Page 11 of Reaper (Quincy Harker Demon Hunter #10)

T wenty minutes later, a disheveled, slightly built Asian man in his twenties followed the bouncer into Luke’s office.

He looked around, starting a bit when he saw Nameless, and almost jumping out of his skin when he got a good look at me.

His head whipped around, looking for an exit that wasn’t blocked by a wall of muscle, and, finding none, turned to Luke.

“What’s going on, Mr. Card? We ain’t done nothing outside our agreement. ”

I raised an eyebrow at Luke. “Agreement?”

“Thomas and his…family are allowed to commit certain petty crimes on the premises in exchange for serving as an unofficial defense against more serious infractions,” Luke said, his airy tone underlaid with a steel that was definitely noticed by our new rodent arrival.

“And we done that!” Thomas protested. “We pick a few pockets, roll a drunk or two, and maybe boost a car if the owner’s too loaded to drive home.

But we always give the car back when we’re done.

It might be missing a stereo, or it might not have the fancy rims they left on it, but we give the car back.

And we keep the bad stuff from happening. ”

“What constitutes ‘bad stuff,’ Tom,” I asked, my voice pleasant.

It didn’t help. The little rat looked like he was going to pass out just being in the same room as me and Luke together.

Made sense. There aren’t very many predators more apex than me, and Dracula is one of them.

No rat in his right mind would be comfortable staring down both of us.

“You know, rapes, stabbings, shootings—the kind of shit happens around every club in the city. But not here. Me and my Whiskers keep the real bad shit out of the Camp, and on account of that, Mr. Card lets us have a little fun.”

“And the drugs?” I asked. Nobody had mentioned drugs, but let’s be real. Where there’s a nightclub, there are drugs.

“Yeah, we sling a little, but nothing too bad. A little Molly, a little weed, even some shrooms and some acid. But no meth, no smack, and no roofies. Never any roofies. We find somebody dosing a drink, we turn them right over to security.”

“What about coke?” I asked. Because I’m old, and I remember when cocaine wasn’t just an expensive drug, it was a requirement for a night out.

“Sure, we do a little coke, but no serious weight. Most folks around here ain’t into that. They just want party drugs. And Adderall. Fuckloads of Adderall. Probably all the college kids. We see a spike in sales around exam time.”

“I’m not here about drugs, Tom,” I said.

“Thomas,” he corrected me.

Seemed like my rat was getting more comfortable now that he’d decided I wasn’t going to explode him on sight. Time to disabuse him of that notion. I leaned forward, letting magic leak out of my eyes and send crimson flecks of light through the room. “I’m not here about drugs, Thomas .”

I could hear the nervous little were gulp. Now that he was properly cowed, I went on. “There have been a lot of paras turning up dead all over town the last few months, and nobody seems to know what’s going on. Someone suggested you might know something.”

“Who said?” Tom asked, puffing up a little at the thought that someone might respect him enough to think he had information.

He hadn’t quite processed the part where that same someone set him on a collision course with me.

“Was it Saint? He’s been pissed at me ever since I had a couple of his pups bounced for picking on my friend Luis last month. ”

“It was Rachelle, down at the Arboretum,” I said. I’m not a reporter. I don’t give a shit about protecting my sources.

“Oh, yeah. Rachelle. She’s cool. Okay, if she sent you, then it’s probably okay. You got names? Or pictures?”

I held out my phone with the photo of the four shifter victims on it. Thomas scrolled through the pictures. “Yeah, I know those guys. Rough, how they lost like that.” He passed the phone back to me. “You know about the rest?”

“I know there were some vampires killed as well, and a couple of witches. But the faeries and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms,” I replied.

“Yeah, there ain’t been but a couple faeries to play. They usually ain’t interested in mundane stuff like money. Been a buttload of demons, though. They don’t leave much for cleanup, though, so I ain’t surprised you didn’t know about them,” the shifter explained.

“What exactly are we talking about here, Thomas? Who is killing these people, and who is covering it up?” Luke asked.

Thomas’s head whipped around, and he straightened up, like he was surprised. “Oh, you guys didn’t know? I figured as plugged in as you were, you’d know all about it. I guess that explains why I ain’t never seen you there.”

“Seen us where , Tom?” I asked. “Quit dancing around this shit before I find a were-cat named Jerry to flip the script and rip your head off.”

Tom looked baffled, like he really couldn’t comprehend my ignorance. “The fights, man. The Monster Mash.”

I opened my mouth to ask what the fuck a Monster Mash was when everything clicked into place. It was a goddamned fight club for paras. Somebody was running an underground fight ring in my city, and supernatural creatures were dying in it.

Tom could apparently see me figuring it out, and could see me getting pissed, because he held up both hands and almost climbed over the back of his chair sliding away from me.

“I ain’t got nothing to do with it, man.

I don’t run ‘em, I don’t bet on ‘em, and I sure as hell don’t fight in ‘em. I’m a lover, not a fighter. ”

I held up my right hand, wrapping it in purple fire and pointing my index finger at his crotch. “Well, Tom, unless you don’t ever want to be anyone’s lover ever again, you’re going to tell me how to get find this fight club.”

“And who is in charge,” Luke added.

“And how to get hired to fight,” I finished, letting a wicked grin creep across my face. Seemed like it was time to really get my Reaper on.

* * *

This fucking sucks , I thought to Becks two nights later as I fake-puked behind a dumpster. If I’m going to pretend to be drunk, I should at least be able to get a buzz first. Now I smell like cheap beer and cigarettes, and I haven’t even had a drink.

The federal government is not paying for you to get drunk, Harker , Becks replied. You’d triple the deficit in one night, with your tolerance.

Well, I’m getting kinda tired of staggering from bar to bar pretending to be a stupid drunken werewolf. These guys need to make a move soon or I’m gonna start drinking for real.

We know that they need a new fighter, since their last guy died, and Thomas said the money fights are every Saturday night, so tonight is their last chance to grab a new victim. Be patient.

Of the very few virtues I possess, patience is not one of them, I replied, unzipping my pants.

I might not have been drinking alcohol, but I’d sucked down enough tonic water at the three bars we’d visited that I needed to piss like a racehorse.

And since I was already in an alley behind a nightclub, I figured I might as well do what comes naturally.

A few seconds later, I let out a sigh of relief.

Are you peeing? Flynn asked.

When in Rome, etc. I replied.

You’re disgusting.

And you’re jealous. If there’s one thing men can do that women can’t do equally well, peeing outside is it.

I got the mental equivalent of a poop emoji, then a middle finger emoji.

Sometimes communicating with Becks was like texting a millennial.

Then I realized Flynn was a millennial, and I felt even older than normal.

Contemplating my age and making sure I kept my Doc Martens clean were the only excuses I had for not hearing the guy come up behind me, and I guess I’d pretended to be drunk for so long that my senses were a little dulled, so I didn’t know anyone was there until pain exploded over my right ear.

I staggered forward, tap-dancing over the puddle of piss, and whirled around, right hand raised in a fist and left hand clutching my Johnson.

And spun right into a massive fist that caught me square on the tip of my nose, blurring my vision and making it hard to breathe for a few seconds.

And a few seconds was all my giant attacker needed.

He was on me like a blanket, pressing a thick forearm across my throat and hammering my ribs with short, sharp punches.

I managed to shove him back a step and raised a knee to his groin, but he turned sideways and all I caught was a thigh.

I didn’t call magic because the whole point of the exercise was to get captured, but I didn’t want to make it too easy on them.

I needed to look like a victim, not a willing participant.

But I also was pretty pissed off. I mean, who jumps a guy while he’s taking a leak?

Is there no fucking honor among criminals anymore?

I tucked everything away and blocked an incoming punch, then let the next one through, which was a bit of a mistake.

This guy was big, strong, and definitely not human.

I couldn’t afford to use my Sight to see exactly what he was, but he hit like a Mack truck.

His punch rattled my brain, and I dropped my guard unintentionally.

That left me open to a quick left, then a massive right, and as my vision shrank down to a small black dot, all I could think was “I really hope I don’t fall in the puddle I just made. ”