VESPER
There’s a safehouse in the Speakeasy Sprawl and unsurprisingly, it’s another Speakeasy. This place seems to be made up of the secretive bars where everyone looks around in worry and no one says the word “alcohol” out loud. We’ve been shushed a few times for saying the word a little too loudly, or asking what they have. The reactions range from careful shushing to downright aggressive hisses. This time, as Havoc brings us up to the doors of the safehouse, I get a good look at the wooden, discreet sign above it, there for all to see unlike the other speakeasys.
The Velvet Underhall. Brown letters on a brown sign. Almost easy to miss.
“It says there’s a Major Boss here,” Locke says after glancing at his map. “It’s marked right on top of the safehouse.”
Both of us look at Havoc questioningly.
“Just don’t go through the double doors with guards in front of it,” he says, “and you’ll be fine.”
Locke rolls his shoulders and after meeting my eyes, some silent communication passes between us as we linger at the entrance. For a moment, he hesitates, but then his shoulders relax and he gestures toward the door. “Come on, Steve. I could use a drink. You?”
“Ugh! I would kill for a vodka martini, but, like, I can’t actually drink it,” Steve laments as he follows Locke down the stairs. “Maybe you can have one for me! Oh. My. God! That would be?—”
Steve’s voice cuts off as the doors close behind them and I’m left standing in front of Havoc alone.
Well, as alone as one can be with a feisty praying mantis familiar.
People pass us by on the street and even though the sun has gone down, it’s busy. This city never seems to sleep. Everyone gives Havoc a wide berth, and because they give him one, they also swirl around me, leaving me untouched despite the crowd. I stare up at Havoc, at this legend that I’ve seen for at least a decade at this point. He hardly looks different from when he first entered. The only new development is the full short beard he sports, a feat that would be impossible in Dross. His hair is a little longer. He’s clearly more powerful as a Tier Three. But overall, people don’t age inside the Harrow. Not really. He’s been living within the Harrow for so long that he’s become their poster boy. I’m not sure if I should resent him for that, or pity him.
Either way, it would be a benefit if the legend himself joined our little group. Not only is he a Tier Three Warden, but his reputation alone would make traversing through the Harrow easier. Not many would willingly face off againsttheHavoc.
Convincing the asshole, though? That’s the real issue.
He’s staring at me now, his brow raised as he waits for whatever words I’m trying to find. He could have already disappeared into the crowd, but instead, he lingers. He’d helped us. His role is finished, right? So why isn’t he leaving?
And how do I convince him not to?
This was always Dox’s strength. She’s persuasive and seductive, pretty and tough, all wrapped in a cute package. She makes everything better, like literal sunshine. I hadn’t thought that in Dross, but now, in the Harrow, after witnessing the sun here, I think it’s just like her. Golden, brightens your day, and warm.
If she were here, she’d definitely tell me to seduce the legend.
For the team, she’d cry.Take one for the team!
But is it really taking one for the team when I’m genuinely attracted to the man?
“Are you going to spit it out?” Havoc growls. “Or just keep staring at me like I’m some sort of two-headed rat?”
I raise my own brow. “Pretty sure I’d be looking at that in horror.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure we’ll get there,” Havoc grunts. “What do you want?”
My urge to seduce, to throw this man off his game, really fucking barrels into me. With an attitude like that and an ego to match, something flares in my chest that says, “Knock him down a peg or two.” I stare at him, really look, and settle on Doxxie’s M.O.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I purr, looking him up and down. I don’t say the words, but they’re there in the air lingering between us.
His expression doesn’t change. “Spell it out for me.”
The urge to scoff is so strong, I almost lose the plot and throw up my hands. Instead, I just barely manage to curl my lips, to smile sultrily at him as I press a finger to his chest.
“You’retheHavoc,” I purr as I start to trail around him. “The legend. And you really helped us out there. I wouldn’t have found the Rat Kingdom without you.”
“And what?” he grunts. “You’re offering payment?”
I can’t stop the snort that slips out as I find myself facing him again. “You sure are making this difficult,” I growl.
“Says the woman beating around the bush,” he fires back. “Just spit it out.”
