Author's Preface
"Right, ready?" Richard asked.
"Not in the slightest," Penny answered.
"Good. It'll keep your instincts sharp. They'll keep you from getting harassed and keep you alive."
They crossed the concrete car lot together. With every step, the deep, massive bass of the venue's sound system pulsed against their chests. Every time the heavy main doors swung open to let people through, a wall of deafening techno roared out into the night; the moment the doors shut, the noise collapsed back into a low, dull thud echoing off the hydro dam wall.
A long, dense line of people stretched all the way from the front entrance right down toward the back of the car lot. The crowd was a bizarre mix of underground rave gear, leather, and post-apocalyptic surplus, all waiting under the eerie, jaundiced glow of the fading sky for a chance to get inside the Syndicate's stronghold.Ignoring the queue entirely, Richard strode confidently toward the two heavyset bouncers guarding the main entrance.
"Line's that way, old man," the bouncer said, his tactical vest straining against his bulk as he stepped up to block their path.
"You don't understand-" Richard began.
"Look, man, I get it," the bouncer interrupted with a smirk. "You want to show this pretty young thing you're still cool and still able to... you know. Perform."
Penny blushed instantly, crossing her arms over her cropped tank and looking away.
"But not tonight, man," the bouncer added flatly.
"You still don't understand," Richard said, unclosing his hand to show him the thick Syndicate brass seal.
The bouncer stopped mid-sentence. He took one hard look at the seal, then flicked his gaze back to Richard, and finally to Penny. His tough demeanor melted into a quick, respectful nod.
"Sorry, man," the bouncer offered.
Richard gave a faint, cool smirk. "Don't worry about it. Quite flattered, really."
"Go on in," the bouncer said, reaching behind him to unlatch the VIP side door.
As the heavy door swung open, revealing the pulsing light within, Richard paused. "Where's Jarhead?"
"Where do you think? The Backroom."
---
Stepping through the heavy double doors, they were immediately greeted by another team of bouncers methodically patting down incoming guests. The air inside was warm, slick with condensed sweat, and heavy with the scent of expensive spirits and tobacco.
"You two over here," one of the guards ordered, gesturing toward an empty search lane to the side.
A sharp-eyed woman in a tailored black suit stepped forward, pulling a heavy steel tray onto the counter between them.
"No weapons," she said, her tone professional and unyielding. "Syndicate seal or not." She tapped the bottom of the tray. "Knives, guns, any blades in here."
Richard complied without argument. He unbuckled his short sword, placing the scabbard gently into the metal tray alongside his sidearm.
Penny groaned, reaching into her outfit to surrender her compact 9mm and a couple of small folding blades, the metal clattering against the bottom of the bin.
The female bouncer eyed Penny's micro denim shorts and bare legs, then looked down at her footwear.
"Shoes."
Penny let out a long sigh, kicking off one boot to slide a sleek hideout blade out from beneath the inner sole before dropping it onto the tray.
Before Penny could lace her boot back on, the bouncer stepped forward to perform the physical pat-down, her hands moving briskly over Penny's waist, hips, and thighs including an unceremoniously thorough check right around her waistband and crotch. With practiced precision, the bouncer slipped two fingers into the hem of Penny's shorts and fished out a flat, ultra-thin ceramic knife hidden right against her underwear dropping the small weapon onto the pile with a metallic thunk. She handed Richard a heavy brass coat-check chip.
"Collect your hardware on the way out. Enjoy the Glasshouse."
Penny quickly pulled her boot back on and straightened her jacket, glaring daggers at the bouncer's back as they were ushered through the inner curtain.
"I hate this place already," Penny hissed under her breath.
"Keep your cool," Richard murmured, adjusting his collar as the warm light of the casino floor opened up before them. "Now... let's go find Jarhead."
---
They moved through the final set of double doors, and the full weight of the noise hit them like a wall. A deafening, distorted techno beat vibrated straight through the floorboards, shaking the glass domed ceiling overhead.
The main floor was an absolute sea of bodies sweaty, reckless, and completely unchecked. People were dancing, kissing against the mirrored pillars, and off in a darkened booth to the right, Penny was dead certain she saw two men performing oral sex in plain view.
"Where's the table?!" she shouted, her voice completely swallowed by the wall of sound.
Richard didn't hear a word. He simply put a hand on her shoulder and began carving a path through the packed crowd. Penny squeezed close behind him, holding onto the tail of his jacket as they waded through the haze of strobe lights and cigarette smoke. Getting to the far side of the venue felt like an eternity. They finally reached the elevated DJ booth, where the light washed over a wall of subwoofers. Richard stepped up onto the riser, leaning over the console to speak directly into the DJ's ear.
Penny stood at the base of the platform, watching their shadow-draped exchange. She couldn't hear a single syllable over the pounding synth line, but after a few brief nods, the DJ pointed a thumb toward a heavy velvet curtain tucked behind the sound rig.
Richard turned back, caught Penny's eye, and gestured sharply for her to follow.They pushed through the thick velvet curtain, leaving the blinding strobe lights and crushing crowd behind. The deafening techno didn't vanish entirely, but the heavy fabric swallowed the high frequencies, reducing the roar to a low, rhythmic thudding against the floorboards.
A short hallway led to a heavy set of reinforced doors. Standing guard were two stone-faced enforcers clad in tailored tactical vests, submachine guns slung low across their chests.
"Coats off," the bouncer on the left ordered, his voice cold and devoid of any hospitality.
"B-but..." Penny started, her hand tightening around the lapels of her suede fringe jacket.
"No exceptions, pretty girl," the bouncer snapped, holding out a broad palm.
Penny let out a sharp breath and shrugged off the heavy jacket, surrendering it to the guard. Without the suede layers shielding her, she felt instantly exposed in her high-cropped tank top and denim shorts, the chilly air of the private suite biting at her skin.
The bouncer tossed the coat onto a side rack and pulled up a small electronic ledger. "Names."
"Richard Lemington," Richard said without missing a beat.
Penny swallowed hard, shifting her weight. "Erm... Penny Ushborn."
The guard tapped the names into the pad, his eyes scanning the screen before flicking up to assess them both one last time. Satisfied, he stepped back and pushed open the heavy inner doors, revealing the plush, low-lit high-stakes room beyond.
"In," the bouncer warned, leaning forward slightly as they passed. "No loitering, no interference. You break the rules, and you die."
---
The doors opened onto a makeshift casino.
Penny stopped dead.
The room beyond was enormous another section of the glass-domed complex converted into a cavernous den of excess. Green baize poker tables sat beneath hanging brass lamps, while roulette wheels spun under the watchful, deadpan eyes of dealers in black shirts and waistcoats. A blackjack table was encircled by high rollers with towering stacks of chips piled before them, while further along, a craps table erupted with rowdy shouts as dice bounced across the green felt.
Women in skimpy dresses circulated between the tables carrying heavy brass trays of expensive drinks. Others perched on the laps of gamblers, whispering in their ears or letting out practiced, hollow laughs at jokes that clearly weren't funny. The air inside was thick and suffocating a toxic mixture of tobacco smoke, cheap perfume, sweat, and the sweet, chemical stink of synthetic drugs.
At a small bistro table near the bar, a young man snorted a thick line of white powder right off the back of his hand before throwing his head back and laughing maniacally. Nobody paid him the slightest bit of attention.
Penny stared around in utter disbelief. "Jesus Christ," she muttered.
"Keep moving," Richard said over his shoulder.
He navigated the room as though he'd walked through it a thousand times before, weaving through the crowded tables and dodging waitresses without breaking stride. Penny hurried close behind him, narrowly avoiding a drunken man who staggered backward from a roulette wheel with a fistful of chips and a tumbler sloshing over his knuckles.
"Watch where you're fucking going!" the man barked, slurring his words.
Richard didn't even turn around. "Watch where you're standing."
The gambler opened his mouth to shoot back, thought better of it, and slunk back to the table.
Penny caught up with Richard's shoulder. "Do you know everyone in here?"
"No."
"You certainly act like you do."
"It's called walking, Penny. You put one foot in front of the other."
She shot him a glare. "Charming."
"I try."
---
They continued toward the far end of the casino, where the lighting dipped into deep shadow and the bass from the nightclub seeped heavily through the concrete walls. A raised platform stood beneath a row of harsh red spotlights, three pole dancers moving languidly to the dull, thumping beat. Men sat in curved leather booths around the stage, drinking, smoking, and watching the show through a cloud of haze.
But it was the man seated in the center booth who drew Richard's gaze.
He was a big bastard broad across the shoulders with a thick bull neck and a face that looked as though it had been assembled out of spare parts following a particularly nasty pub fight. His head was shaved almost to the scalp, revealing a jagged, pale scar running from his left temple down to the edge of his jaw. A heavy silver chain rested against his black T-shirt, and his forearms were a canvas of faded tattoos, old scars, and the occasional fresh cut.
A half-empty bottle of bourbon stood on the table beside him. So did a glass bowl filled with white powder, a heavy handgun, and a set of brass knuckles.
Two women sat on either side of him, though neither appeared particularly interested in the tense conversation he was having with the wiry man sitting opposite. The wiry man was sweating profusely, his trembling hands clasped tight between his knees.
Jarhead was talking. Or rather, he was explaining something to the unfortunate bastard.
"See, here's your problem," Jarhead said, his gravelly voice carrying easily despite the music. "You keep thinking I'm a reasonable man."
He picked up the handgun and examined it casually, turning it over in his enormous, scarred hands.
"I'm not. Never have been. Ask anyone who's known me longer than five minutes."
The wiry man swallowed hard. "I told you, I can get the money."
"That's what you said yesterday. And the day before"
"Pl... please.. J... Jarhead, I just need another couple of days!"
Jarhead smiled. It was not an encouraging sight.
"Funny thing about days. They keep passing. Money, on the other hand, has a habit of not showing up." He leaned forward, the smile vanishing instantly. "You know what happens when people owe me money and don't pay?"
The man shook his head frantically.
Jarhead slammed the handgun down onto the table. The bottle jumped, spilling amber bourbon across the dark wood.
"They fucking disappoint me." He reached across the table, grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, and hauled him halfway over the wood. "And I hate being disappointed."
Jarhead pulled out a knife and slowly traced the man's face before slamming his hand onto the table. He used his weight to pin the man's arm in place, then ran the blade along the veins in his hand. The women beside him scattered back into the booth. Nobody else in the surrounding area so much as batted an eye.
Jarhead released the man with a vicious shove. He stumbled backward, nearly pitching over a chair.
"Tomorrow," Jarhead growled. "You bring me every cent. Not half. Not three-quarters. Every fucking cent. Because if I have to come looking for you again, I'm taking something in exchange."
The man nodded frantically, turned on his heel, and hurried away into the crowd.
Jarhead watched him go, picked up his bourbon, and took a leisurely swig. Only then did he notice Richard standing at the edge of the red light.
His expression shifted not much, just the slightest narrowing of his eyes, followed by a slow, razor-thin grin.
"Well, well, well." He spread his massive arms across the back of the leather booth. "Richard fucking Lemington."
Richard stopped beside the table. "Jarhead."
"Still alive, then?" Jarhead glanced him up and down. "I was beginning to think one of those bloodsucking cunts had finally done the world a favor."
"Sorry to disappoint you."
"Don't apologize. It's the best news I've had all evening." Jarhead's gaze shifted to Penny-and it lingered.
Penny immediately regretted being forced to surrender her suede coat at the door.
"And who's this little fucking sexy ray of sunshine?" Jarhead asked.
"Penny," Richard replied flatly.
Jarhead raised an eyebrow. "Penny what?"
"That's not important."
"Christ, Richard. You bring me a woman and don't even know her name?"
"I know her name you just dont need to know it. Plus shes my ward"
"Your what?... Ha ha ha... you cant afford a ward Richard"
Richard just stared back, unblinking.
Jarhead burst out laughing a harsh, barking sound that drew a few cautious glances from neighboring tables.
"Sit down, both of you. Come on. Don't stand there looking like a pair of Jehovah's Witnesses who took a wrong turn." He kicked an empty chair away from the table with the toe of his boot, then leaned forward, his grin fading as his small, dark eyes locked onto Richard once more.
"Now... what the fuck do you want?" He paused, flicked a glance at Penny, and reached casually for his gun, tapping the steel frame against the wood. "And before you start telling me some heroic bullshit about saving the world, remember something, mate. I'm a businessman. I sell drugs, guns, information, and dead vampires. Everything has a price." His smile returned, cruel and sharp. "Even friends."
Jarhead leant forward and began pouring white powder onto the table, before snorting it he offered the tube to Richard who just shook his head.
"Nice, Jarhead," Richard deadpanned.
"God, I forgot how fucking dull you are." Jarhead turned his full attention to Penny, shifting his weight closer to her side of the booth. Extending his hand offering her the tube. "Are you as dull as this shithead?"
Penny squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze, feeling the chill of the room hit her bare shoulders.
"No," she snapped, her chin coming up. "But if you get any closer, I'll jam my foot so hard into your crotch you wont be able to have any children."
The entire booth went dead silent.
The low hum of conversation at the surrounding tables seemed to freeze. A nearby dealer paused mid-shuffle, and a couple of guards by the pole platform gasped. Even Richard's mouth hung slightly open in sheer, stunned disbelief.
Jarhead froze, staring down at her.
Then, throwing his head back, letting out a thunderous, laugh that seemed to tear out of his chest.
"Where’s that shithead Tom?"
"He... he’s dead," Richard said, his voice flat.
Jarhead went quiet for a moment.
"That’s a shame." He looked genuinely upset, his heavy brow furrowing as he stared down at the table. "He was an idiot, but..."
"Yeah. I know."
"So is that why you're here?"
"No."
"What then?"
"I need to know who’s our proxy?"
Jarhead blinked, his thick brows drawing together. "Proxy? Richard, you never had a proxy. Your assessments always came straight from the top."
"No, no. Because Ling said—"
"Ling likes dramatics," Jarhead muttered, taking another hit from the tube. "And she knows damn well you don't have proxies."Richard's expression hardened.
“She was very specific.”
Jarhead shrugged, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Then she's specifically talking bollocks.”
“Ling doesn't usually waste my time.”
“And you don't usually come asking me questions you already know the answer to. Yet here we are.”
Richard exhaled a sharp breath. “Fucks sake.”
Penny blinked, her gaze snapping between them. “What's this about, man?”
“We were set up, that's what.”
“Man, that's rough.”
Richard stroked his chin, his eyes narrowing in the red light. “Jar... I need a favour.”
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