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Wylder raised his voice to carry down the street. “Attention, everyone! I’ve got news about how you can get your Glory.”
Several heads turned our way. Most of the vandals stopped what they were doing at the name of their drug of choice.
Wylder clapped his hands to catch even more of them and pitched his voice even louder. “We’ll give you a pound of Glory right now if you back off and leave the buildings around here alone. And we’ve gotanotherpound for you if you lay low for a week and we don’t catch you messing with any other property or going to your usual dealers. That’s all it costs. Chilling out and minding your own business. Sound like a good deal?”
Junkies weren’t exactly the ambitious type. An offer that involved less work was obviously going to sound better to them. All along the street, the vandals set down their makeshift weapons and drifted toward us.
Wylder motioned to one of the Noble lackeys. “Go to the truck and bring over enough Glory to ‘pay’ all these good people so we can get them home.”
As I watched the guy dash off, my stomach sank. Wylder caught my eye. He gave me a tight smile, sympathetic but unyielding.
He was the boss. The plan even made sense. I could deal with it—but only because I knew Wylder would only have run with this plan if we hadn’t been pretty fucking desperate right now ourselves.
How much farther would we have to stoop before this war was over?
