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Technically, I did own it by way of my grandfather and the family business. This was my turf, and I would defend it head-on.
Our footsteps echoed throughout the vast building until we reached the center of an open space between shipping containers where Kenzo knelt. Six armed men surrounded him in a wide circle, while a man wearing a dark hoodie covering his face stood behind him, holding a Desert Eagle to Kenzo’s head.
At that distance, a bullet might prove lethal to a dragon, especially one as weak as Kenzo’s.
My cousin’s right eye was swollen and bruised, and a gag kept him from saying anything stupid. His trembling hands were zip-tied in front of him. The tie was similar to a standard, plastic zip tie, but this one was capable of suppressing his dragon’s spirit. Without a doubt, a bullet would be fatal.
Ichiro hadn’t given me any details other than this was a transaction gone awry, but I should have known my cousin would be involved in this big of a fuck up. When would the old man learn? Kenzo was never going to change, and why would he? Everything in his entitled life came free.
Approaching the group with a casual swagger, I surveyed the half dozen men surrounding us before smirking. “Did my invite get lost in the mail?”
“Nah, we don’t usually invite your type to our parties.” The man holding the gun shrugged and tilted his head up, revealing his face. “Maybe next time, though, eh, dragon?”
Black hair, dark eyes, and a distinctive goatee identified him as Francisco Jaurez, also known as Paco and the ruthless leader of the Nightstalkers Pack. Wolf shifters didn’t live in cities often, but it wasn’t completely unheard of, particularly in bigger cities where it was easier to hide among such a large, non-Gifted population.
Like the Sato empire, the Nightstalkers worked together as a family unit, though their reach in the city’s sordid underbelly wasn’t nearly as widespread as ours. They were up-and-comers, constantly pushing the boundaries to try to take over more of the Sato share.
Too bad for them, I was more than prepared to defend my territory, and tonight, my dragon had a thirst for blood.
“What are we doing here, boys?” I spread my arms, gesturing to the men surrounding us. “You trying to get yourselves killed?”
Paco laughed and pressed his gun harder against the back of Kenzo’s head. “Only one person is looking to get himself killed today. Your boy’s trying to pull a fast one on us.”
My lip curled in distaste. “Please, Paco, you know me better than that. Kenzo’s not my boy. Unfortunately for us both, I can’t let you kill him. Maybe next time.”
Over the gag, my cousin glared daggers at me. The idiot was too stupid to live much longer. Someone would take care of the issue, just not today.
“Not much you can do about it, homie.” Paco grinned, displaying glittery bling across his teeth. Kenzo would fit right in with these fools. “If you hadn’t noticed, you’re outnumbered. I knew you’d turn up eventually, seeing how tight Ichiro’s leash is, so I brought my friends to have some fun.”
Beside me, Rin cracked his neck. “You sure about that, homie?”
Paco’s smile faltered. He glanced at one of his men and tilted his head.
Keeping his gun raised, the man took a few steps toward a stack of containers and called something out in Spanish. They waited.
Nothing but glorious silence.
As the armed men exchanged wary glances, a shadow dripped down the side of the closest wall of shipping containers. The pool of darkness slithered along the ground, undetected by the wolves. Ironic that a group calling themselves Nightstalkers would be so oblivious to the danger in their midst.
The shadow slipped behind one of the wolves and pulled itself upright, coalescing into a tiny female form dressed in black from head to toe. The figure slid her dagger under the man’s chin, and his eyes flew open with surprise.
Her fangs were covered in crimson as she grinned. “Am I late?”
Before he could react, she drew the blade across his throat. Blood rained down his front as he fell to the ground, shock etched onto his face.
Paco aimed his gun at Keiko. “You.”
She pointed at herself. “Me?”
“You’re not real,” he stammered.
Her eyes opened wide behind her mask. “That’s news to me.”
To most of the Gifted community, Keiko was known simply as Death. She left few survivors to tell the tale of her slaughter, so her existence had become like a bogeyman, a nightmare to scare subordinates into submission and enemies into surrendering.
No one outside the Sato family knew her true identity, and those within the family could be counted on one hand. Anyone else who happened to find out quickly forgot again thanks to the help of a witch we had on staff. Or they simply met their maker.
Keiko wasn’t a dragon. She was something more rare than a siren and much more lethal than any of them, including me.
