I flicked my other hand, blowing them open without so much as a touch.
At this rate of speed, I should’ve run though the front door, wrecking the whole infrastructure, but with my air control, all I did was close my fist and the car jerked to a stop right in front of the house with ease.
The engine cut, and I was already moving, stepping out before the quiet fully settled.
Pulling down the cuffs of my casual suit jacket, I looked up at the three-story round mansion that Calix had built. While he always joked that I was the one with the style, I had to admit that he’d done a good job with this place.
All-white marble exterior with stainless steel accents. Top-of-the-line security system that could pick out a vampire even at full speed. Both magic and tech lined the interior walls, making this more like a fortress than a simple home.
My pace quickened as I crossed to the front door, shoes striking clean against the stone. The surface of the door shimmered the moment I approached, a ripple of iridescent light sliding across the frosted glass.
A slot opened along the frame, and I slid my hand inside.
The air shifted immediately, curling around my skin as it scanned—reading, confirming, and recognizing. There was a faint pull, a pressure that lingered just long enough to verify before releasing.
The door clicked. Inside, the house stood open and still.
The living room stretched out in clean lines, the kitchen beyond it untouched. No movement. No sound. The floating staircase in the center cut upward through the space, leading to the upper levels that remained just as silent.
Everything was in its place, which had me sighing out loud. Cal was a lot of things, but a clean freak he was not. He was more like a tornado in the middle of a snow storm.
Changing my plans, I turned left, heading into the kitchen without breaking stride. My fingers flicked outward, and the refrigerator door swung open before I reached it. A small red bag lifted from inside, drifting through the air to the counter as if guided by an unseen hand.
I pulled open the freezer drawer beneath the island counter and grabbed a glass. A nearby bottle popped open with a soft crack, the beer cap dropping onto the counter as the contents shifted forward, pouring both at once.
The darker liquid blended with the lighter, swirling together in the glass as I tilted it, letting them mix before straightening it again.
Glass in hand, I stepped into the hallway, heading for the elevator. The stairs sat just off to the right, but I ignored them. The last thing I needed was to spill this on the way down. If my guess was right, he hadn’t come up for air in a while and had run out of his stash in his office.
The elevator doors slid open as I approached. No buttons inside. There didn’t need to be. Only two places this went, up here, or down to where he’d buried himself in work.
It didn’t take long for the elevator to chime softly before its doors slid open with a smooth hiss.
Cool, sterile air met me first, carrying that faint metallic scent that always clung to the lower level.
I stepped out, my shoes striking the stainless steel floor, each step echoing down the narrow hallway ahead.
At the end of the hall, the lab doors stood sealed.
I lifted my wrist, pressing my watch to the scanner.
It flickered to life, light sweeping across the screen as it read my signature.
A few quick beeps followed, then the lock disengaged with a muted click, the doors sliding open just enough to let me through.
Calix sat hunched over the central table, perched on a stool that looked far too small for him, his back curved forward, shoulders tight. His focus never left the tablet in his hands as the stylus moved in quick, repetitive bursts across the screen.
The blade sat in the center of the table. Untouched. Waiting. A rush ran down my spine as soon as I saw it, and my lips pursed.
My gaze lingered on it for a second longer than I intended before shifting back to him.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“And if I do this… then maybe…”
His voice trailed off, barely more than a murmur, the words dissolving into the steady rhythm of the stylus striking the screen.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I moved closer, but he was so in the zone I knew he didn't even register I was here. Not even a glance.
It helped that no one had access to this place then myself and his sisters, so anyone that walked in wasn't a threat.
His hair stuck out in uneven directions, strands falling into his face where they’d clearly been ignored.
His shirt was wrinkled, marked with a faint, dried red stain that hadn’t been cleaned.
His grip on the stylus so tight his knuckles were white.
Then I noticed a couple of his fingers had badges wrapped around them and I took a deep breath.