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“Have you considered seeing a psychiatrist?” Oh, for shit’s sake.
“Trust me,” Darien said with restrained impatience. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, forcing her to make eye contact with him. “This is something else.” He wasn’t as certain of this as he sounded, but his gut was telling him a psychiatrist wasn’t necessary.
Breaking his stare again, she turned and fiddled with the papers that were fastened to her clipboard. “I’m sorry that I can’t be of more help to you.” Darien knew the statement was meant to be a dismissal.
“It’s fine,” he mumbled, rising to his feet. He crossed the room and grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door, shoving his arms through the sleeves. “Can’t say I expected anything different.”
“I hope you find the answers you’re looking for.” The glasses she wore reminded him of a certain hacker who could really benefit from more of a social life. He spent way too much time on screens.
“Are you single?” Darien asked.
Sleek dark hair fanned out as she turned her head his way, measuring him up over the rim of her glasses with eyes that were slightly upturned at the outer corners. “Is this your way of asking me out?”
“Not me. I’m asking for a friend.”
Her brows flicked up. “I don’t date Darkslayers.”
“How’d you know he’s a Darkslayer?”
“I highly doubt you have many friends who aren’t Darkslayers.”
“Touché.” Darien opened the door and stepped out. “If you change your mind, his name’s Tanner Atlas.”
She returned to her papers, hair hiding her face. “I’m married.”
Darien smirked. With what ring? He almost said it out loud, but he resisted. The list of people who would pay good mynet to have his severed head on their wall was long enough already. He didn’t need this optometrist on the list too.
He walked out, the clients and employees in the building avoiding him as if he had the plague.
That was the last time he’d be doing anything like this again, and that included trying to hook Tanner up with a nice normal girl who wasn’t involved in bloodshed and violence—exactly the kind the guy needed.
He hadn’t expected much from this visit but…he’d hoped. Maybe that made him an idiot, but at least he’d tried.
Darien shook back his sleeve and checked the time.
He had one hour before he had to meet a couple of his father’s men at the club known as White Garden. It was time to convince them to run the route tonight, and get this show on the road.
—
“We want twenty.”
“Randal was paying you fucking fifteen,” Darien said. He stood across from two of Randal’s former business partners. Two hellseher grunts who’d done the majority of his dirty work when it came to weapons dealing and retaliation.
They were in White Garden, a dimly lit club with an abundance of exotic dancers and really loud drunks. There was a fighting ring in the center of the room, the killing going on in the squared circle bathing the humid air with a salty wash of blood and sweat. Malakai was here too, though he was currently in another area of the club, simply playing watchdog in case Darien needed assistance. He didn’t think he would; he wasn’t afraid of these dickheads. But it never hurt to come prepared, and he’d be an idiot not to.
“Yeah,” Carlo sneered. “And we want twenty.”
“Tell you what,” Darien replied coldly. “You make this run for me, show me I can trust you, and we’ll talk about your twenty percent after.”
Carlo and Joseph glanced at each other. Darien could tell from the feel of their auras that, although they were still reluctant to accept the offer due to pride, they were leaning toward it. In fact, he’d detected, from the moment he’d walked in, that their arguments were half-hearted. With Randal gone, and their income bled dry, they didn’t have much of a choice but to do as Darien asked.
“You work for me now,” Darien said. “And unless you’d like to look for other work, you’ll take what I give you.”
“What’s the route?” Joseph asked.
Darien gave it to them. Before leaving, he stepped close, getting right up in their faces. “Don’t be fucking late.”
He left. He was nearly at the front doors when he saw a group of people turning toward him, their conversations fading into silence.
