Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 115388 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115388 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Above us, the ceiling bloomed in elegant color.
Beautiful.
It was dream-stained with floating figures and fragments of music. Blue horses. Green violinists. Lovers and ghosts drifting through sky.
Reo must have noticed me being taken aback by it because he whispered. “The artist is Chagall. The ceiling is divided into five panels that pay homage to fourteen famous composers—Mozart, Beethoven, etc.”
That must have been why each panel appeared so surreal.
Hiro snorted beside us and popped a lavender lollipop into his mouth. “Looks more like a fever dream than tribute.”
We followed the man down the central aisle and I felt a tightening in the air.
Then Hiro’s voice came out low. “Corsicans. Left balcony. Three rows back.”
I kept my view forward. “Skill level?”
“This is not a show of force. It’s a kill squad.”
Hiro didn’t look at them anymore. “They’re heavyweights. We could take them. But we’d be limping out.”
“How many?”
“Twenty I see lingering in the shadows. I’m sure there’s more.” Hiro frowned. “We should’ve brought more men.”
Reo, calm as ever, spoke without even glancing their way. “Bringing more men would’ve looked like disrespect.”
Hiro snorted. “Better disrespect than dead.”
Without a word, Hiro lifted two fingers and scratched beneath his jaw—quick, subtle, but the Claws saw it.
They peeled off, slipping between rows and shadows and falling into an invisible arc around us.
No panic.
No retreat.
Just pressure applied to the killers amongst us.
The chandelier above us flickered and the music bled into something darker.
Reo sighed. “The Butcher still hasn’t shown his face yet and already we’ve played two of his games.”
Hiro’s face went still. "We shouldn't trust the Butcher."
I let the words land like silk-draped knives.
Hiro continued, "He and our father got along too well. Don’t forget, it was the Fox who helped him disappear after he got out of jail. They have history."
I sighed. "Everyone has a past, Hiro. We’re not asking for the Butcher’s hand in marriage. Just munitions."
"You think he won’t care what we use them for?"
I looked toward the gold-curved balconies, where shadows shifted telling me there were even more men than Hiro had guessed. "We won’t tell the Butcher what we’re using them for.”
Hiro’s voice dropped lower. "That’s a mistake. If the Butcher finds out the weapons were used to kill the man who once saved him, he might see it as betrayal."
“We’ve already considered this.” Reo nodded. "This may end up being a Faustian pact."
Hiro blinked. "A what?"
Up further ahead, the man neared the side of the auditorium, where a corridor discreetly veered into a velvet-lined passage.
We continued.
Reo explained, "A Faustian pact. It’s from this old German legend. A man named Faust traded his soul to the devil for knowledge and power. The devil gave him twenty-four years of indulgence, magic, and everything the man ever wanted."
"So what happened at the end?" Hiro asked.
"The man paid with everything. His soul. His freedom. His future. The power he got was just a beautiful leash."
The man turned the corner.
Seconds later, we did too.
A guarded door waited in front of us.
Two Corsican soldiers stood before it—suited, armed, unblinking. Their shoulders broad beneath sleek blue coats. One held a gold tablet. The other had a scar across his eye that looked like it had been carved by a wine bottle.
They opened the heavy doors to a big room.
Inside, a private elevator waited.
Marble floor.
Bronze walls.
Soft golden lighting.
The Corsican man stepped onto the elevator first.
Reo followed, then Hiro and me.
Behind us, the Claws held position outside the threshold, waiting for the signal.
“These men will have to come up on the next ride.” The man glanced back at them and smirked. “You’re not too scared to ride without your guards, are you? I promise I do not bite.”
I smiled, slow and deliberate. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about being on the elevator with us, because unfortunately. . .we do bite.”
Hiro let out a low, guttural snarl.
The man blinked, and that smirk faltered for a breath.
The doors slid shut.
Reo chuckled under his breath.
The elevator rose.
Hiro sucked on that lollipop.
Reo checked his watch for the time.
The Corsican man faced forward, trying not to fidget and failed.
When the elevator eased to a stop, the doors slid open with a hiss.
The man stepped out first and gestured with one hand.
I spotted a long, dimly lit corridor lined with priceless statues and polished wood. At the very end stood a set of black double doors, polished like obsidian and flanked by more guards in blue.
The man spoke. “The Butcher is waiting for you there.”
We stepped off in unison, but Hiro paused, tilted his head toward the man, pulled out the lollipop, and blew him a slow kiss. “Guess I’ll bite you next time.”
The man flinched—just slightly—then cleared his throat and looked away, pretending not to notice the grin that curved Hiro’s mouth.
We moved down the corridor, and behind us, the elevator doors whispered shut again.