Silver Vein: Beneath the City Sleeps Book 1

by Shannon French

  “Just here is fine,” I said as he pulled into an unoccupied bus stop and paused the meter.

  “Call it an even 30, kidda,” he sighed, his voice sounding about as exhausted as I felt.

  “Cheers,” I replied, passing him the money and a modest tip before bustling out of the car and jogging towards Lily’s building.

  Lily’s building was far nicer than mine. Where mine consisted mostly of worn grey brick and dark, musty corridors – hers was sleek and contemporary. Pristinely clean with not even a whiff of cat piss. How the other half lived, I guessed. Once inside the lobby, I found the list of names beside the elevator and pressed the button beside hers. Rig was written delicately in black ink and as I stared at it, waiting for the intercom to buzz, I couldn’t decide whether it had been written or printed.

  There was no answer, so I pressed the button a second time, this time a little firmer. Second by second, my nerves were increasing. Not because I was frightened, she would be furious at me for showing up at her apartment out of the blue, but because I was beginning to trust my instincts and they were screaming at me that something wasn’t right. When the third and fourth press of the button went unanswered, I glanced behind me at the receptionist perched behind her desk. Walking over, I offered her a sweet smile and cleared my throat. Her expression didn’t change when she met my eyes.

  “Can I help you?” She snapped, glancing up from her computer screen.

  I always wondered what people with these cushy jobs did all day. Maybe that was unfair of me, but having grown up working in occupations that involved a lot of work away from a desk, I couldn’t fathom what was so urgent on those computer screens. Yes, I’d spent many an hour researching cases online, but apart from that, what did these people do all day? Answer emails?

  “I’m supposed to be visiting a friend, Lily Rig. She’s not answering the intercom. Would it be possible for you to buzz me up?”

  She scoffed and shook her head. “No, sorry. This building has a no visitors policy. Unless our occupants allow you to gain entry themselves, there’s nothing I can do.” Her sour attitude and matching face made me grit my teeth, but I breathed a sigh of relief when my eyes spotted the staff key card that was tucked in the silk jacket over the back of her desk chair. It was barely visible above the embroidered breast pocket.

  “No problem. Would it be too much trouble to ask for a glass of water, though? I forgot my water bottle at home and I’m halfway through a twelve-mile run.”

  She frowned, her eyes dropping to glance at my outfit. The black jeans and plaid shirt didn’t exactly scream activewear, but it was too late to backtrack now.

  “You were running twelve miles dressed like that?”

  I laughed, hoping that it sounded natural enough to ease the receptionist’s suspicions. “I got locked out of my apartment. I was stopping in to see Lily to see if I could borrow some of her gym clothes. Figured there was no point in missing out on a few miles before I got change, you know? Busy, busy.”

  She wasn’t buying it at all, but she spun around in her chair and headed over to the water cooler just behind the desk. While her back was turned, I lunged across the desk and picked the key card out of her pocket. I composed myself in time for her to return with a pitcher of ice-cold water.

  “Thanks, I appreciate it,” I grinned, squeezing the card into the back pocket of my jeans and downing what felt like an entire pint of water. I plonked the glass back down on the desk and turned to walk away as calmly as I could. Catching the reflection of the receptionist in a circular mirror above the exit, I watched for her focus to shift back to the computer before jogging down the nearest service hallway. The door beeped open as I thrust the car against the reader and I winced as I slipped through.

  With no time for hesitation, I jogged up the first flight of stairs, trying to control my breathing as best I could. I was physically fit. There was no question about that, but still—I had to make it up six flights of stairs and already my heart was thumping rapidly against my chest. There was no way to be certain whether that was because of the physical exertion or the feeling of impending doom. Lily’s apartment took up the entirety of the sixth floor, most likely costing an arm and a leg to live.

  I distracted myself with these basic thoughts as I buzzed my card against the second service door and entered a short hallway. Tough leather chairs were decoratively placed around a glistening glass coffee table, a bookshelf comprising a few novels, unread given the condition of their spines, and a couple of plants were perched in the opposing corner. Directly in front of the service entrance was a tall mahogany door with a peephole in the center.

  Without waiting, I knocked against the wood repeatedly. “Lily? Lily, it’s Quinn, are you in there?” In the following silence, I cursed myself for overreacting to my instincts. Although Thatcher had beaten it into me the last few years to always follow your gut, I had a feeling this time around my gut had been wrong and any minute now, someone in security was going to storm up here and have me arrested for trespassing.

  “Lily, if you’re in there, I just need to chat, OK? Can you open up, please?” I added, pressing my ear against the door to listen for any sounds coming from inside. Nothing.

  I’d overreacted, and now I felt like the world’s biggest drama queen.

  I breathed a long sigh and turned to make my way coyly back down the shit tonne of stairs when a muffled scream sounded from beyond the door. I’d had no time to react before I was fighting desperately to get inside, calling Lily’s name repeatedly, hoping she’d manage to open it up from the inside. Of course, like an idiot, I tried the damn handle, and it swung open without issue.

  “Fucking moron,” I muttered to myself as I searched urgently for wherever the noise was coming from. A groan had me sprinting through to the open-plan kitchen and living area, where the blinds were still drawn, leaving the entire room in a dull amber darkness that made it difficult to see where I was going.

  “Quinn!” Lily screeched from the far corner of the room. I moved towards her only to realise she wasn’t trying to signal her location, but trying to warn me.

  A colossal figure came tumbling into me, tackling me at the waist and throwing me backwards into the wall. My head spun as it knocked into the plasterboard, leaving a bloodied dent in its wake. Only as I was stunned by the impact did my eyes lock with those above me. They were pitch black, pupils blown so wide that they looked almost animalistic. Fighting against the urge to vomit, I pushed back against the man, but it only encouraged him to continue throwing scratches against my flesh. Scratches?

  I had nothing to use as a weapon and my head was still spinning, my vision blurred and darkening every few seconds. No matter how hard I tried to shake it off and focus on the man who was trying to kill me, I couldn’t.

  “Quinn!” Lily called again, weaker this time. Whether that meant she was close to passing out, or I was, I couldn’t be sure. Yet it was enough to convince me to fight a little harder. I’d had little practice at playing the damsel in distress, and I wasn’t about to start now.

  I clawed my free hand up to the man’s face and searched for his eyes. Balls or eyes - works every time.

  But he squirmed away from my advances and instead moved in closer until I could feel the sharp points of teeth embedding themselves at my throat. Surprise would have had me dumbfounded enough without the pain, but as quick as his teeth broke my skin, they were gone. In the darkness, I could barely make up his form as it staggered back. An almost inhuman cry echoed from him and hit against the thick darkness before he ran. If it hadn’t been for the slam of the door behind him, I wouldn’t have been convinced he’d gone.

  Utilising what little strength was left in my newly mauled body, I slid clumsily across the floor to where Lily was huddled.

  “Are you OK? Are you hurt?” I asked, knowing it was a stupid question but lost for what else to say. Without waiting for her answer, I reached up and grabbed a handful of her expensive fitted blinds and tugged with
all my might. A block of them came tumbling down to the ground, allowing a stream of early morning sunlight to fill the apartment.

  “What was that? What did he want?” Lily cried hysterically.

  Now that I could see her clearly, her face was swollen and bruised as though she’d spent an hour in the ring with a pro boxer on steroids. She cradled her arm to her chest as though it were broken. However, the most startling thing I saw was the unfiltered fear in her eyes.

  “I don’t know,” I replied finally, helping her to stand. We both wavered on our feet for a second and I could see Lily looking over my shoulder as though any minute now the intruder could come rushing back in. Hell, it didn’t seem too far fetched a worry.

  “You’re bleeding,” she muttered before her legs gave way beneath her and she was once again a puddle on the floor. Unable to hold her up or tend to her injuries given my state, I searched the room for a phone and quickly dialled for an ambulance or the police or… something. Someone more capable of cleaning up this mess than I was. For the first time in my career, I had the sinking feeling that I was in over my head, just like Xavier had told me.

  Chapter Eight

  It didn’t take long for the apartment to fill up with people. The paramedics were first, quickly followed by police officers and eventually, a couple of tired looking detectives. One of which I recognised. Or at least, he recognised me.

  “Quintessa Laurier,” he tutted, sauntering towards me in his dark jeans and Ralph Lauren shirt as if he’d just come from the country club.

  I groaned, hanging my head back and closing my eyes. My head was throbbing and the blood that had soaked through my t-shirt was cold and sticky. The last thing I needed was for Jack to point out that I looked just as bad as I felt.

  “Fancy finding you at another crime scene,” he added, pausing in front of me and folding his arms across his chest.

  “Funny, I seem to recall the last time I saw you wasn’t at a crime scene at all,” I replied. “By now I’m pretty sure I’ve seen the inside of your house more than your wife has.”

  “We’re separated.” His tone changed, lower and more guarded than before, which made me strangely happy.

  “So you keep telling me,” I said with a smirk.

  He nodded towards the wound at my neck and I could swear he almost leaned in to get a closer look, but thought better of it. “You should get that looked at.”

  “I can take care of myself, thanks for the concern.”

  “Still as stubborn as ever, I see,” he sighed. “Can I get a statement from you, at least?”

  “Sure,” I began. “I came here to check on Lily, a client of ours. I found the door open, heard her call from inside, came in, got tackled, and the guy ran off. The end. Oh, and I didn’t see what he looked like, it was dark.”

  Jack seethed, pressing his lips into a thin line. “That’s all you’re giving me?”

  “That's all I’ve got. If I remember anything else, I’ll let you know.” I glanced back over my shoulder to where the paramedics were strapping Lily onto a stretcher. “She might know more.”

  “You know I’m going to need to bring you into the station later today, right? Get your statement on paper.”

  I nodded, “yup. I’m aware of police protocols.”

  “Can I get you on the same number?” He asked, flicking through a notepad as if he were trying to look professional.

  “Same as always.”

  I moved to walk past him, but his hand caught my arm and tugged me back. “You know the receptionist says her staff key is missing and that she’s certain you’d left the building.”

  “Wasn’t me,” I smiled coyly.

  Jack sighed once again, his dark brow furrowed as he closed his eyes and shook his head. “You make it very difficult to not arrest you, you know that?”

  “You got me though, right?” I grinned, slipping the key card out of my pocket and into his jeans discreetly.

  “This is the last time, Quinn,” Jack warned, but the coy smile playing on his lips told me otherwise.

  “See you later, Jack.” I slipped out of his grasp and headed for the exit, my mind buzzing with reasonable explanations for the morning’s events. I couldn’t fish out one that made sense.

  Lily’s apartment building was no longer the serene atmosphere it had been when I’d entered. Instead, any number of police officers and other staff were huddled in the lobby downstairs. Some were gossiping about what had happened, others were trying to gather information. As I walked towards the exit, I grabbed a bundle of tissues from the chrome holder, sat on yet another decorative table, and clasped the wad to my neck. It seemed to have stopped bleeding, but the last thing I needed was for the tourists lining up for the London Eye to be ogling my injuries before I’d even had a chance to check them out. I rushed along Southbank and into a bustling fast-food restaurant. No one batted an eye as I headed towards the bathrooms. It was a glorious day by England’s standards, with no breeze and bright blue skies. Even as I took refuge in the air-conditioned toilets of McDonalds, I could feel a prickling of sweat at my collarbone. Although that was more likely to be from blood loss than the mild heat.

  I removed the bundle of bloodstained tissues from my neck and tossed them in the bin before running the tap and soaking a few paper towels with cold water. Only as I rinsed the dried blood from my pale skin, wincing with each touch, could I see the clear outline of the teeth marks. I pulled the skin taut to get a better look, and fought to come up with another explanation.

  Once I’d finished with my neck, I unclasped my blonde hair and folded it over my shoulders to disguise the injury, taking a second to feel around the back of my head for a break in the skin from my impact against the wall. Luckily, there was nothing there but a protruding bump and I made a mental note to get an ice pack or some frozen peas on there at some point today. For now, though, I had only one place, or more specifically, one person, I needed to visit. I had to get to Omen and speak to Xavier.

  I walked home pretty quick for an injured bitch and I stopped by my apartment just long enough to grab my car keys and throw a somewhat pitiful bandage on my neck. It was almost noon and by this point Thatcher would be wondering where I was and what the hell I was up to. There wasn’t time to fill him in on all the gory details right now, so I pushed that unease to the back of my mind and drove to Omen. London traffic was arguably the worst in the country, and I spent a good hour with my window rolled down as I sat at the roadworks just outside of Chelsea and Westminster Hospital. Usually, I’d avoid using my car throughout the day but I still couldn’t stomach the thought of public transport and I was broke after this morning’s taxi ride.

  When the traffic eventually started to move, I put my foot down and reached Omen in just a few minutes. This time the car park was almost empty, and I wasted no time in pulling into a space just shy of the front door. There was no buzzer or intercom, so I settled on pounding my fists against the metal, hoping someone would hear me. Xavier was likely at home, living the quiet life in his fucking castle in Chelsea. Nevertheless, I kept knocking and just as I was about to give myself a break; the door swung open and the female bartender from the last time I was here poked her head through the gap.

  “The fuck do you want?” She asked, rubbing at her eyes as though she’d just woken up. I wasn’t one to judge. I was partial to a lie in, but surely she didn’t live here—at the club? Mariella brushed her hands up and down the tops of her tattooed arms as she waited impatiently for my reply.

  “Is Xavier here?” I asked, feeling ridiculous.

  She offered me the courtesy of not replying and instead rolled her dark eyes and stepped to the side, welcoming me in with a sarcastic bow.

  The club wasn’t shrouded in darkness this time, instead it was bathed in the dark orange glow from the open drapes that hung in wisps of velvet from the ceiling.

  “It looks weird in the light,” I mumbled, following the woman to the bar and hovering awkwardly.

 
What did I want to talk to Xavier about? What was I going to say? I hadn’t prepared a speech or even a flurry of questions. Instead, I was merely hoping that I’d see his face to get something sensible out of my slack jaw.

  “I’m Mariella, I don’t think we were introduced the last time you were here asking questions you have no right asking,” she quipped, and I caught the colourings of an accent in her words, eastern European perhaps, but I couldn’t be certain. “Sit,” she ordered.

  I did as she asked, too tired to refuse, and perched on the barstool in front of her, watching as she picked up a phone on the wall and dialled an extension.

  “She’s here,” she said dully into the receiver before hanging up and turning her attention back to me. “He’ll be down in a moment. What do you want to drink?”

  “Have you got coffee?” I asked, not spying a kettle or an espresso machine in sight, but hoping anyway.

  Mariella laughed curtly and shook her head. Without saying a word, she poured vodka into two highball glasses, topping it with tomato juice, salt, pepper, and hot sauce.

  “No celery, sorry,” she sighed, stirring the two Bloody Marys with a long cocktail spoon.

  “Thanks,” I replied, taking the glass when she offered it.

  I was not a fan of vodka at the best of times, and Bloody Mary’s always reminded me of a Margherita pizza that had been left out in the sun for too long. When I heard footsteps coming down the steps behind me, though, I knew I’d need the courage and gulped down half the glass with a grimace.