Chapter 3
Larry McGregor
This was it. He was a dead man. Even if he managed to make it back to Saunders in time, it wouldn’t count.
Larry had already burnt too many bridges.
“Move your funkin’ ass,” Larry spat at the taxi driver as he banged his knuckles against the glass dividing window.
“Sir, I’m driving as fast as I can.”
“Well, it ain’t fast enough. I’ve got two minutes.”
Two minutes.
Franklin Saunders had given Larry two days to retrieve the box. Larry had gotten it. But it had cost him. He’d had to personally go against Hank Chaplain’s men to steal it back. And Hank Chaplain? He was the worst asshole in Saint Helios City.
Larry was a small fish, and Hank had always ignored him, only partnering up occasionally if Hank really wanted something Larry could get.
Now Larry had burnt that bridge.
All to get this stupid box back.
Not for the first time, he timidly ran a hand along the rough wood. The thing was old – ancient if Barney was any expert. And he was; Larry had stolen enough antiques from clients over the years to appreciate that Barney had a real nose for figuring out how much something was worth.
This box? When Barney had seen it, his beady eyes had popped. The old grouch had doubled over his bench, practically salivating.
Larry had tuned out most of what Barney had said. There’d been something about ancient Norse runes carved into the wood. Something about the box potentially being thousands of years old.
The only thing Larry had cared about was one little word: priceless.
Priceless never meant priceless. It meant something was so rare it couldn’t be replaced. Larry knew from experience that everything – everything – in life could be bought. You just had to find someone willing to pay.
Now Larry’s knuckles tensed, protruding like white rubber balls against his flesh as he pushed the box harder into his chest. It was Larry’s turn to pay.
Pay for his sins, as Franklin Saunders had put it.
“Just hurry the hell up,” Larry snapped as he glanced at the clock on the dash once more.
One minute. Larry had one minute. If he didn’t show up at Franklin’s door in time….
…
Lilly White
“God, it’s packed in there.” Stacey grabbed her skirt, neatening it with a quick pat as she shoved her empty tray toward me.
I leaned past, catching a glimpse through the service door. Stacey was right – the function hall was packed. It was a massive room, too.
“There’s gotta be at least 500 people in there,” I whistled under my breath.
“Sure are, and they’re drinking like fish. We need more champagne and Chardonnay, stat.”
“I’ll let the kitchen know.”
“No, I will. You’ve got to get out there – I’m all smudged,” Stacy pointed out as she checked her reflection in her shiny silver tray.
“You look okay,” I tried.
She snorted at me derisively. “You think okay is good enough? My future husband’s waiting out there.”
I chuckled. “Does he know that?”
She flashed me a smile that was all teeth. “He will soon. Now cover me while I go do some touchups.”
I didn’t question. I grabbed one of the trays along the service bench to my side, smoothly backed toward the door, pushed it open, turned, and entered the function.
Immediately, I smoothed a smile over my lips. The kind of smile that would not be moved no matter what happened. Drunk guy spills his burgundy down my pristine white shirt? I would smile. Some old lady elbows me in the face while she reaches for a canapé? I would smile. Some letch goes for my ass? I would smile stiffly then tell the kitchen to spit in his drink.
It was all about the smile, as Larry always said.
Larry….
My mind instantly snapped back to him. I hadn’t seen him yet. Which was insane. Larry ran his business right down to the minutest detail. He took micromanaging to a new level. As he always harped on, he hadn’t created the city’s most lucrative catering company by sitting back and watching buffoons like me flop around ineptly.
Then again, it wasn’t micromanaging that had brought Larry his success. Considering some of the rumors I’d heard about him, it sounded like Larry wasn’t always shy about taking a souvenir from clients. And the richer the clients? The more expensive the souvenir.
You’d think, knowing this, that I wouldn’t work for him. Firstly, I needed the money. Secondly… god, I don’t know, but I seriously didn’t think Larry was a bad guy. Sure, he was as crooked as a gnarled tree, but that didn’t make him bad.
I knew instinctively that my grandmother would cringe at my loose morality. To her, Larry had broken countless laws and should pay for them. To me? Larry had lived a hard life. Sure, that didn’t justify stealing. But let’s face it – the kinds of rich assholes who could afford functions like this were also stealing. They were just doing it in public by messing with everyone’s finances. Society was strangely okay with that. I wasn’t.
A guy leaned past me and snatched one of the drinks off my tray before turning to offer the woman beside him a wink.
She was stunning, decked out in a blue satin dress with diamonds draped around her throat.
I glanced at her but didn’t stare. Because I wasn’t allowed to stare. Smile, of course. But staring – actually using your eyes to make eye contact with people – that reminded them you were here. Reminded them that they should say thank you, please, and excuse me.
The only time these guys would say thanks to anyone was when they were helping themselves to your retirement fund and screwing up the economy.
So, without making eye contact, I offered the woman a drink.
She reached out one long, elegant arm, hesitated then took one of the flutes of champagne. And that brief moment of hesitation? It was enough that I swore I saw something.
Something that couldn’t have been there. Something that must’ve been a trick of the light. Maybe it was a reflection from all those glittering diamonds.
Still, for the briefest fraction of a second, it had looked as if a symbol had flickered over her wrist. A symbol made entirely of blue light.
I twitched with nerves, and that cold hard lump I’d been battling in my chest for weeks suddenly became all the colder.
It was such a pronounced, awful feeling, I had to readjust the tray as I rubbed at my sternum.
Feeling my cheeks slacken and a quick sweat slick across my brow, I turned on my foot quickly, wanting to do the rounds and get off the floor before I fainted or hurled. Larry may be a good guy way underneath, but if I screwed up this gig, he’d find some way to make me pay.
I turned so fast that I didn’t see a figure behind me until it was too late.
I slammed into a man, and instantly I lost hold of the tray, the drinks teetering to the side.
Before they could fall all over me and smash against my feet, something happened. Something my rational mind told me shouldn’t be possible.
The guy I’d bumped into pushed a hand out, grabbed my wrist, and twisted it to the side. It was a precise move, a smooth move. It straightened the tray and stopped the glasses from falling. A few glasses splashed their sticky, alcoholic contents over the tray and my wrist, but that was it.
As soon as I was stable, he took a step backward.
You know that trick where a magician comes along and grabs a tablecloth, pulling it out from underneath an expensive dining setting?
Yeah, that was like this. Except this was real and way more impressive.
I stood there, heart pounding as I stared up at the guy.
Except he wasn’t just a guy. As the man brought a hand up and neatened his tie, straightening a strange, brass tie pin until it sat perfectly horizontal with his collar bone, he offered me a short nod.
And who was he, exactly?
Oh, he was Franklin Saunders.
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The Franklin Saunders.
And he was way hotter in the flesh than he was in the magazines. Which, my mind told me, should be impossible. There wasn’t any airbrushing in real life, no fancy lighting, no staged sets. And yet Franklin Saunders looked… sharper, clearer, realer than anything I’d ever seen.
And no, I was not a girly girl. Unlike Stacy, I didn’t sit on bathroom benches and pretend I was going to swoon.
Still, I couldn’t fight the effect he was having on me.
I’d drawn a crowd. I may not have just broken a tray full of expensive champagne on the floor, but that didn’t matter. Franklin Saunders had used super-human reflexes to save a ditsy waitress.
People were already craning their necks to stare.
Clearing my throat and redoubling my grip on the tray, I managed a quick, throaty, “Thank you, sir.” I twisted around to leave quickly. As I did, I heard the woman in the blue dress introduce Franklin. It sounded like she was his secretary.
Seriously, his secretary? She looked as if she were wearing a million bucks.
Trying to hide behind my fringe, I had to fight off the urge to turn and get another look at him.
I had to fight and fight, and by the time I made it to the service door, I lost the battle. With one hand resting on the smooth metal frame, I shifted over my shoulder, craning my neck as far as it would go until I caught sight of him. Fortunately, he was tall and broad enough that he stood a full head and shoulders above most of the crowd.
Fortunately, he was also turned in my direction. No… he wasn’t just turned in my direction – he was facing me, looking right at me. And even from here I could see a slight, confused frown pressing over his lips. His gaze darted from his hand then back to me, almost as if I’d left a stain on his fingers when he’d grabbed my wrist.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
My heart started to go crazy. It was as if somebody had reached inside my chest cavity, wrapped their hands around my heart, and started shaking it with all their might.
And that cold sensation lodged in my sternum?
It exploded.
The unmistakable taste of metal filled my mouth as my head started to spin.
Before I could drop the tray again, somebody suddenly shoved the service door from the other side. The door rammed into my shoulder, and I jolted forward.
I managed to shift, saving the tray in time, even more of the wine spilling out of the glasses and covering my arm as I turned in time to see Larry.
He was finally here. And he was as white as a sheet of ice. His cheeks were so sallow it looked as if he hadn’t rolled out of bed that morning, but he’d rolled out of the grave instead.
“Larry? You okay?” I asked in a stuttering breath.
He ignored me. He stood there, somehow growing paler by the second as he appeared to search the crowd for somebody.
That somebody started to walk toward him.
Franklin Saunders.
As soon as Larry made eye contact with Franklin, it looked as if the little guy would have a heart attack.
Franklin brought a hand up and tried to straighten his brass tie pin once more. “Let’s take this somewhere quiet,” he suggested.
One of the other wait staff had bustled past me, and as she shifted out of the way, Franklin’s eyes locked on me.
His stare didn’t stay on me, though. His attention fixed on my wrist. The same wrist he’d clutched minutes before.
He looked like he wanted to ask something, but he didn’t get the chance.
Larry untucked something from under his arm. Whatever it was, it had been hastily crammed underneath Larry’s jacket. Larry never took his jacket off at gigs like this. It could be sweltering, the air con could be broken, but Larry always wore his suit and tail.
Now his pristine jacket was getting crumpled under his sweaty grip.
Larry, usually as talkative as a pet parrot, didn’t say a word as he turned and walked back through the service door.
Franklin appeared to pause for several seconds, his attention still riveted on me.
I watched his lips open, watched him begin to ask me something.
What it was, I didn’t get the opportunity to find out.
At that moment, several more waitresses shifted through the door, blocking me from view.
When I looked up again, Franklin had disappeared, the service door swinging on its hinges.
I stood there, stock still, for several seconds. Several seconds where my heart rammed so hard in my chest, I was sure I would end the night in the hospital.
Back when I’d been a kid, I’d been anxious. Though I hid it well as an adult, I got scared easily. I always found it hard to talk myself down whenever terror raised its ugly head.
I had plenty of coping mechanisms these days, but deep down, under this acerbic personality I’d built myself, I was still that scared, anxious child. And right now, she shivered. Shivered at the look Franklin had given her, shivered at Larry’s pale cheeks, and more than anything, shivered at the cold spreading through her chest.
Stacy suddenly walked through the door. “Hey, there you are.” She looked flustered. “Suzy has burnt herself in the kitchen. I’ve got to get back out onto the floor. Can you get the first aid kit—” she began.
I didn’t give her the chance to finish. I walked through the service door.
“Hey!” she protested.
Though all I wanted to do was turn tail and hide, I… found myself strangely pulled toward Franklin.
For somebody with known anxiety problems, I also had a known curiosity problem. And those two disorders did not go hand-in-hand. Sometimes I would flip. I would become intensely curious about the very thing that made me frightened, so curious that I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from seeking it out.
And that’s what was happening now, right? That’s what was drawing me after Franklin and Larry. Curiosity and a desired to ensure Larry was safe.
It had to be curiosity, because what else could it be? It couldn’t be that I felt… compelled. That the cold sensation welling in the center of my chest felt like it was pulling me along, like somebody had wrapped a rope around my wrist and was now dragging me forward with relentless strength.
I tuned out the chatter of the wait staff as they bustled around me. Instead, I followed Franklin and Larry at a distance. Though Franklin appeared to take Larry on a circuitous route through the depths of the building, I never got lost. It was almost as if I knew where they were going….
I had no idea what I was doing – none. This was crazy. And yet I couldn’t stop.
I followed them until they came to a relatively simple corridor, considering how fancy the rest of this building was.
Pressing myself behind a thankfully tall and verdant Kentia palm, I watched Franklin open a door and lead Larry inside.
“God, what the hell is happening?” I mouthed under my breath.
I teetered on the spot, trying to decide whether to turn around or try to overhear what was being said.
My curiosity won out.
I darted out from behind the tall palm and shifted forward warily.
Shaking, I pressed my ear against the closed door. My fingers practically scrabbled over the door in my eagerness to overhear what was being said within.
At first, all I could discern were low, muffled tones, interspersed here and there with louder bursts as if somebody was shouting. With my heart ramming hard in my throat, I tried to decide what to do. It wasn’t as if Larry McGregor ever had trouble holding his own. And yet, even a fool would realize he was no physical match for Franklin Saunders.
Again my wrist tingled where he’d grabbed it. In fact, it did more than tingle. If I’d had the presence of mind to drag it up and check the skin, I would have seen something. Something funny, something flickering, and something winding its way under my skin. But right now all I could do was lock my full attention on that door and the argument within.
I
wasn’t a lucky girl. Nor was I very good at predicting events even when they were obvious. I was more of the kind of clueless chick who would miss the leprechaun for the rainbow. And yet, right now, my tummy pitched, and just in time I scuttled off down the corridor, found a half-open door, and threw myself within. A second later, I heard a door open and footsteps ring out.
Pressing myself against the doorframe and peering out of the crack in the door, I caught sight of two figures: Larry and Franklin. I could have fallen to my knees as a relieved shudder passed through my body. Larry was alive, then.
Of course he was alive, my rational mind retorted immediately. Because this entire situation was innocent, right? I hadn’t slept well last night, I was stressed, and god knows I wasn’t eating well. The tingle dancing through my wrist, the look Franklin Saunders had shot me – none of this was real. It was all my overactive imagination—
“So what happens now?” Larry asked through an unmistakable shaky, terrified breath.
I watched Franklin Saunders smooth down his tie and take special care to neaten his brass tie pin. I hadn’t managed to get a good look at it when I’d seen him in the function hall, and I was too far away to properly discern it now. And yet, whatever it was, it was clearly important to him. Evidenced by the fact he gave it one more lingering pat before he stretched out his shoulders and let his hands tensely drop to his sides. “What happens now, Larry McGregor, is this: you leave town, you sell your business, you donate the proceeds to charity, and you never return.”
Larry spluttered.
I waited for Franklin to laugh, for somebody to point out this all had to be a joke. But from the ashen, destroyed look crumpling Larry’s features, to the tight, determined angle of Franklin’s jaw – none of this looked funny.
Stifling a gasp, I crammed a hand over my mouth, crumpling my lips with my rigid fingers and feeling saliva slick my skin.
“Sell everything—” Larry began, voice shaking. Not with anger, mind you, but with fright. The Larry I knew would take the opportunity to turn hard on his foot, sock Franklin on the jaw, and laugh his ass soft. There was nothing more important to Larry than money. And giving every cent he owned to charity? Yeah, he would rather feed his entrails to a bear.
So why did Larry take a dejected step back, his eyes now so hooded it looked as if they were trying to sink through his skull?
“Yes, sell everything. Give the proceeds to charity. And, Larry McGregor, never come to my attention again.” With that, Franklin Saunders turned hard on his foot, his expensive shoes squeaking over the polished floor. He neatened his tie pin once more, cracked his shoulders, and walked off.
I stood there, still pressed up against the crack in the doorway, breath a frozen lump in my lungs.
Larry took an unsteady step toward the wall, planted a hand onto the plaster, let his head drop, and breathed. Just when I thought he would keel over, he pushed a hand into his pocket and plucked out his mobile.
Franklin Saunders may have been the richest man in town, but Larry McGregor was no pushover. He also had the kind of contacts in the underworld who would make any good boy cringe. Except Larry didn’t make a call to every mob kingpin he knew. Instead, he called his bank.
I only caught the beginning of the conversation before Larry pulled himself together and walked off down the corridor. But I heard enough to confirm one fact – Larry was selling everything.
As soon as his heavy, dejected footfall was out of earshot, I let a gasp rattle out of my mouth. I took a step back into the darkened room behind me, now cramming a hand so hard over my mouth it was a surprise I didn’t squeeze my lips into spaghetti. “What the hell is going on here?” I questioned no one in particular.
This… this couldn’t be happening.
It had to be some kind of mistake. A game, maybe. Perhaps Larry had seen me dart into this room, and he was good friends with Franklin – and the two were now playing a trick on me. Except they didn’t turn around, rush up, and laugh until they went blue in the face.
No.
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, finally realizing I couldn’t exactly stay in this room forever.
Instead, carefully checking that no one was in sight, I walked out, cringing when the door creaked on its hinges. It didn’t bring Franklin Saunders powering down the corridor, though.
No, fortunately I was alone.
Adrenaline pumped through every muscle and tissue, leaving my fingers and toes tingling as if I’d just dragged them through a bed of lightning.
I hesitated before shifting forward. Though common sense told me to get the hell out of here, I was way beyond common sense.
Because… I felt something in the room Franklin and Larry had been in. As I approached, I felt like I was being reeled in like a caught fish.
I couldn’t really describe it. This sense shot down my back and sunk hard into my middle. It left a tight shiver racing across my shoulders.
I crammed a hand on my tummy and tried to stifle the strange sensation. But there was no chasing it away.
My gaze cut up and locked on that doorway once more.
Now I’d confirmed Larry was okay(ish), I should have been rushing to get the first aid box for Suzy, but suddenly that didn’t matter. Suddenly, nothing at all mattered, apart from that door.
Almost unconscious of the action, and completely unable to stop it, I reached a hand forward. As my fingers brushed the cold metal handle, I had a sudden second of clarity – just enough to question what I was about to do.
….
Curiosity got the better of me. I opened the door and walked into the room. It was simple, seriously simple compared to the rest of this opulent building. It was almost entirely unadorned, except for a single desk and a single chair.
It was a small room, and it had no windows. I really doubted it was somebody’s office. Not unless they were really unpopular. Nope, the first impression that came to mind was an interrogation room.
I shifted forward, hand still locked on the door handle. Almost instantly my gaze was drawn toward an object sitting on the desk. It was a book. I leaned forward and picked it up. Frowning as my fingers brushed against the old black leather, a jolt of something snapped hard up my back. It was such a powerful sensation, I felt as if I’d been thrown from my feet.
“What? What the hell?” I stuttered.
Before I could open the book and find out what was inside, I saw something that had been hidden beneath it: a small wooden box.
I was no expert when it came to antiques, but I was guessing it wasn’t from the local souvenir store. The wood was cracked and chipped, marked with age. There was something about that unmistakable feeling of antiquity that lapped off the box that made me grind to a standstill. I stood there, frozen like someone had just locked me in shackles.
Unconsciously, before I knew what I was doing, I reached a hand out and plucked the box up. A tight shiver escaped down my back: fast, unrelenting as it took my heart on a rollercoaster ride.
Suddenly and completely overtaken by the box, I let the book drop. It fell onto the table in front of me, opening to a seemingly random page. It caught my attention for half a second, and that was all it took.
The book was almost a ledger, except it wasn’t reconciling accounts. Instead, it appeared to reconcile crime. A name was written in the left hand column. None other than Larry McGregor. Written in the right-hand column was a horrible list of crimes: theft, racketeering, aiding and abetting, cooking the books. You name it – apparently Larry had done it.
My lips froze open in surprise as I brought the book up and read it.
It didn’t take long for the box to steal away my attention once more. Placing the book back down, I slowly sat in the chair. Unintentionally, I ran a hand over the box. There was an odd symbol carved in the lid. It didn’t look rough, and yet cut my thumb as I stroked it.
Yelping, I sucked in a sharp breath as several droplets of blood splashed down from my thumb and ran along the carved s
ymbol.
….
Something… something started to happen. Light. Light began to spill along the symbol as if someone had somehow filled it with fire.
“What the hell?” I screamed as I pushed the box back. I jolted to my feet.
At first, my rational mind told me it was some kind of electrical effect. There must be globes hidden under the wood, too small to see.
But a second later, unmistakable blue flames grew brighter and brighter. They began to leap all over the wood, somehow consuming it without destroying it.
I jolted back again, my foot catching the chair leg. The chair clattered out from behind me, slamming against the floor with a rattling thump.
I felt something moving along my thumb. Shrieking and backing off, I jerked my hand from side-to-side. I assumed it was a spider, but it was no spider.
As I brought my hand around, I saw a tiny lick of blue flame trapped within the skin. For a sudden, shifting moment of shock, I could do nothing but stand there and stare at it.
Then… then something exploded across my skin. At the same time, the coldest sensation I’d ever felt spread through my chest. It shifted with all the chaotic fury of wildfire, and yet felt as cold as the heart of the oldest glacier.
Symbols exploded across my body. They started from the cut in my thumb, powering down my wrist, exploding up my hand, and rushing over my chest.
“Oh my god!” I shrieked, shaking my hand wildly as I tried but failed to dislodge the light.
Symbols danced over my flesh like live tattoos. At first, they stung but soon felt like nothing more than creatures wending beneath my skin.
I screamed and screamed, but no one could hear me.
Shaking, practically convulsing, I cowered against the wall, back slamming into it as I lost all balance. Knees buckling, I fell on my ass.
With one hand still raised, I stared in abject horror as the light grew brighter and brighter. It now filled this tiny room, sending shifting shadows playing along the bare, stark walls and underneath the simple desk.
My head started to spin. Stars exploded through my vision. The taste of iron filled my mouth as if I’d just been struck on the side of the head.
As my shoulders hunched in and I felt myself lose all muscular control, I heard a creak.
The door opened.
I had a single second to use the last of my energy to lift my head.
I saw a man. Through my swimming vision, I made out a golden beard, flax-colored hair, and piercing, piercing blue eyes.
Franklin Saunders.
Overcome by light, I reached a shaking hand out to him. “Help me,” I managed.
As I lost consciousness, I had time to notice one fact – he did not accept my hand. He simply watched as I fainted, those blue eyes never leaving the symbols dancing along my flesh.