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Gaven gave a humorless laugh and sat forward, interlocking his fingers on the table. “Your father and I were business partners. I brought in the merchandise from overseas, he handled the clients. We had a good thing going, he and I. The whole operation was effortless, just the way I like it. He made me a promise that if anything ever happened to him, he had plans in place to keep our operation running. It didn’t matter if he was behind bars, bleeding out, or already dead, he had it figured out. His word was part of our agreement.”

“And what word was that?”

“That his son, Darien Cassel, would assume all responsibilities in his absence.” Darien had seen this coming, especially after his visit with Finn yesterday, but it still left him unable to breathe for a minute.

“Why me? Why not one of your own trusted men? You pick someone, I stay out of your way. How’s that?”

“We need someone who doesn’t just know the streets and the clients, but also someone who can handle them. Randal wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty or to have his face in the spotlight. Us? We prefer to operate from the shadows, keep our names and faces relatively unknown. You and whoever you choose to assist you would be the names and faces taking over for Randal and his men. We would compensate you for your time, of course. Just like we did Randal.”

Finn was right. He had a lot to worry about and very little chance of getting out of it, at least not unscathed.

But he still told them, “Find someone else.”

“Like I said.” Gaven smiled coldly. “Your father reassured us that you would take over for him if anything happened—anything at all that would render him unable to fulfill his end of our agreement, he had it figured out.”

“How kind of him to leave me such a glorious inheritance. I would thank him if he wasn’t dead.”

“If you’re finished running your mouth, perhaps you would like to make a deal. I took reassurance in Randal’s promise, and I am unwilling to accept the breaking of such a deal, especially by a lippy child who doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up.”

Darien’s blood boiled. A Surge was knocking, begging to let the monster inside him out to play. His rage was a living thing—expanding, expanding, expanding until it filled the room, a great monster with bared teeth and raised hackles. Gaven Payne was a dead man walking.

“I only see one lippy child here, and that’s you,” Darien said, his voice glacial. “And I am far from done. You’ve got your head up your ass if you believe I’d be willing to work with the likes of you.”

“How can I say this in a way that will sink in?” There was a cruel curve to his lips and a wicked glint in his eyes that suggested he was enjoying this more than he should. “Darien, if you don’t cooperate, we will kill you. Do you understand me, or do I need to speak slower?”

Darien’s fingers curled into the armrests of his chair.

Gaven continued, “We will kill your sister, your dark-haired side-piece downstairs, your other Devils. We will kill your woman—”

Darien lunged forward in his seat. Ivy grabbed onto his arm, holding him back as he spat, “Fuck. You.”

Gaven’s men snickered.

He knew the moment he did it that he shouldn’t have reacted that way. He’d betrayed his greatest weakness, and these men had done nothing to earn that information except dangle a few taunting words in front of him.

He was out of practice—and he’d had too many sleepless nights.

Gaven gave him a cold smile. “She attends Angelthene Academy, correct? Works at a little apothecary on the Avenue of the Scarlet Star?”

The room was spinning. Darien’s chest heaved, and he felt his throat and lungs constrict.

Gaven continued, “And what about that house you love so much? 775237 Victoria Amazonica District. Beautiful red-brick house with jasmine in the yard. Your rooms face the back. Oh wait, I’m sorry, let me correct that: you and your girl’s rooms face the back. Loren Calla—sweet little blonde thing. Human. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, right?” Gaven sneered, his hateful gaze clawing its way from Darien’s head to his boots. “How’d she end up with someone like you?”

The room spun faster. All the blood in Darien’s face rushed down to his feet, and he thought he might throw up.

Gaven rose, the movement fluid, and straightened his suit jacket—wrinkle- and stain-free. “Think it over. Like I said: you don’t need to work with us. But it would be in your best interest if you did.”

For the first time in his life, Darien couldn’t think of anything to say.

Gaven’s men made their way to the door, while Gaven himself lingered, still watching Darien and Ivy as he pushed his chair in under the table. His hands were barely scarred, not one callous on his palms. Pussy fucking hands.

Gaven said, “It’s so nice to meet you, Darien. Ivy.” He dipped his chin in Ivy’s direction. “You know…face to face.” The subtle threat hung in the air between them, sending the room spiralling like a tornado.

Darien and Ivy knew their faces now, a fact that gave Gaven and his cronies more incentive to kill them if they didn’t cooperate. The men who worked from the shadows had stepped out to bait them, and Darien hated himself for not seeing it coming.

Gaven and his men left without another word or a glance back, heading down to the bar for a drink.

Darien said nothing, and neither did Ivy. They stood in silence and crossed the room.