Chaos Bound (3 page)

‘Fuck this.’ Chai stood abruptly. My hands tightened around my cane as the otherkin stalked towards the door. Whatever this meeting was about, this wasn’t the best start. The older woman gave Melody a glance and the pink-haired woman excused herself to hurry after her sister.

‘Please forgive Chai. She’s had a difficult life,’ the older woman said. She offered her hand. ‘I am Maya Velkov, Cloete’s birthmother.’

I flicked a surprised glance at Cloete, shaking Maya’s hand on automatic pilot, my head whirling. I recognised the name. Maya Velkov operated a Runner business on Adonis Avenue. I'd heard Velkov only hired women: an assortment of ex-street walkers, assassins, professional blackmailers and experienced charlatans. 'Sisters of No Mercy' was their street name, and they had a ruthless reputation.

Velkov was also Gideon’s main rival in the Runner industry. While Gideon tried to use his position himself as a civic minded businessman to highlight the unfair second-class status of full-bloods and otherkin, Velkov let it be known she had no political leanings that mattered; only the colour of your money did.

Until now, I'd never laid eyes on Velkov. Now she sat across from me, small fingers curled around mine. Her lips parted, showcasing a row of yellowed fangs, her eyes flinty despite the smile.

I tried to pull my hand away, only to find it caught in a vice-like hold. I relaxed and met Velkov’s eyes, swearing silently. I was going to kill Cloete for this. ‘What can I do for you, Lady Velkov?’

The succubus’s smile relaxed an inch, and then my hand was free. The barmaid appeared and slopped a beer in front of me, and a fresh one for Cloete. Velkov waved away the offered one for herself and slipped the girl some coins. ‘Lora, Cloete here tells me you’re one of the most resourceful Runners in Harken.’

I shot Cloete a dirty look. She stared back, face shut down. My head pounded with warning bells. Did Gideon know Cloete’s mother was his main competition in the city? Was Cloete spying on Blackgoat’s business? Poaching clients? Gideon was a resourceful goat. No way he wouldn’t have known who Cloete’s mother was. Which begged the question: why did he hire her?

‘I'm here to make you an offer,’ Velkov said. ‘One that you’d be wise to accept.’

I threw her some dimples. ‘I'm not often accused of being wise, so you’re probably wasting your breath.’ My eyes shifted to Cloete. ‘You got anything to add to this…friend?’

I had been aiming for nonchalance, but my annoyance at being ambushed must have shown in my tone. Cloete mashed her lips shut and lines bracketed her mouth. I could feel an oily malevolence surface around the table as Velkov’s hard eyes calculated my response.

She looked at Cloete. ‘Go check on your sisters.’

Cloete chugged back half her beer, then stood and headed for the door without a word. Velkov watched her go, then her eyes dragged back to me. They were hard, with bitter lines crinkling the edges. Her pupils dilated and I felt myself being drawn into her whirlpool gaze. I dropped my eyes; succubus could enchant women the same as men.

‘My daughter, Chloe, she is a good fighter,’ Velkov said. ‘But too soft for my liking.’

‘You mean she’s got some empathy?’ My eyes shifted to my beer. Beneath the white foam lay a cool amber liquid, begging for me to drink it. My hands itched to pick it up, and my mouth watered for the taste, but an uneasy feeling stayed my hand. Velkov hadn’t voiced any threats, but there was a menace about her I didn’t like, and I knew the reason for this meeting had to be far from good.

‘I'll get right to the point. I intend to take over Blackgoat Watch’s business.’ Velkov’s voice was brisk, like she was ordering from a menu. ‘I am expanding my operations and will now be hiring men. I've made attractive offers to most of Gideon’s Runners and have it on good authority most will likely leave.’

I suddenly recognised the extra note that was accompanying the warning bells in my head: the honking of oncoming-fucking-disaster. From what I'd heard about Velkov, she was a dirty fighter. If she was speaking any truth, Gideon was in for a nasty bitch-fight.

‘You already know what my answer will be,’ I said. ‘So why are you bothering to ask?’

Velkov gave a raspy laugh and slapped the table with a solid blow. ‘I like you. Straight to the point. I wish Cloete had your spunk.’ She shook her head from side to side, the little bells tinkling.

‘I've seen Cloete hold her own just fine,’ I said. Cloete might have sold out, but something told me it hadn’t been an easy sale. I'd worked with the ferocious otherkin on many jobs in the past. She was a brilliant fighter and had a stubborn loyal streak. Maybe that streak was looking a little thin right now, but I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

‘I can offer you twice what you’re paid at Blackgoat. Better working conditions. You pick the jobs you want.’ Velkov gave her rough laugh again. ‘I have several long-standing contracts with well-established organisations. All I need are reliable Runners. With me, people will quickly forget your reputation.’

‘I like my reputation the way it is. It can be handy to have expectations set so low.’

Velkov smiled, showing fangs. ‘Do you know what they call you now?’

‘I'm sure it can’t be worse than Chopper.’ I realised my fingers were inching towards the beer and sternly reminded myself I did not drink with my enemies as a matter of principle. I arched my back, giving it a good stretch, then leant on my cane to push myself up.

‘You are making a mistake,’ Velkov said.

‘Wouldn’t be the first. Probably not even the biggest one I've made today. I'm consistent like that.’

‘What are you going to do now? Run to the old goat and warn him?’

‘Is that what you want me to do?’ I shrugged. ‘I'd wager he already knows.’

‘Finish your drink, at least. Waste of a good brew.’

My eyes dropped to the beer. ‘I'll be having a drink later, but with better company.’

I sauntered off, hearing Velkov chuckle softly behind me. Irritation prickled my spine. Someone laughing behind my back twice in one day… At this rate, a girl was could get a complex.

The next day, I fronted up for my job with Nicola Grogan at the Iron Horse theatre, bang on time. My client was appearing in the matinee showing of the play Lola’s Wedding, which I had now seen twice and sincerely wished I hadn’t.

I wasn’t impressed with the theatre either. Located on Grape Lane on the east side of Applecross, it catered to the working class citizen and was small, overcrowded, and reeked of cheap wine. The building was constructed of curved timber arches with a high domed ceiling, and the stage was large and lit with bright gas lights. The Iron Horse liked to advertise that they showed plays for the 'common man', and these sparkling gems of entertainment ran every day from mid-afternoon until midnight.

The play had kicked off fifteen minutes late, and was now coming to its gripping conclusion, which consisted of a long monologue by my client, Nicola Grogan. Leaning against my cane backstage, I listened to Nicola recite her lines about love lost. Even on my third forced viewing, I still wasn’t sure what genre the play was. Comedy? Drama? If I had to see it one more time, I was going to file it under ‘torture porn’.

Stagehands scurried around the creaking backstage behind me, arms full of battered props and actors still in thick make-up lounged around, gossiping. The audience was the same as the other nights: a crowd of drunken degenerates from the nearby docks who didn’t look like they were getting any loving back home. By the looks of their filthy faces, they probably didn’t deserve any.

The manager of the theatre had hired Blackgoat, and the job brief had been simple: protect Nicola Grogan until the end of the play’s showing in two weeks' time. There hadn’t been any more information, but I got the impression I was watching for an overzealous admirer.

Scanning the crowd, I kept my eyes sharp for anyone looking to kick up trouble. So far, nothing twinged my sixth sense. I had the rare ability to read a person’s aura, and the cloud that hovered over the crowd churned and swelled like a greasy ocean storm. I quickly blinked the vision away.

There weren’t many women patrons, just a handful of actresses and a sprinkling of street workers, cleavage boosted to fantastic heights by steel-boned corsets. As a consequence of this ratio, I'd had my backside pinched at least once. Of course, once the pincher got my knee in his balls, the error was quickly realised and I was left mostly alone.

It was easy to see why Nicola was popular. Standing onstage and reciting her lines, she resembled a cherubic angel with plump cheeks and rosy lips. Her voice was high and sweet, and locks of shimmering blonde hair fanned to her waist like golden wheat in a warm summer sun. She was like a ray of sunshine, radiating sweetness and joy to all who met her. It set my teeth on fucking edge.

A cough sounded behind me. I turned to see Leonard Stonehouse, the manager of the Iron Horse, and the one who’d engaged Blackgoat Watch for Nicola’s security. His frock was the colour of blueberries, with ivory lace spilling out of the sleeves. Short of stature, his boots always had substantial heels, bringing him to eye-level to those around him. Stonehouse leant into my personal space and I detected the faint odour of opium. We’d been introduced when I'd shown up for my first day, and I still hadn’t warmed to the guy. I hated talking to the money.

‘How do things look to you tonight?’ he whispered.

‘Just fine.’ I kept my answers short, hoping he’d leave me alone. For the billionth time, I wished I'd been in a position to be as fussy as Cloete about what jobs I took. The otherkin’s face stuck in my mind’s eye and I shoved it aside with difficulty. I'd searched for Cloete that morning, before my shift at the theatre, but she hadn’t been at her home, Blackgoat Watch, or even at Growlers. I had to find her, and fast. I wanted to hear the betrayal from her own lips, that she was leaving Blackgoat Watch to join the Sisters of No Mercy. I knew family could be complicated; being the bastard child of an angel had given me some perspective. But I had thought Cloete had seen Blackgoat as her family, not the viper that was her mother. I also needed to check if Gideon knew about Maya Velkov’s attempt to run him out of business.

Stonehouse’s eyes moved over the crowd. ‘Anyone look suspicious to you?’

‘Everyone looks suspicious here.’ I shifted my weight from my bad leg, leaning on my cane.

He grunted. ‘You’ll remember to take Nicola home directly after the show?’

‘I know the schedule.’

‘Good, good. Your man is out the back?’

I nodded with a small smile. Crowhurst was the secondary on the job. He was a former jack-of-all-trades who Gideon had initially hired to keep an eye on me. We’d since worked out that little misunderstanding just fine. I didn’t need my own bodyguard, and if we were being honest, Crowhurst didn’t want that job. He was a competitive, egotistical jerk with high ambitions. Which made it all the more satisfying when he was the secondary on this job, and I got to order him around.

Right now, Crowhurst was out in the alley behind the theatre, sitting in the driver’s seat of Nicola’s personal coach. When I'd told him on the first night he’d have to wait outside while Nicola was onstage, he’d almost pouted. Serves the little pervert right.

‘Fine then, just fine. Carry on, then.’ Stonehouse made a few noises in his throat, then waddled into the backstage area.

The sound of scattered applause drew my attention back to the stage. The lights dimmed and the next play was being set up. Nicola floated towards me, eyes sparkling.

‘What did you think?’ Her voice was breathless. ‘Was that better than last night? I added in a few extra lines, did you notice? I thought it fleshed my character out more.’

I murmured something non-committal and tried to look generally supportive, punctuated with a thumbs-up.

‘You’re so funny.’ Nicola laughed lightly and breezed by me, heading for her dressing room. Stepping close behind her, I kept a close eye on the stagehands running around us.

We entered a short corridor. A couple of invitations were shouted to Nicola from behind me, but I kept ushering her forward until we were inside her dressing room with the door shut and the bolt drawn. I didn’t want to take any chances. While I hadn’t come across any problems yet, the job had an undertone that didn’t sit right with me. Nicola had rolled her eyes when I quizzed her about why she needed protection, and Stonehouse just started sweating before excusing himself. Something was making me feel queasy about this gig, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t the fried dumplings I'd eaten for lunch.

The dressing room was a generous size, with draped damask curtains and ornately carved wooden furniture. On every surface, juicy red roses were clumped in vases, clogging the air with their sweet, fruity aroma. Ointment jars in bright purple and ruby-red glass cluttered a vanity table with a large mirror, and beside it, a washbasin sat on a dresser, brimming with scented water. To the far right, a trunk was pushed against the wall, its lid gaping open and fringed silk shawls slung carelessly over it.

Nicola flumped down at the vanity table, picking up one of the ointment jars. ‘Did you really not like my performance?’ She unscrewed the lid and smeared cream over her face and neck.

‘I never said that.’

‘I thought lesbians were quite fond of my plays. I played the role of one once. The play was called
She Said
,
She Said
. It was very popular.’

I cocked an eyebrow. ‘Sorry. What?’

She giggled. ‘You don’t have to be shy. Those shoes are a dead giveaway.’

Bemused, I opened my mouth to argue, then remembered I didn’t care what she thought. Maybe I did like women. I did, however, feel insulted for lesbians. My black tanker boots were more practical than anything else, with a six-inch retractable blade in the toe.

‘I wasn’t watching the performance. I watch everything else,’ I told her. ‘You know, my job.’

‘I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.’ Nicola turned back to the mirror with a mischievous smile, wiping the ointment from her face with a cloth. ‘It’s just your clothes look very masculine.’ In the mirror, her eyes dropped to my waist. ‘And that belt is hideous. So bulky. It doesn’t flatter your hips, you know.’