by Kali Argent
“It’s a safe.”
They all turned to look at Isla with varying degrees of incredulousness.
“And you didn’t think to tell us about it?” Slade asked, his brow creased. “Can you open it?”
“First, I didn’t tell you about it because, frankly, I forgot it was there. It’s a fairly new addition to the office.”
“Can you open it?” Slade repeated with usual lack of diplomacy.
“No. Sorry.”
“It’s just a bio-lock.” Bastian had seen more sophisticated security in a space station bathroom. “Isla, do you have any makeup in that bag?”
She nodded once, dropped the duffle on top of the desk, and unzipped it. A moment later, she pulled out a pink pouch with white flowers and dug through it, withdrawing a circular compact with gold writing.
“Will this work?”
Bastian took the compact from her and flipped it open to find a creamy peach-colored concoction he assumed went on her face, though he couldn’t imagine why. Swiping his thumb through the substance, he coated the entire pad of his digit, then handed the makeup back to her.
“Bring me that mug over there.”
Isla reached across the desk to retrieve a tall, white coffee mug, then held it up to him like an offering. Taking the cup by its handle, he examined it in the sunlight that spilled through the windows, turning it slowly until he found the subtle, though distinct, impression of a bottom lip. Carefully, so as not to smear the makeup, he pressed his thumb over the lip outline, held it for a heartbeat, then passed the cup back to Isla.
“The makeup should block my own DNA while still holding traces of the commanders from that lip print,” he explained as he walked over to the painting and pressed his thumb in the bottom right corner where Knox still shined his flashlight.
“Do I even want to know how you learned to do that?”
Glancing over his shoulder, he laughed at her question but didn’t answer. No, she probably didn’t. He and his brothers had picked up a few tricks along the way, and while they never crossed the line into anything illegal, some of their practices could be considered…questionable.
The lock beeped, and a small green light flashed in the corner of the frame. The painting swung open on hidden hinges, revealing a shiny black lockbox which also had a bio-lock—along with a numerical security code. The bio-lock he could crack, no problem. The security code, however, he didn’t have a clue.
“Careful,” Knox warned. “If you enter the wrong code, or the bio-lock doesn’t match, it’ll trigger an alarm.”
Great.
“What do you suggest?”
“Uh, leave it alone?”
Bastian ignored his mate. If the safe was new, it was there for a reason, and he wasn’t leaving until he found out what the commanders were hiding.
“One, two, three, nine, and zero.” Shining the flashlight over the keypad, Knox indicated the fingerprints on the corresponding numbers. “I don’t know which order they go in, and there’s a number missing.”
“They used the three twice,” Isla said confidently. “Try two-nine-three-zero-one-three.”
“Are you sure?” Standing to the side of the painting, Slade looked back and forth between the safe and Isla. “We only get one shot at this.”
“I’m sure. It’s the day they took over command of Jade City. February 9, 3013.”
“Okay.” Knox didn’t sound as confident as Isla, but he nodded for Bastian to press his thumb to the scanner. “Be ready to run like hell if it doesn’t work.”
He keyed in the numbers one at a time, hesitating on the last one. Sucking in a deep breath, he held it for a heartbeat, then released it slowly as he pressed the three on the keypad.
Nothing happened for the longest three seconds of Bastian’s life.
Just when he was ready to give up, grab Isla, and haul ass back to the shuttle, the bio-lock flashed and an electronic whir echoed around the office, ending in a metallic clank and a quite whine as the door swung open.
“That’s a fuck ton of credits.” With his eyebrows knitted together, Slade whistled low, his eyes raking over the stacks of credits piled inside the safe.
There were more credits in the lockbox than Bastian and his brothers had probably seen in their lifetime, and in the center, nestled between the stacks, was a black, card-shaped piece of metal. It had no writing on it, no marks of any kind, but Bastian recognized its function immediately.
“It’s a club card.” He passed it to Isla for her to examine it. “The high-end clubs use them to keep out underage kids and blackballed clientele.”
Isla flipped the piece of metal over in her hand, then handed it back. “I don’t understand. There’s nothing on it.”
“In these places,” Knox said, picking up the explanation where Bastian had left off, “especially in some of the more, uh, adult clubs, like on New Vega, you have to apply for a membership card. It’s like a bio-lock. It’s coded with the owner’s DNA, so some kid can’t just take their dad’s card and waltz through the entrance.”
“Okay, so how do we activate it?” She looked at Bastian. “Will the thumb thing work again?”
Bastian pressed his thumb to the edge of the card and shook his head. “Nope.” It would have made things easier, but it wasn’t their only option. “Where do your stepfathers sleep?”
“Uh, Alan’s room is this way.” She led them out of the office, down a hallway adorned with more paintings, and across the foyer to a sleek, black door on the other side of the staircase. “In there.”
Bastian pushed open the door, but paused when Isla hung back and looked away. “You coming?”
“No.” She didn’t elaborate.
“I’ll stay.” Taking up post beside her, Slade folded his arms across his chest and nodded. “Hurry up. We’ve already been here too long.”
Ducking into the commanders sparsely furnished room, Bastian went straight to the bed and pulled back the dark gray bedspread to uncover the pillows. Holding just the bottom corner of the card, he swiped it across the pillowcase, back and forth, lingering for a few seconds before pulling it away.
“Nice,” Knox complimented, taking the card from him to examine it as bright red letters began to glow across the surface, spelling out a name and an address. “Motherfucker.”
“What?” Slade called from the doorway.
“It’s a club card for Iniquity,” Knox answered.
They all groaned in unison. Bastian had felt there was something fishy about the bounty on Isla from the beginning. Now, he was glad he’d listened to his instincts.
“Let’s go,” Slade ordered, placing his hand on the small of Isla’s back and pushing her toward the front door.
“Why?” She looked over her shoulder at him as she shuffled along. “Where are we going?”
Catching up to them, Bastian flanked Isla on the opposite side while Knox covered her back. “To see the Fixer.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Reema-owned club, Iniquity, resided in the heart of Jade City, in the sublevel of an old warehouse. The location wasn’t a secret, but Isla imagined it would be hard to find without already knowing where to look. She’d never even heard of the club, or Haldar Jorkin for that matter, but if he had answers to her questions, she was eager to make his acquaintance.
At the steel door, she rubbed the card over the pillowcase they’d swiped from her stepdad’s room to active it, then inserted it into the reader.
“I still don’t like this,” Slade grumbled.
Isla ignored him.
Her mates had demanded she return to Haven while they dealt with Haldar Jorkin, which had led to a long, heated argument, but in the end, she’d given them no choice but to take her along.
It had been her mother who had died, her life that had been turned upside down, and her reputation that had been tarnished. She might not be a Krytos with fangs and claws, but she damn sure wasn’t going to hide behind her mates like some swooning damsel in distress while t
hey put themselves in danger.
Being in her childhood home, seeing her old room, walking the same hallways her mother had walked a thousand times had been hard. Realizing that the commanders had continued on with their lives as if nothing had ever happened just pissed her off. She hadn’t been able to go into Allen’s room, to see the bed where he slept soundly every night, uncaring of the devastation he’d caused.
She still couldn’t fathom why her mother had agreed to be their chosen. They’d had nothing in common, other than a fortunate background. Hell, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen them in a room together. If her mother had loved her new bonded, Isla hadn’t seen it. She’d never even seen them kiss or hold hands.
Their union made little sense, but it didn’t matter now. Katelyn was gone, and Isla would likely never know why her mother had brought the commanders into their lives.
The card reader buzzed as it spit the card out at her, and the steel door slid back into a recess in the wall with a loud creak.
Taking the card, Isla stuffed it into the messenger bag she’d taken from home, along with the pillowcase, and started toward the door. An arm shot out in front of her, blocking her way, and she turned to stare up at Bastian with a frown.
“We agreed to bring you along, but you do this our way.” He nodded to Slade, who crossed the threshold first. “Now, you go.”
Choking down a sigh, she bit her tongue and followed Slade into a dimly lit reception area decorated completely in black. The floor, walls, ceilings, furniture, the half-moon shaped podium—nothing had been left untouched. A pretty human woman with wild, ebony curls and a caramel complexion greeted them, but she didn’t smile. Judging by the lack of markings on her skin—neither a scroll like Isla’s or a star to designate her as infertile—Isla had to assume the female was one of the city’s rebels.
“Where’s Jorkin?” Slade demanded.
The female rested her elbows on the chest-high stand and just stared at him, her expression neutral, verging on bored.
“Where the fuck is Jorkin?” he repeated, his voice rising as it took on a slight growl.
Still, the female just stared, not even blinking, clearly not intimidated.
Pushing past him and shaking off Knox’s reaching hand, Isla approached the podium with a bright, open smile. “Hi, I’m Isla Blevins. My stepfathers are Commanders Fielding and Covey. They sent me to speak with Mr. Jorkin. Is he available?”
Her false bravado deflated, replaced by shock and embarrassment when the female rounded the podium—dressed in nothing but a pair of fishnet stockings, a scrap of fabric that was likely supposed to be panties, and six-inch, red heels. Heat started in Isla’s neck and crept up into her cheeks, and though she tried not to stare, she couldn’t help but notice the woman’s perky breasts and dark, erect nipples.
“Well, aren’t you just sweet as pie,” the female drawled as she circled her. She smiled, but it didn’t look very friendly.
Inwardly, Isla panicked. She had to say something, anything. She couldn’t just stand their gaping.
“You have pretty nipples.” Oh, god. Oh, fucking god. “Dimples!” She was going to hyperventilate. Then she was going to die. Somehow, the second option didn’t seem so bad at the moment. “You have pretty dimples. When you smile. On your chest. I mean, your breasts.” Fuck, what the hell was wrong with her? “Your cheeks! You have—”
Thankfully, Slade placed a hand over her mouth, cutting off anything else damning she might have said, and pulled her back against his chest. He didn’t laugh, but he was the only one. The female threw her head back, roaring right from her belly, and Knox and Bastian chuckled, but at least they tried to hide it by coughing into their hands.
“Jasmine, I’m not fucking around. Where’s Jorkin?”
Isla briefly wondered how Slade knew the female, why he hadn’t said something before, and if they’d slept together. With his hand still over her mouth, she couldn’t turn her head, but she glanced sideways at Knox and Bastian. If they had any interest in this Jasmine person, they didn’t show it.
It probably should have bothered her a lot more than it did, but she was too embarrassed and uncomfortable to feel more than a passing twinge of jealousy.
Jasmine studied them for a long time, then smiled widely to show off gleaming white and impeccably straight teeth. “He’s at the back, by the stage. You can’t miss him.” Her gaze fixed on Isla, and her grin turned mocking. “Have fun.”
Following Slade through the double, swinging doors behind the podium, Isla nearly swallowed her tongue when she stepped into the main club. “Oh. My. Stars.”
Everywhere she looked, half naked women pranced around the club, teetering in their screw-me shoes as they delivered drinks, chatted with doe-eyed males, and danced on the stage erected near the back wall. To the right, a row of doorways led to semi-private rooms furnished with plush sofas and four-poster beds. She knew this, because none of the rooms actually had doors.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Bastian whispered into her ear. “I’ll take you back to Haven right now.”
“No,” she responded after a brief hesitation. “I want to talk to this Fixer guy. I can handle it.” They could have warned her, though. “It’s not like I’ve never seen boobs before.”
Bastian straightened and took her hand. “Stubborn.”
They found Haldar Jorkin exactly where Jasmin had said he would be, sitting in a sort of VIP area, surrounded by multiple women in varying states of undress. The Reema grinned when he spotted them, his long tongue flicking through his pointed teeth. Pale green eyes with slitted pupils stared back at Isla, appraising her, even as Jorkin swished his tail out, slapping one of the girls on the ass as she walked away.
“Gentleman,” he said in greeting to her mates. “Lady.” He bowed his head. “What can I do for you today?”
“We want information,” Slade answered, his tone cold and hard.
“Of course you do.” This seemed to have made the Reema’s day, because he shooed away his entourage and rubbed his hands together eagerly. “You know how this works, Slade. I don’t give something for nothing.”
“What do you want?” Isla asked, sure she probably didn’t want to know.
“Hmm.” Lounging back on the red, velvet sofa, he templed his clawed fingers under his chin while he considered her. “Tell me what you want to know, then I’ll tell you my price.”
Digging through her tan messenger bag, Isla pulled out the member’s card and held it up. “We found this in a safe at my house, so I know the commanders have been here.”
“The commanders are welcomed guests here, yes.” Jorkin’s eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t a question.”
“Are they more than just guests? Did they ever come to you for help?”
Slade rolled his eyes. He’d known it was a bad idea to bring Isla along. She was too damn sweet and too innocent for a place like Iniquity. Jorkin knew what she was really asking, but he’d talk her in circles until closing time if she let him.
“Did you have anything to do with her mother’s death?” Slade demanded.
“Me?” The Reema touched his fingertips to his chest, and widened his eyes in feigned surprise. “Of course not.”
Slade growled. “But you know who killed her.”
He was tired, hungry, and he missed the hell out of Cord. Sadayka had been great, agreeing to babysit him for as long as they needed, but he didn’t like having the kid so far away. Since that day on X4, he might have become slightly overprotective, not that anyone else needed to know that.
“Perhaps.” Jorkin dragged out the last letter on a low hiss as he caressed Isla with his gaze from collarbones to hips. In fact, he hadn’t taken his eyes off her since they’d entered the VIP area.
Grunting, Bastian wrapped an arm around Isla’s waist and pulled her back, angling his shoulders to position himself between her and the Reema. Somewhere between the door and the stage, Knox had disappeared, quietly slipp
ing away, likely to go in search of Jorkin’s security system, his records, or both.
“Who put the bounty out on Isla?” A growl built in Slade’s chest, and he curled his upper lip over his fangs when Jorkin blinked up at him.
“Well, I did, of course. My name’s on the contract.”
“And we both know you’re just the middle man. Cut the shit, Jorkin.”
“That hurts, Slade. That really hurts. I went out of my way to send you that bounty. You should be thanking me.”
Slade would like to thank him right into a medical bay, but he fought back his anger so he could keep a clear head. At barely over six feet tall, the Fixer wasn’t physically imposing, but he was clever and devious, a dangerous combination.
“We told you what we want,” Bastian snapped. “Give us something, or we’re leaving.”
Standing, Jorkin adjusted his charcoal-gray suit jacket and smoothed the wrinkles from his slacks. His tail flicked excitedly, swishing back and forth near his calves as he started toward Isla.
Slade stopped him with a hand to the center of his chest. “That’s far enough.”
The Reema licked his pale lips, his gaze wide and excited. “Her. You want information? My price is her.”
“Not on your fucking life.” Even if Slade wasn’t head over feet in love with the female, he’d never bargain someone’s life for information, especially not with the Fixer. “She’s not for sale.”
“In that case, I’m done doing business today. Come back when you have something I want.”
“No.” Isla struggled against Bastian’s hold, her blue eyes blazing with anger. “You know who killed my mother.” Her hair loosened from its ponytail, falling around her face in fiery sheets, and in that moment, she looked every bit a warrior. “Tell me!”
“It wasn’t personal,” Jorkin assured her, a grin on his pale lips. “It was just business.”
Isla went motionless for all of a heartbeat, then lunged forward, breaking Bastian’s hold, and drove her fist right into the Reema’s face. “You smug bastard,” she spat. “She was my mother.”
