CHAPTER 13
QUINN
Ipush through the heavy steel door of Lanek's butcher shop, the sharp tang of cold meat and iron washing over me. The familiar scent usually makes me happy but it’s a weird Pavlovian response to knowing he's close. Today it makes my stomach twist.
Because Lanek isn't behind the counter. His pristine display cases are unmanned, the hand-painted chalkboard menu listing today's specials in his surprisingly elegant script hanging abandoned. The shop is completely silent except for the industrial hum of the refrigeration units and a low, rhythmic scraping sound coming from the back.
Metal on stone. Slow. Deliberate.
My heart kicks into overdrive.
"Lanek?" I call out, moving past the counter into the restricted prep area. The swinging door to the cold storage is propped open, letting frigid air spill into the workspace. "Are you back here?"
The scraping stops.
I round the corner into the doorway of the walk-in freezer and freeze.
Lanek stands in the center of the space, one massive hand wrapped around the handle of his largest bone cleaver, the other holding a whetstone. His grey skin looks even darker in the harsh fluorescent lighting, his tattooed forearms flexing with each measured stroke of stone against steel. He's calm. Focused. Utterly unhurried.
And backed into the far corner, pressed against the hanging racks of dry-aged beef, is the corporate developer who slapped the eviction notice on my table yesterday.
The man's expensive suit is rumpled. His face is sheet-white. His eyes are wild with terror, darting between Lanek's impassive expression and the gleaming edge of the cleaver catching the light with each pass of the whetstone.
"What the fuck is happening right now?" My voice comes out strangled.
Lanek's gaze flicks to me, and something warm and possessive softens his expression. "Good morning, little baker. I made coffee. It's on the counter."
"Lanek." I step fully into the freezing room, my breath misting in front of my face. "Why is there a terrified man in your meat locker?"
"He's not terrified." Lanek returns his attention to the blade, running the stone along the edge with a sound that makes my teeth ache. "He's having a conversation. Aren't you, Mr. Corrigan"
The developer makes a choked sound that might be agreement.
I look at my Orc, my heart sinking into my stomach. "What kind of conversation?"
"A productive one." Lanek tests the blade's edge with his thumb, nodding in satisfaction before setting the whetstone down on the butcher's block. He turns the cleaver slowly, letting the light catch the wicked curve of the blade. "Mr. Corriganand I have been discussing fair market rent prices. Reasonable lease terms. The importance of supporting small businesses in gentrifying neighborhoods."
"Is that right?" My voice is flat.
"Very reasonable," the developer stammers, pressing himself harder against the beef carcasses. "Extremely reasonable. In fact, I've decided to completely reverse my position on the rent increase. Ms. Hayes can stay at her current rate. For as long as she wants. In perpetuity. I'll have my lawyer draft the new lease by end of business today."
Lanek smiles, all tusks and dark satisfaction. "See? Productive."
The developer's eyes dart to me, pleading. "Can I go now? Please?"
I close my eyes, trying to control the rage building. "Yes. You can go."
"Quinn—" Lanek starts.
"Get out," I tell the developer, my voice sharp. "Now."
The man doesn't need to be told twice. He scrambles past me, nearly tripping over his own expensive shoes in his haste to escape. I hear him crash through the prep area, the front door chiming violently as he bursts out onto the street.
Silence settles over the freezer.
I turn slowly to face Lanek, crossing my arms over my chest. "You kidnapped him."
"I invited him to have a conversation." Lanek sets the cleaver down carefully, his expression shifting from satisfied to wary. "He accepted."
