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“Gentlemen, I have a plan on how we can get rid of Red and take back the underworld.” I smirked at all of them as I poured a glass of whiskey.
“Oh do share,” Malcolm snarked. “Is that why you insisted on absolute quiet the entire ride home?” Such a disrespectful shit.
“Watch your tone, Mal. Red wants us to take out a young woman, Diana Rossi. She’s athreat to our world.” I snarked.
Something told me she was much more than a threat. Bash handed Ares a folder, sans photo. She was his type, and there was no reason for him to start obsessing over her just yet. “She’s twenty-two and apparently has unchecked, raw power that warrants her permanent removal from earth.”
“She should be an easy job. A spear to the heart andboom.” Ares commented as he casually flipped through the folder. “Even if she is a threat, she’s young enough that her magic isn’t going to be a match for us.”
I shook my head as I quickly swallowed the bite of egg roll I’d taken. “That’s where you’re wrong, brother. We won’t take her out at all. If he wants her dead, she has to have some level of power that he finds threatening. There’s a reason she needs to be out of the picture. I say we take her, train her, and then use our combined power to take Red out.” It was a rough plan, but the beginning of a great one nonetheless.
“There are SO many holes in your plan just begging to be filled,” Mal chided. “First off, we have no clue if she’s actually powerful. She could have some kind of vendetta or personal connection to Red and that’s why he wants her dead. A past lover perhaps? Maybe she knows his identity? And let’s say this plan works–we train her and mold her into a killing machine, and then what do we do with her? What if she turns on us next because we kidnapped her?”
“We can cross that bridge when we come to it,” Bash snapped.
“Okay, what if she doesn’t want to get involved and she tries to skip town?” Mal crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair. “I’m not sure I’m willing to risk my neck when we know nothing about the girl, her magic, or what she is like. There are worse things that can happen to us than being Satan’s fixers. Do you want to end up like Asmodeous? I say we just kill her and try to find another way.”
Bash’s rocks glass cracked in his hand. His knuckles were white, and his face was contorted in rage. “No one is killing her, period!” he roared.
“Does your outburst have anything to do with why you were so nervous in the meeting?” I asked. “As soon as you got the folder you lost control of your emotions. Rednoticed, Bash. You put us at risk.”
“You and your fucking empath shite,” Bash’s face fell, and he wrung his hands together. Taking a deep breath, he sipped his whiskey. “I’ve been visiting Diana’s dreams for the past two months. I saw her in the park one day, and her power signature was off the charts, so I followed her… I’d never experienced anything like it before. I have no clue who or what she is, but she isdelicious.”
“You’ve been fucking her for two months and feeding off her magic and lust, but you don’t know what she is? She must taste sweet for you to hit it fortwo months.” Ares’ lips curled into a deranged smile.
“Fuck off, A-Bomb. She doesn’t even think she’s magical. She lives with her grandma and a woman I believe is her older sister who both have a power signature. Their house has magical protection and she told me twice in her dreams that magic doesn’t exist.”
I ran my finger around the rim of my glass, letting Bash's words sink in. This could work out better than I'd hoped. We'd be the only supernatural reference she had, which could lean heavily in our favor. We could train her to be exactly what we wanted her to be.
“So there’s a chance that this girl has no clue she’s magical, which means she most likely has no training. Or she could be a lying, manipulative little cunt.” Mal knocked his glass back and went to reach for the bottle again. Bash growled and crashed his gaze into Mal’s, causing him to accidentally pour some of his whiskey on the table.
“We won’t kill her right away,” I ordered. “We need to figure out what she is, how powerful her magic is, and if she’s worth it. For now, Bash, don’t feed from her anymore. Don’t mark her either. Just do recon and tell us what you find out. I’ll be paying her a visit soon myself.”
“Desmond, this is a bad idea, she’s not worth the blowback we’ll get when it all falls apart.” Mal steeled his gaze at me, imploring me to understand. “I don’t want to be on a second leash Satan carries around, sucking his dick in business meetings and letting him shove pineapples up my ass.”
“Really? I thought you loved having produce shoved up your ass. Remember when I put my eggplant in there last night?” Ares always had to get a barb in where Mal was concerned. He grabbed his crotch and smirked at him from across the table.
“Enough, Ares. I’ll be the judge of whether or not she’s worth the risk.” Diana Rossi was quite the mystery. I needed to find out exactly what she was and how she could be of use to us. Then I would decide if she would live or die.
Classes droned on, making them seem so much longer than they actually were. I usually read ahead in the textbook, so it was difficult to actually give a shit about what the professors said. After spending time doing homework at the library, I grabbed a quick dinner from my favorite taco truck before heading to work at the club.
The Fool was a small jazz club tucked into the older part of the theater district. The neon sign above the glass front door flickered as I rushed into the building. I glanced down at my phone, twenty minutes to 9:00.Perfect. I had just enough time to get ready and make it out to the lounge.
The club’s owner didn’t use any formal kind of advertising or social media. It ran completely on word of mouth and mystique, making it seem even more special when people finally found it. It wasn’t a private club, but we had a reputation for catering to a discreet clientele: Broadway actors, businessmen, and even some shady characters who used the place to hammer out business deals and entertain guests. I started as a cocktail waitress when I was nineteen years old. A few months ago, when I turned twenty-two, my manager started training me as a bartender. The tips were great and the shifts were flexible, allowing me to choose the days I worked.
As I ran through the staff entrance toward the changing room, Amy Winehouse crooned “You Know I’m No Good” over the speakers. Her deep, contralto voice always made me so emotional. You could feel the pain she was going through in every word she sang. She’d been taken from this earth way too soon.
I pushed through the employee lounge door with less than twenty minutes to change and touch up my makeup. A black, fit-and-flare minidress with a lace overlay and off the shoulder neckline was the first thing I could grab out of my locker. It was classy yet nondescript, showing the perfect amount of cleavage. Just enough to convince a rich, boozed up businessman to give me an extra sweet tip. After applying the perfect winged eyeliner, in honor of the lovely Ms. Winehouse, I slipped on my red satin heels for a pop of color. My lips were layered with red lipstick and gloss. Take my feminist card away, but I was well aware that plump lips and bodacious tits meantfat tips,and I would accept both cashandcarnal tips tonight. I was still wound extra tight from my earlier escapade in dreamland.If only hot as fuck men actually came here. Then I could come too!
I chuckled at my own joke as I moved to the time clock and punched in one minute before my shift started. Entering the main lounge, I took in the club’s familiar ambiance. The crushed velvet couches and low lighting gave the space a cozy, warm feeling. Each table had a lit votive candle and a small vase of red flowers. The house band, Jazzed Up, was almost done setting their equipment up. They’d start their set soon and complete the ambiance for which we were so well known. Patrons were already sitting at the bar and sipping on their drinks, enjoying themselves. It was time to get into my element. Bartending was as much a performance as dancing or singing. I needed to be personable, have a certain flair. My big bubbly personality needed to beonif I wanted to get good tips. Most nights it was doable. But days like today–when I had three classes, wrote a twelve page paper, and had to deal with commuter traffic on the way to work–it was exhausting.
A jovial gentleman, maybe in his late forties or early fifties, with thick salt and pepper hair and olive skin waved at me. I weaved between tables to get to him at the back corner booth.
“Dee! Hey hun, how is school going?” Nick shook my hand, ever thebusinessman.
He was a regular here and one of the nicest customers I’d ever met. Always in a three piece suit with his hair slicked back, Nick definitely gave off mafioso vibes. Everything about the man screameddon’t fuck with me, including the tattoos up and down his arms. The soaring eagle tattoo on the side of his neck was my favorite. He and hisbusiness associatesoften met here to enjoy the music and sign contracts. Was Nick a stand-up citizen? Absolutely not. There’s a reason I’d never gotten his last name and he was constantly accompanied by guards. He carried a gun and was the real-life version of one of those mobsters fromThe Godfather. I knew his deals weren’t above board, but he was always good to me. He tipped big, wasn’t a sleaze, and always took an interest in my life.
“Hey, Nick! School is going great. My grades are good, too. I just have a year after next semester is over, and then hopefully I’ll get into law school. What can I get you from the bar?” He smiled at me, waving my offer away.
