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“Alright.” Malakai’s reply was barely audible over the sound of Darien’s heart pounding angrily in his ears.
Darien said, “I’ll be sending Conrad and Hanli too.” The two Angels were always more than willing to help. Darien had been friends with them both for nearly as long as he’d known Dominic. Angels and Devils made good allies.
“Don’t trust me?” There was a smile in Malakai’s words.
“Not one bit.”
Malakai’s booming laughter shook the speaker. “Later, asshole.”
“Later.” Darien ended the call. He slipped his phone into his pocket and made to turn toward Max.
A heavy hand fell on the back of Darien’s neck. It grabbed onto his shirt collar, pulling hard enough to choke, another hand doing the same to Max as a gruff male voice drawled in Darien’s his ear, “What’re a couple of Devils like you doing in a place like this?”
That was a close one. Darien’s hand relaxed in his lap. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tension leave Max’s body as well, hand drifting away from the pistol he was packing near his hip.
Darien drawled, “You’re lucky your voice is so recognizable, or we’d all be bleeding out on the floor right now.”
The Butcher rose out of his crouch, let go of their collars, and grabbed a free chair at the table. He dragged it closer with a massive hand, metal scraping across pitted cement, and claimed the space between Darien and Max. “That sounds like a good time, a really good time.” He plunked himself into the seat, sparked a half-smoked trip of Boneweed he fished out of the pocket of his tattered black trench coat, and stretched his long legs out in front of him.
Max assessed the BP dealer with amusement. “It feels weird to see you here. Kinda like running into a professor outside of school.”
The Butcher growled a laugh. “I like to test the waters of my competition once in a while—see what I can do better.” Smoke rippled from his lips. “Besides, I don’t got any nice sets of tits in my joint like the ones here.” Jerking his bearded chin at the stage, where a witch was twisting her body like a pretzel on a pole, he added, “Channary can really pick them, I’ll give the Warg that.”
Darien caught the attention of a passing server, waving her over to bring him another beer.
“What are you fucks doing here, anyway?” Casen asked, his foggy gaze fixed on the dancer’s pierced nipples. “You were too busy pissing yourselves a minute ago to answer my question.”
“We came to meet with Channary,” Darien replied.
The server reached the table with a smile. After handing Darien a glass of beer, she lingered by his chair, her expression hopeful and expectant. He thanked her and waved her away.
Casen said, “That why I saw Lumen leaving here just now?”
“Yes.”
“What’d she want?” He glanced at Darien, lips pinching another drag off the trip. “You the new king of Angelthene’s Darkslayers, or what?”
“Apparently.”
“You don’t sound like you want the title.”
“It’s a heavy one to carry.”
The Butcher grunted. “You’ll make it look easy, like you do everything else.”
“Just because it looks easy doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.”
“So what’s the deal, then? Channary wanted to meet to negotiate some sort of deal with you, now that you’re in charge?”
“On the contrary,” Darien said, sipping on his beer. “She was backing out of one. The new guy who runs the MPU isn’t a fan of Darkslayers, but he’s willing to turn the other cheek to our operations if we help him take care of the arms dealers Randal used to work with.”
“Gaven Payne, right?” Of course the Butcher would know his name. But whether or not the warlock knew Gaven’s face was another thing entirely.
Not to mention details about his operations.
Darien dipped his chin in a nod. “You wouldn’t happen to know where he keeps his supplies, would you?”
Casen shook his head, his dark shoulder-length hair swaying. “Nah. And I’d tell you, Cassel, you know that.” He shook his head again, looking disgusted. “Fuck that prick. I hate his guts.” Twisting in his seat, he leaned across the table and crushed the butt of the trip into the overflowing ashtray, staining his thick fingers gray. “I’ll be glad to see his ass rot behind bars.”
