AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Maybe this wasn’t about money after all.
3
RIDLEY
Étan and Blaise dragged Zaq out of the van and set him on his feet.
We were at the back of Philippe Moreau’s mansion. The Paris Syndicate’s top enforcer, Moreau had carved out a three-level lair beneath a gorgeous old limestone building in Saint-Germain-des-Pres, an artsy Left Bank neighborhood.
Two wolfdogs raced up and growled lowly at Zaq. Their dhampir handler followed. “Stay,” he ordered the dogs in French.
Zaq swayed, still woozy from the drug. Étan and Blaise exchanged a smirk and released him. He stumbled forward and would’ve face-planted on the gravel drive if I hadn’t leapt from the van and caught his arm.
Étan lifted a corner of his lip, showing me some fang.
Poor vampire. I’d spoiled his fun.
“Take him to his cell.” He flicked his fingers at me like I was one of his thralls.
I gave him a long look and didn’t move. I didn’t take orders from Étan and we both knew it. He was only in Paris to supervise this operation for his boss, the Tremblay Prima, and I was a Paris Syndicate employee.
At least, I was as far as Étan and Blaise knew.
When I was sure Étan and I understood each other, I hustled Zaq toward the mansion’s service entrance. The cloakroom had been converted into a laundry with two washing machines and a dryer, but wooden pegs still hung on the walls and the cook had stacked bins of potatoes, garlic and onions to the side of the door.
The kitchen was state of the art: a terracotta floor, gleaming granite counters and appliances that cost as much as I made in a month. Right now it was empty. The vampires were on their way to their beds and the humans were just waking up.
Zaq had recovered his balance. The drug seemed to have worn off, or maybe he’d faked the stumble to keep us guessing. He zeroed in on the knife block next to the stove, but the knives were stainless steel and wouldn’t do him much good even if he wasn’t handcuffed. Yeah, he could do some damage with stainless steel blades, but only silver can kill a vampire.
The butler, a dhampir like me, appeared. Picture the undertaker in a horror movie, and that was Aubin: tall, long-faced and wearing a dark suit and a thin-lipped smile.
“Mademoiselle. Messieurs.” Aubin took in the handcuffed Kral Syndicate prince without losing the smile. But then, he was employed by a vampire enforcer. He’d probably seen worse.
“This way, please.” He indicated the salon. I didn’t need an escort—I’d been on staff for three weeks now—but Aubin took his butlering seriously.
I urged Zaq forward and got another whiff of his scent. My jaw hardened. I had time to think about that scent, and I’d decided he was using his magic to amp it up. Why else would he smell so good? The man was messing with my head, trying to lure me to his side.
I sipped air through my mouth. “Move.”
The salon was jewelry-box lush in a disturbing way. Hand-painted griffins and snakes in vivid greens and golds writhed across the black wallpaper. Gilded wood furniture with clawed feet hunched on a green marble floor shot with dark swirls, and old-fashioned wrought-iron chandeliers dripped with crystals.
Heavy gold curtains were drawn against the sun with blackout shades beneath. The only lighting came from the glowing amber eyes of the griffin wall sconces.
This was Moreau’s public salon, the place where he conducted business with humans: politicians, CEOs, the French military. As an enforcer, his job was to bribe or intimidate humans for the Paris primus, Leo de Froulay.
It was also the setting for his famous parties. Anyone was welcome, as long as you were beautiful and had the right look.
And yes, they vetted you at the door. The parties were a pipeline, of course, bringing new thralls into the Paris Syndicate. Some of those thralls weren’t really thralls, either. I was pretty sure Moreau traded in blood slaves on the side.
My mouth turned down. Enforcer Moreau was an evil S.O.B., and I hated being forced to work with him.
Aubin opened the door to what appeared to be a closet but was actually an entrance to Moreau’s underground lair. Behind it was a second door, locked and reinforced with silver.
Étan and Blaise removed their hats and gloves and tossed them on a small table.
Beneath my fingers, Zaq’s bicep tensed. He lurched to the side, like he’d lost his balance again, but kept going.
Ah. Of course he wouldn’t go quietly. But he was bigger and heavier than me, so why fight it? I released his arm.
