Page 20 of Shadow Waltz
As if summoned by the conclusion of business discussions, Carina appeared in the doorway with the perfect timing that had saved my life more than once. Her expression carried the professional neutrality she used when important guests were present, but I caught subtle tension around her eyes that suggested something required my attention.
“Gentlemen,” she said with warmth that almost reached her eyes, “your transportation back to the airport is ready when convenient.”
But the way she said it carried undertones that my guests probably missed—we had other business to attend to, the kindthat required privacy and couldn't be postponed for social courtesy.
Adrian stood with the fluid grace of someone who'd learned to move efficiently despite old injuries, his scarred face arranging itself into an expression of polite departure. “We should go. Early flight tomorrow, and Noah gets cranky when he doesn't sleep enough.”
“I do not get cranky,” Noah protested, though his smile suggested this was an ongoing argument between them. “I get focused.”
“Same thing,” Adrian replied, and the affection in his voice was subtle but unmistakable.
I escorted them to the elevator, watching as they moved together with the synchronized efficiency of people who'd learned to function as a unit while maintaining individual identity.
“Safe travels,” I said as the elevator doors prepared to close. “I look forward to working together.”
“So do we,” Adrian replied, though his eyes held the kind of careful assessment that suggested he was already planning for contingencies I hadn't considered.
As the doors closed and my guests descended toward street level, I remained standing in the hallway for longer than necessary, processing emotions I'd thought I'd successfully suppressed years ago. Watching Adrian and Noah together had reminded me of possibilities I'd convinced myself were incompatible with the life I'd chosen, dreams I'd abandoned in favor of power and security.
Seeing the way Adrian and Noah complemented each other, the way they'd managed to maintain love in a world built on betrayal and violence, made me wonder if some risks might be worth taking. The thought terrified me more than any physical threat—I'd spent years building walls around my heart preciselybecause caring about others gave enemies weapons they could use to destroy everything I'd worked to create.
“Sir?” Carina's voice cut through my introspection with the diplomatic insistence she used when my attention was required elsewhere.
I turned to find her watching me with the kind of careful concern that came from years of managing both my business and my psychological well-being. She'd learned to read my moods with the accuracy of someone whose survival depended on anticipating my needs before I voiced them.
“The evening's preparations,” she said, consulting her tablet with practiced efficiency. “Final security sweeps, buyer confirmations, and merchandise processing all require your approval before we can proceed.”
The auction. I'd been so focused on the Calloway negotiations that I'd almost forgotten about tonight's primary event, the monthly gathering that provided the bulk of my organization's revenue and maintained our reputation in circles where reputation was the difference between respect and extinction.
“Status report,” I said, falling into step beside her as we walked toward the command center that served as my operational headquarters.
“Thirty-seven confirmed buyers, all vetted and cleared through our standard protocols,” Carina reported, scrolling through lists that represented millions in potential revenue. “Security sweeps completed on all access points, technological systems tested and verified, merchandise prepared according to catalog specifications.”
The clinical language was necessary emotional armor in a business that turned human suffering into profitable entertainment, but tonight it felt heavier than usual. Perhaps watching Adrian and Noah together had reminded me that thepeople we processed were more than inventory numbers and market valuations—they were someone's children, someone's dreams, someone's hopes for futures that would never arrive.
I pushed the thought aside as dangerous sentiment that could compromise necessary business decisions. Emotional attachment was a luxury my position couldn't afford, weakness that enemies could exploit with devastating results. Better to maintain professional distance than to risk everything I'd built on the foundation of misplaced compassion.
As we entered the command center, Mason looked up from banks of monitors showing feeds from throughout the building and across the city. Their fingers never stopped moving across keyboards as they tracked dozens of data streams simultaneously, maintaining the digital fortress that kept my empire invisible to authorities who'd destroy it given the opportunity.
“All systems operational,” Mason reported without being asked, their voice carrying the kind of focused intensity that came from holding back the digital apocalypse through sheer force of will. “Financial networks secured, communication channels encrypted, surveillance systems running at full capacity.”
The efficiency was reassuring, but I found my attention drifting toward the feed from holding area that showed tonight's merchandise waiting for their moment on stage. Young men and women whose lives had been reduced to catalog entries sat in cells that were clean and comfortable but unmistakably cages, each one representing someone's broken dreams and shattered innocence.
“Enhanced surveillance on Lot 17,” I instructed Mason, though I wasn't entirely sure why. “Full behavioral analysis, psychological profiling, anything that might explain his unusual composure.”
Mason's fingers flew across their keyboard, opening dedicated windows that filled with data streams and analytical reports. “Interesting subject,” they observed, pulling up files that detailed Carter's history through multiple owners and previous auction experiences. “Fourth time through the system, which makes him either extremely resilient or extremely dangerous.”
Probably both, I thought, watching as Ash moved through his cell with careful efficiency. There was something predatory about his patience, the stillness of someone who'd learned to wait for exactly the right moment to act. Even captive and restrained, he radiated the kind of controlled violence that could turn victim into weapon given sufficient opportunity.
“Keep me updated on his status,” I said, my voice carefully neutral despite the electricity I felt whenever I looked at that particular screen. “Real-time reports, especially any changes in behavior or condition.”
5
THE FIRST COLLISION
ASH
The guards' hands on my shoulders felt like iron shackles as they guided me toward the stage, each step carrying me deeper into a nightmare that had no end. My legs moved mechanically, muscle memory from years of being herded from one hell to another, but inside I was already dead. Had been dead for months, maybe years. The only question was when my body would finally get the message.