45. Vesper
VESPER
There’s a safehouse in the Speakeasy Sprawl and unsurprisingly, it’s another Speakeasy.
This place seems to be made up of the secretive bars where everyone looks around in worry and no one says the word “alcohol” out loud.
We’ve been shushed a few times for saying the word a little too loudly, or asking what they have.
The reactions range from careful shushing to downright aggressive hisses.
This time, as Havoc brings us up to the doors of the safehouse, I get a good look at the wooden, discreet sign above it, there for all to see unlike the other speakeasys.
The Velvet Underhall. Brown letters on a brown sign. Almost easy to miss.
“It says there’s a Major Boss here,” Locke says after glancing at his map. “It’s marked right on top of the safehouse.”
Both of us look at Havoc questioningly.
“Just don’t go through the double doors with guards in front of it,” he says, “and you’ll be fine.”
Locke rolls his shoulders and after meeting my eyes, some silent communication passes between us as we linger at the entrance. For a moment, he hesitates, but then his shoulders relax and he gestures toward the door. “Come on, Steve. I could use a drink. You?”
“Ugh! I would kill for a vodka martini, but, like, I can’t actually drink it,” Steve laments as he follows Locke down the stairs. “Maybe you can have one for me! Oh. My. God! That would be—”
Steve’s voice cuts off as the doors close behind them and I’m left standing in front of Havoc alone.
Well, as alone as one can be with a feisty praying mantis familiar.
People pass us by on the street and even though the sun has gone down, it’s busy.
This city never seems to sleep. Everyone gives Havoc a wide berth, and because they give him one, they also swirl around me, leaving me untouched despite the crowd.
I stare up at Havoc, at this legend that I’ve seen for at least a decade at this point.
He hardly looks different from when he first entered.
The only new development is the full short beard he sports, a feat that would be impossible in Dross.
His hair is a little longer. He’s clearly more powerful as a Tier Three.
But overall, people don’t age inside the Harrow.
Not really. He’s been living within the Harrow for so long that he’s become their poster boy.
I’m not sure if I should resent him for that, or pity him.
Either way, it would be a benefit if the legend himself joined our little group. Not only is he a Tier Three Warden, but his reputation alone would make traversing through the Harrow easier. Not many would willingly face off against the Havoc.
Convincing the asshole, though? That’s the real issue.
He’s staring at me now, his brow raised as he waits for whatever words I’m trying to find. He could have already disappeared into the crowd, but instead, he lingers. He’d helped us. His role is finished, right? So why isn’t he leaving?
And how do I convince him not to?
This was always Dox’s strength. She’s persuasive and seductive, pretty and tough, all wrapped in a cute package.
She makes everything better, like literal sunshine.
I hadn’t thought that in Dross, but now, in the Harrow, after witnessing the sun here, I think it’s just like her. Golden, brightens your day, and warm.
If she were here, she’d definitely tell me to seduce the legend.
For the team, she’d cry. Take one for the team!
But is it really taking one for the team when I’m genuinely attracted to the man?
“Are you going to spit it out?” Havoc growls. “Or just keep staring at me like I’m some sort of two-headed rat?”
I raise my own brow. “Pretty sure I’d be looking at that in horror.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure we’ll get there,” Havoc grunts. “What do you want?”
My urge to seduce, to throw this man off his game, really fucking barrels into me. With an attitude like that and an ego to match, something flares in my chest that says, “Knock him down a peg or two.” I stare at him, really look, and settle on Doxxie’s M.O.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I purr, looking him up and down. I don’t say the words, but they’re there in the air lingering between us.
His expression doesn’t change. “Spell it out for me.”
The urge to scoff is so strong, I almost lose the plot and throw up my hands. Instead, I just barely manage to curl my lips, to smile sultrily at him as I press a finger to his chest.
“You’re the Havoc,” I purr as I start to trail around him. “The legend. And you really helped us out there. I wouldn’t have found the Rat Kingdom without you.”
“And what?” he grunts. “You’re offering payment?”
I can’t stop the snort that slips out as I find myself facing him again. “You sure are making this difficult,” I growl.
“Says the woman beating around the bush,” he fires back. “Just spit it out.”
“Fine,” I growl, throwing my hands in the air. “Have it your way. I find you attractive.”
Havoc just stares at me.
“She wants to fuck you,” Svetlana adds helpfully from my shoulder when he doesn’t respond. “Can’t you smell her pheromones? Tvoyu mat'!”
I almost blush, but I don’t correct Svetlana. After all, it wouldn’t be a hardship to fuck Havoc, especially if it resulted in him coming with us on this journey.
Havoc stares at me for a second longer, and then surprises me yet again. He throws his head back and laughs, the sound so full of mirth and genuine amusement, it’s insulting.
“The fuck are you laughing for?” I growl, crossing my arms again.
Still chuckling, he looks down at me, his eyes crinkled. “You’re seriously trying to seduce me right now?”
I grit my teeth. “I’m not lying about finding you attractive.”
“Of course, you’re not,” he goads. “You think you’re the first player to try this? You think you can get something out of me?”
I bare my teeth at him. “Excuse me for thinking you’d like to be something more than Luxe’s propaganda boy,” I snarl. “You could come with us and change that.”
His smile disappears. His entire expression turns from amused to tense and angry within a split second. He takes a step toward me, putting us chest to chest. “You don’t know anything about me, Beast Bound,” he warns, and it’s a threat.
Havoc could kill me right here. He’s a Tier Three and I’m a Tier One. My Tier One Beast Bound powers are negligible. I’d seen his power in effect a little in the sewers. He’d defeated at least twenty of the rat guards with one move. I can’t imagine the ribbons he’d be able to shred me into.
We need that on our side. I need him on our side.
“You’re right,” I say, staring up at him, meeting his intense gaze head on. “What a heavy weight it must be knowing that they use your image as propaganda, knowing that you’re the reason people come to this place to die.”
“Shut up,” he snarls, his dark hair hanging around his face.
“What’s the matter?” I grunt. “Don’t like the reminder of how much blood is on your name?”
“I said shut up,” he snarls, pressing me backwards aggressively with his chest.
My back touches the wall briefly before I straighten and press against his chest again, standing on my tip toes to be more intimidating.
“Or what?” I hiss, poking him in the chest like I’m some Suffer Saint on a power trip. “What are you gonna do about it?”
One second, I’m standing chest to chest with him, my finger stabbing him in the chest. The next, my hands are restrained above my head.
I never saw him move, but I do catch his power flaring, a string of golden thread exploding out of him to wrap around my wrists.
He shoves me back against the wall with his body, pressing tightly against me, his face in mine while he holds my hands above my head with his power.
“I could kill you so easily,” he growls softly, his eyes hard on mine. “A Tier Three against a Tier One? Nothing. Not even a blip in my day.”
I’d thought the same thing, but my instincts are screaming at me that Havoc won’t kill me. I don’t think he’s a good man, but he’s an honest one, and he said he could kill me. Not that he would.
“Then do it,” I goad, my head pressing back against the brick wall behind me. “Come on, Warden. Wrap that hand around my throat and squeeze.”
Surprisingly, he does as I say. His large hand comes up around my throat, wrapping around my neck, resting there.
He squeezes gently, more of a warning than a reason to cause any pain.
Svetlana hovers on my shoulder, looking between me and him, a look of disbelief on her praying mantis face.
But she doesn’t attack. Because I don’t want her to. Not unless this takes a turn.
“You know nothing about me,” Havoc hisses.
His body is pressed against mine, his lower chest against my breasts, his hips against my lower stomach. And that’s when I feel it. My expression goes from aggressive to downright fucking sultry.
“It seems I know a little,” I purr, pressing against the arousal straining in his trousers.
His scowl deepens. “What is it about you?” he snarls.
I’m not sure he’s actually asking me the question, but I answer anyway.
“My everlasting beauty?” I tease, fluttering my eyelashes. “My ability to piss everyone off?”
Svetlana hovers closer, moving back and forth aggressively on her legs. “Want me to behead him?” she asks me, her razor arm clicking in warning as she watches Havoc.
Havoc glances from me to her and back again, completely unconcerned.
“No,” I tell her. “He’s not going to hurt me.”
“My hand is around your throat,” Havoc grunts, his face leaning closer, his eyes peering into mine.
I smirk. “If you think I don’t want it there, you’re not very aware at all, Warden.
” His eyes drop to my lips. It’s a small look, one he clearly didn’t intend to take, but I catch it all the same.
“That’s it,” I push. His power had disappeared, as if he couldn’t focus to keep me restrained, and my arms fall to my sides.
I run my hands up his body, settling on his waist and holding on.
At my touch, he scoffs and pushes away from me, leaving me suddenly very cold with the loss of his warmth pressing into me.
His power disappears completely, leaving the air charged in a strange way.
I have yet to taste such strong power, with the exception of the Leech, and I’ll admit, the taste of it is intoxicating.
“Pity,” I say, straightening and tugging at my clothing. “I was looking forward to you fucking me against this wall.”
Havoc narrows his eyes on me. He hesitates for a second before he grabs my chin roughly and jerks my face up. He leans down so his face is in mine, his breath hot against the chilly night air.
“When I fuck you,” he growls so low, I almost don’t catch it, “it won’t be something as gentle as fucking against a wall.”
And then he shoves away from me and disappears into the crowd. I’m left to stand there, staring after him, panting like a dog in heat.
“He said when,” Svetlana says.
I frown. “What?”
She moves along my shoulder so she can look me in the eyes. “He says “when,” Umnitsa,” she repeats. “He did not say ‘if.’”
My eyes widen and I look for him in the crowd again, but he’s already gone, and I’m left standing here wondering if I’d imagined the whole interaction . . .
. . . or if the legend of the Harrow really wants to fuck me as much as I do him.