Page 6 of The Reaper's Vow

I drag him toward the black room, his feet barely touching the ground. The hallway empties as other club patrons sensethe violence about to unfold. Smart. They know better than to witness what happens when the Reaper comes calling.

The black room door swings open at my approach—Viktor must have unlocked it remotely. The space beyond is soundproof, windowless, and designed for one purpose. The walls are lined with disposable plastic, and drain grates dot the concrete floor. Everything necessary for cleanup.

“Wait, wait!” Marco's voice cracks as I haul him inside. “I can pay it back. Triple what I took. I have connections, information?—”

“Information?” I pause, my hand still wrapped around his throat. This could be useful. “What kind of information?”

His eyes dart around the room. The smell of his fear spikes, acrid and sharp.

Normally this room is used for blood play. Easier to clean up when the room comes with drains, and a sanitizing system installed in the ceiling. Plus, it comes in handy when you have to put down a wolf. Dual-purpose room, so to speak.

“The Lockhart pack,” he gasps out. “They're planning a move against your territory.”

I tighten my grip slightly. “Be more specific.”

“They've been recruiting. Offering protection to businesses that pay tribute to Anselm. Undercutting your rates by thirty percent.” His words come out in a rush now, desperation making him talkative. “They think with you busy playing enforcer, the family's spread too thin to retaliate.”

Interesting. The Lockharts have been testing boundaries for months, but this is the first I'm hearing of organized recruitment. Alpha Anselm will want to know about this.

“Who's leading the recruitment?”

“Thomas Lockhart. He's been making the rounds personally, promising better terms and less...violent collection methods.”

I almost smile at that. Less violent. They have no idea what violence looks like when it's truly unleashed.

“What else?”

Marco's breathing becomes more labored as my grip remains constant. “There's a meeting. Tomorrow night. Warehouse district, the old Kellerman building. Thomas is supposed to finalize deals with at least six businesses.”

Now we're getting somewhere. I release his throat, and he collapses against the wall, gasping. But I'm not done with him yet.

“Information doesn't erase your debt,” I remind him, moving closer.

“But—but I told you everything I know!”

“Did you?” I grab him by his shirt collar and slam him against the wall. The impact makes his mask slip, revealing the sweaty, terrified face beneath. “Because I'm starting to think you're holding out on me.”

I lean in close. “You said Thomas is finalizing deals with six businesses. Name them.”

“I—I don't know all of them,” Marco stammers.

My fist connects with the wall beside his head, leaving an impression in the concrete despite the sheet of plastic acting as a barrier. “Try again.”

“The Golden Paw Brewery,” he blurts out. “Redwood Apothecary. Sierra Supply Co.” His words tumble over each other as he struggles to remember. “Blackridge Auto Shop. Um...Moonlight Diner.”

“You're still one short.”

Marco's throat works as he swallows. “The last one...it's new. Not a business, exactly.”

“Explain.”

“It's a person. Someone inside the Bellandi organization. Thomas has been bragging that he's got a big fish on the line.”

“A name, Marco,” I demand, my patience wearing thin. “Give me the name.”

He hesitates, scanning the room as if searching for an escape that doesn’t exist. Sweat beads along his hairline, sliding beneath the edge of his mask.

“I—I don’t know for sure,” he stammers. “Thomas never said specifically, just that it was someone close to Anselm.”