Chapter 1.
A metal folding chair squeaked as it opened and was placed in the center of the room. We were meeting at an unused warehouse in the middle of the night. A perfect backdrop for a drug deal.
Dust hung in the air, the space dimly filled by a single fluorescent light above my head.
I sat, nodded my thanks to my second-in-command Arthur, and brushed a wrinkle from my pants. Across from me, the dark-haired man set down another chair.
“We should just go with the Italians,” he muttered to me. “I don’t trust the French-Canadians.”
Arthur didn't know I had fucked the mafioso's daughter and inadvertently burned my bridge with them. Apparently, that was a big no-no with the Italians.
How was I supposed to know? I wasn't Italian.
With a snort, I thread my fingers together atop my knee. “Why-ever not? Don’t the Canadians deserve to sell drugs, too?”
“They shouldn’t have to travel this far down south to find product.”
Arthur hated this new business venture. Truth be told, I certainly hadn’t seen myself as any sort of drug lord for the simple reason that security work was plentiful enough.
But a glorious opportunity had been dropped in front of me: hundreds of pounds of cocaine. The American–Russian supplier Balshov was dead and a power vacuum had opened up.
His product now sat in my hands. What choice did I have but to try? I'd never shied from trying something new, before.
“Tell the pack to shift and hang out back. Keep out of sight, mm?”
Arthur exhaled sharply through his nose. “Fine.”
I lifted my head, hearing cars turning down the dirt driveway well before I saw the headlights flashing through the dingy, scratched windows.
Four sets of black armored SUVs pulled up. Their lights turned off, but engines were left running.
“Here we go.” I glanced at Arthur, who stood just behind my right shoulder. Quietly, he slipped his hand into his jacket to turn off the safety on his pistol. “Don’t do that scowling thing. I heard the man is extremely old and suspicious. We’re going for genuine friendliness, Arthur.”
“You’re the one who comes off like a used car salesman,” he muttered and I guffawed.
“Excuse me? Where is this attitude comin–”
“Magnus. Eyes up.” Arthur nodded his head forward as the doors swung open. Two hulking males dressed in black came forward, barely illuminated by the dim light above us.
I smiled, rising to my feet and waited as they scoped out the space. This was normal practice for a security sweep. In fact, I was quite accustomed to being the security myself and wouldn't expect any different.
Do you smell that? Athur asked through our pack bond. My smile tightened as I felt his tension.
I don’t smell any alphas, I replied. Or any wolves but our own. Calm down.
It's not a wolf I smell. It's... something else.
Arthur grunted just softly behind me and we both lifted our heads again at the sound of heels clicking against the wooden floors.
A younger woman stepped in, her short black bob framing sharp, piercing blue eyes that swept over the warehouse. Her gaze was measured—scrutinizing, a militaristic precision in them. Only when she seemed satisfied did she glance at one of the security guards and give a brief nod.
Her blue eyes went to Arthur, then to me last. Typical. Arthur was bulkier, more menacing in appearance than me. I was always seen as the least threatening of a group.
Who was she, head of security? She looked too young, perhaps a few years past thirty. My eyes caught on the curves of her body beneath that black outfit. Beautiful didn’t even begin to cover it, and I stared at her plush, pouted lips a second longer than I needed to.
“It’s only Arthur and I here,” I lied with a disarming smile.
The woman was unmoved by my performance. “You will have three minutes to speak. After that, we leave.”
My smile tightened. “Forgive me, are you the one in charge?”
“I am,” an old man with a heavy French accent rasped as he crossed the room. His steps were slow and deliberate as he made his way to the folding chair across from mine. The young woman was instantly at his side to help him settle down. He passed her his cane and black fedora before looking up at me with brown eyes. “Marcel. And you..?”
“Magnus,” I answered, reaching to shake his hand. He gave a surprisingly firm grip for an old fart. Next, I extended my hand out to the woman.
“Solenne," she said as she looked at my hand, but didn’t shake it. Instead, her blue eyes flicked up to me, blatant distrust in them. She would not be an easy sell.
“Charmed." Unable to hide the dryness from my tone, I dropped my hand. I sat down, crossed my legs again and forced myself to look pleasant. “I will get down to it. I’m sure you are aware I possess a great quantity of product. Which I am happy to hand off for a reasonable deal.”
“Ninety-five percent of product revenue stays with us,” Solenne said.
Annoyance flit through me as I held Marcel’s stare, trying to pretend I didn’t just hear that insulting offer.
“Five percent profit for me is not a reasonable number,” I grit out, keeping my smile.
Marcel tilted his head and Solenne leaned down. He whispered in French to her– and I cursed myself for not knowing a lick of it.
She straightened after a moment.
"If all goes to plan, we may reconsider changing the numbers at a later time.” Her words were stilted and unfriendly. Yet… her silky tone was pleasant to my ears.
Still, I didn’t like it. Nor her, despite her outer appearance.
My eyes narrowed just slightly as I made a steeple with my fingers. “And you talk on Marcel's behalf, I take it?”
“My Granddaughter speaks better English,” Marcel explained.
Granddaughter. Shit.
Not just the head of security. Perhaps the next in line to his business.
I needed to change tactics.
“I’ve worked in this business indirectly for years.” I smiled, gesturing a hand out. Arthur placed a small packet onto my palm. “This product is high quality and extremely pure. I’ve brought a sample for you to test yourselves.”
“A product you have held onto for nearly a year,” Solenne added. Clearly, she’d done her research and internally, I cursed her for it. “You have shopped around and no one wants to work with you.”
“Merely waiting for the perfect fit,” I drawled instead of a snide remark. One of her oversized security men stepped forward to take my offering.
“Ninety-five percent,” she reiterated.
They had to be equally as desperate if they were willing to travel all the way to Colorado for product and to work with a relative stranger. With that in mind, Solenne's arrogance was astounding.
She should have been kneeling before me with gratitude. Which conjured a mental image that gave me a little too much satisfaction and I shifted my trousers, hoping the subtle tightening there was in my imagination.
“No. I’m afraid that is not possible,” I said with finality, standing up.
I expected her to show her hand, propose a counter-offer.
Instead, Solenne grasped onto her grandfather’s elbow and helped him rise to his feet. The two men escorted him out and I was left glaring at the back of her head as she watched him leave.
“Do reconsider,” I urged as she faced Arthur and I again. “I would be gladly take 70-30.”
Solenne made a soft, deep 'hmm' sound, which I believe was supposed to be a laugh. “No.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re terrible at negotiations?”
“Because I don’t negotiate. Not with trash.”
My back immediately stiffened. Trash. I hadn't been called that since I was a boy.
Liar? Traitor? Manipulator? Certainly.
But... trash?
Self-consciously, I tugged on my bespoke jacket hem.
“Then I can see why your family is desperate for new connections." A condescending smile returned to my lips. “You have burned all your old bridges with that hard-headed attitude of yours. I wish you good luck with your crumbling empire, Solenne.”
Her expression didn’t change. But I’d hit a sore spot, because she reached back and had a pistol leveled at me in record time.
Arthur made motions to lunge and I swiftly threw out my hand to stop him.
“It’s alright," I assured him, not breaking her stare. "I think we each know where the other stands, don’t we?”
Through our shared bond, Arthur ordered our pack mates to close in on the warehouse. A familiar electricity filled the air, like a palpable tension that spoke to instinct promising violence.
"I didn't like you from the moment I saw your fake smile and smelled your mangy pack," she said, surprising both me and Arthur.
How the fuck did she know we were shifters?
"Asking for fair compensation does not make me a swindler," I said, trying not to bare my teeth.
"It's the price you pay to deal with professionals. You are out of your league."
Another jab at my inadequacy. My mind filled with vivid images of wrapping my hands around her slender neck and breaking it.
What are your orders? Arthur asked, sounding panicked. Do we attack?
No, I replied.
"Eighty-twenty. How about that?" I asked with a hopeful smile.
She sighed. "Here’s my counter-offer."
See? I said to Arthur smugly, lowering my hand. She's coming around.
Without warning, Solenne fired—two shots tore into my shoulder, another into Arthur’s leg.
The steam rising off my body and hiss of burning skin snapped me out of my daze. I gasped for air as my body crumpled.
Silver bullets. Fuck.
"Ninety-five." She stood over me as I clutched at my shoulder. An eyebrow raised as she watched the flooding red seep between my fingers, a soft groan my only response.
"As I said, you are out of your league. Go home."
Fuck.
The pain was too much. My eyes rolled back and I fell into darkness.
