Boston Avant-Garde 6: Chiaroscuro (24 page)

Lars began backing toward the rear stairs, with Demon and Malachi tugging Selena along with them.

“Where do you think you’re going?” his mother demanded.

“As Mattie mentioned, we have a pressing need to be somewhere else.” Lars turned, letting the proverbial axe fall. “I’ll be in touch once things are settled. Enjoy your evening, Mother.”

Demon led the way, Malachi bringing up the rear as they traversed the narrow staircase to the ground level. Once they’d exited Hampshire House for the alley, Lars felt as if he could finally breathe. The cool night air was a welcome change from the stuffiness inside.

Lars hoped his words wouldn’t come across too clipped. “Where’s Owen?”

“He went with Jason.” Mattie choked off a sob. He could see by her expression she was holding it together by a thread. “Jason came to the gallery with two other men. They all looked like thugs. They said Hyde sent them to pick me up.”

“Were they the same men from the other night?” Demon asked.

Lars nodded. “I’d guess so. His brother was harassing him to participate in some kind of illegal fight.”

Mattie took a death grip on his arm. “That’s what Jason used to get Owen to leave with him! Owen told me to find you. We have to do something!”

“Oh my God, this is like a bad action movie,” Selena groused. “Can’t you guys find him before they throw him in some ridiculous cage match?”

Malachi flashed her a heart-stopping grin. “Owen can handle himself. I’ve never seen anyone better with a knife.”

Lars could see Mattie mentally picturing all the scars on Owen’s body, and shared her feelings on allowing someone else to add a few more. “Owen’s not stupid. He knows going with them isn’t going to stop Hyde from coming after you, Mattie. He was hoping for an opportunity to get more information. We just need to find him before things go south.”

Malachi pursed his lips, his expression thoughtful. “Triptych has always been a fetish club. We’ve done a few poker tournaments, but we leave the illegal shit to the crazy bastards who run the gambling tables and betting hubs. Still, offering roulette and strippers is a far cry from cage fighting.”

The thoughts whirling around inside Lars’s head settled abruptly into a possible pattern. Malachi’s talk of roulette and strippers had been the key. “Asylum.”

Malachi looked doubtful. “Not that I don’t think Dante Torres would go for it, but I’m pretty sure we’d know about it if they were staging illegal fights to make some cash on the betting.”

“I agree.” Lars was getting impatient. Every moment he had to stand here and explain was a moment wasted. “But if there are illegal fights going on in the city, Jericho Davies will know about it.”

Selena poked Malachi. “So call him!”

“Sweetheart, he isn’t the kind of guy you have on speed dial. I don’t think he’d take my call, and I’m pretty sure he’d shoot me first and ask questions later if I showed up at his door.”

“I’ll go.” Lars started to tell Mattie she had to stay behind, but the look on her face changed his mind. He’d waste an hour arguing with her, and she’d probably follow him anyway. He grabbed her hand and began walking toward the spot where he’d left his truck. “Dante and I go way back. I might get two or three words in before he slams the door in my face.”

Chapter Twenty

Over the years, Owen had lost track of the number of times Jason had bemoaned the fact that he hadn’t been an only child. At this point, Owen was inclined to agree with him.

Jason had been staging fights in this location since his late teens. The damp smell of the nearby Neponset River permeated everything in the derelict old building. Water seeped through the sandstone foundation. It brought damp cold that leached the warmth from Owen’s body. He had nothing to do but fiddle with his cuffs while he sat and waited in what amounted to a prison cell.

The building belonged to Jason’s paternal grandfather, handed down through the generations. It had been a thriving factory at one point, but the last four owners hadn’t been particularly motivated businessmen. Jason’s father had been the one to start using it for its current purpose. He had been the one to help Jason convince a then seventeen-year-old Owen that his quick reflexes could be exchanged for fast money. Owen was still waiting for that particular trade to pay off.

“Not much longer, little brother.” Jason rested his shoulder against the rotting door frame. “I’d offer to take off those cuffs so you can stretch out and get ready, but I don’t trust you not to run off.”

“Apparently this time around, I’m worth just as much dead as alive, hmm?” Owen had stopped being surprised by his brother’s lack of filial love a long time ago.

Jason rubbed a restless hand over his close-cropped blond hair. “It’s too bad, really. It would’ve been sort of funny to see the expression on your face when we tie that bitch to the altar.”

Owen kept hold of his temper with effort. It wouldn’t do any good to react. It only fed the beast.

“Hyde was pretty specific that you needed to
go
when he found out you were the one keeping him away from that Matilda chick all this time.” Jason smirked. “Come tomorrow, your little love affair will be dead in the water. Too bad.”

That might have been true if Jason hadn’t completely overlooked the possibility of Lars. If anyone could figure out what was going on and ride in like the cavalry, it was Lars Aasen. Owen had seen him unravel some pretty twisted shit when he’d taken down the human trafficking ring Malachi’s former boss had been running out of Triptych. Plus, Jason’s fight club was in Dorchester, less than a mile from Asylum. It would be a small leap of logic for Lars to tap Dante Torres and Jericho Davies for information. From there Owen could only hope Asylum’s owners were aware of what had been going on in their neighborhood.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Jason commented uneasily. “You going to go out there tonight and play dead?”

“I might.” Owen chafed inside at the necessity of letting this play out. Going after Jason now would just bring his goons running. Better to let Jason get sloppy, and hope for a chance to take them all out of the equation in a permanent way. Besides, now he could work his brother for more information.

“Just going to let us take Matilda without a fight?” Jason moved into the room, gazing intently at Owen. “I have to say I don’t see the attraction. She’s okay, but even you could do a lot better.”

Finally, Jason had given him a lead-in. “If that’s the case, why does Hyde want her?”

“Something about her bloodline being tied to some old Salem family or something. I don’t know.” Jason’s obvious skepticism gave Owen chills. His brother was screwing around with shit he knew nothing about. Jason continued as if Daniel Hyde had asked him to help move a couch. “Hyde thinks he can pull some kind of magic power out of the land by using her blood and that house. Supposedly it belonged to one of the witches they hung.” Jason shrugged. “It’s all bullshit anyway.”

“So you’re going to help some lunatic commit murder for a bullshit reason?” Owen couldn’t hide his disgust.

“Murder?” Jason actually looked indignant. “We’re not going to kill her. He needs
some
blood, not all of it.”

The knot in Owen’s gut started to ease.

“Of course I don’t think she’ll like him having sex with her, but then she won’t like it when the rest of us fuck her either, so Hyde’s the least of her problems.” Jason leered at Owen. “Never expected I’d have my brother’s sloppy seconds, but it won’t matter anyway, since I’ll be last in line tomorrow night.”

A wave of anger so black and potent whipped through Owen that he leaped to his feet before he was even aware he’d moved. Adrenaline shot through his veins. He balled up his hands until he made the flimsy metal creak.

“Ahh, couldn’t hide how much that one bothers you, huh?” Jason’s taunting was going to be the end of him, and he didn’t even realize it.

Grandmother had been right. Sexual energy was one of the most powerful things in nature. Owen began to understand what he needed to do to turn the altar’s energy away from the darkness. He just had to be alive to do it.

* * * *

Mattie’s heart was in her throat when she and Lars entered Asylum. She’d never been to a place like this before. It looked as if she’d walked straight into a Persian harem. Silken draperies in jewel-toned shades of blue, yellow, and green complemented the rich red carpet. A long bar stretched off to the left, a bank of three stages to the right. Costumed strippers danced to the whistles and catcalls of an appreciative crowd. A second level was visible from the first, this one full of the sounds of slot machines and roulette tables.

“Is this stuff even legal?” she asked, trailing along behind Lars.

He led her up two flights of stairs to a third level, where access was barred by a podium flanked by two guys with guns. “Depends who you ask.”

Selena had explained a little bit about the way places like Triptych worked. Favors were exchanged, secrets were kept, promises were made, and the clubs stayed open as long as they didn’t overstep whatever imaginary bounds they operated within. Mattie didn’t like it. And the more she learned about it, the more she wished there was a way for Owen to put it all behind him.

“I need to speak to Torres,” Lars told the guy manning the booth.

The man gave Lars an appraising look. “Mr. Torres is very busy. Do you have an appointment?”

This time Lars addressed one of the gun-toting beefcakes. “Tell him Lars Aasen is here. That should be appointment enough.”

The beefcake either recognized Lars’s name or knew enough to realize Lars and Mattie weren’t going anywhere until they got what they’d come for. He touched his earpiece. “Lars Aasen to see Mr. Torres. Shall I bring him up?”

Whatever the voice on the other end decided, it must’ve been in their favor. The beefcake drew back a tassel-bedecked barrier and motioned that they should follow.

Level Three was apparently for a more risqué crowd. Mattie tried not to look bug-eyed at the couples making out in the booths or the groups grinding on each other out on the dance floor. When Mattie and Lars followed their guide to the next level, she gave up the pretext of being unbothered.

Two curvaceous brunettes kissed hungrily, tugging at their clothing while several men looked on in appreciation. There was more than one cock being fisted by its owner, and one man was even getting an enthusiastic blowjob from his male lover. Despite all the worry in the back of her mind, Mattie was amazed and maybe even titillated.

She conjured up an image of herself with Lars and Owen. What would it be like to be watched and to watch in turn? Would that be an aphrodisiac, or would it be intimidating?

The gaze of an unpaired woman slid away from Mattie and locked on Lars. She licked her lips in open admiration. Mattie was instantly consumed by a little green monster. She didn’t like another woman admiring what belonged to her and Owen.

Maybe exhibitionism isn’t my thing.

Not like this, but Mattie knew from experience it made her hot and bothered to have Owen watch when she fucked Lars or vice versa. And seeing them make love to each other was almost more than her control could take.

The beefcake opened a door. “This way, please.”

They moved down a wide hallway that ended in a posh waiting room with windows overlooking the Neponset River below. Ornate double doors dominated the wall in front of them. Mattie’s fingers itched to sketch the details of the design so she’d remember them later. The relief of a desert scene was inlaid with mother-of-pearl and lapis lazuli. She’d never seen anything like it.

The doors swung open, and Lars led her inside. Mattie was almost disappointed to find herself in an office pretty much like any other. There was a desk, some comfortable chairs, and a banker’s lamp giving off a soft glow. It was a letdown after the stunning entryway.

Two men occupied the space. The guy sitting at the desk appeared to be a playboy in the same way Lars often tried to. The caramel complexion and brown eyes made her think he was probably the one named Torres, except his bone structure was more Middle Eastern than Hispanic. His companion stood behind the desk, his back resting lightly against a wall of built-in bookshelves. His skin was more olive toned. He also had beautiful hazel eyes and dark hair given to curl.

“I cannot imagine what could have brought you here, Lars.” The man sitting at the desk spoke in a lazy fashion. “So I must admit it is my curiosity that gained you access.”

Lars snorted. “Glad we could break up the boredom of running your illegal empire.”

The man standing behind Torres didn’t seem inclined to chitchat. “What do you want?”

“Someone is running illegal fights in Boston. I wanted to know if you had any idea where.” Lars drove straight to the point.

Torres pressed his palms together like a classic evil villain. “All of Interpol at your disposal, and you come here for answers?”

“This is personal, and I’m in a hurry,” Lars said tersely.

Mattie’s skin crawled with the sensation of being very carefully evaluated by two men who seemed to specialize in predicting human behavior and ferreting out whatever they wanted to know. She’d finally had enough.

Gripping Lars’s arm for courage, she stepped out from behind his protective stance. “Can we please cut through the bullshit? Some asshole has our lover locked up like a rooster waiting for a cockfight, and we’re trying to find out where he is before it’s too late. Can you help us or not?”

“
Our
lover?” Torres asked mildly.

Lars didn’t flinch. “That’s what she said. Our lover. His name is Owen Bloodmoon. He’s part of Malachi’s staff at Triptych.”

The guy in back straightened. “Tell me Malachi didn’t decide to tag along.”

“He didn’t think it’d do us any favors,” Lars retorted.

Torres waved his hand dismissively. “You’ve got to get over that whole territorial bullshit thing, Jericho. It was months ago, and it turned out all right in the end anyway.”

Jericho grunted but didn’t offer any explanation. Knowing a little about Malachi, Mattie could imagine him being exactly the kind of man to piss on someone else’s turf without apology. She just didn’t have any time to be empathetic about it. “As much I can understand you wanting to rip Malachi a new one, can we get back to the question?”