All it took was a sharp jerk of his gloved hand to break the lock on the door. The bar had closed for the final hours of thenight, allowing vampires plenty of time to get home without being roasted and giving him the perfect opportunity for recon.
It wasn’t the first time he’d broken in, but it was the only time he’d done so with a purpose beyond rifling around in Cecilia’s locker.
Navigating the dark warren of employee spaces and private VIP rooms, Sloane found his way into what could only be the boss’s office. Ignoring the ridiculous patent leather wall furnishings and chrome mini bar stocked with alcoholic synth, he made his way to the glass desk strewn with receipts, half-smoked cigarettes, and thankfully unused packets of condoms.
From all appearances, it didn’t seem like The Lush was hurting without its boss. Going by the state of the desk, that was probably due to the competence of its managers and not anything Duke did before his death.
It was impossible to say whether anyone had noticed the man’s absence yet, but Sloane intended to clean up any loose ends regardless.
It only took a few minutes to find a piece of paperwork in the desk with Duke’s address on it. Tucking it into his pocket, he went back the way he came.
As he wound his way back through the employee corridors, he looked around and tried to imagine his doe wandering the halls every night. Since that time in her life had passed, Sloane made sure to make a pit stop at her locker to collect the twelve lip glosses, spare pair of shoes, and stain remover stick she kept in there.
It was a relief knowing Cecilia would never be back working among hungry vampires. Obviously it was better for her safety, but it was also because he knew it wasn’t what she wanted to be doing. His consort should’ve been teaching young, not passing out synth in painful-looking shoes.
How can she do that if we go on the run?
Another problem to solve. Sloane ground his fangs together, sharpening their already deadly points, as he slipped out the alley door. Keeping to the shadows to avoid the traffic cameras that monitored the m-grid, he ducked into the driver’s seat and set off for the bastard’s townhouse.
It was a short drive to a trendy neighborhood full of gutted and grimly painted homes. Duke’s home was all shades of gray, with ugly modern finishes that he was certain Cecilia would’ve sneered at. Figuring that the vampire would have at least half-decent security in place, he parked down the street and used a neighbor’s unsecured backyard gate to access the narrow alley that ran behind the homes.
Leaping over the tall iron fence into Duke’s backyard was as easy as breathing. So was bypassing the security on the back door. No alarm sounded when he strode into the vampire’s unused kitchen. Whatever Duke did for the vampire syndicate, he wasn’t high up enough to have his own private guards, either, making the entire process laughably easy.
The home was just as tacky on the inside as it was on the outside. If there was such a thing as the exact opposite of Cecilia’s warmth and comfort, it was the chrome, cold light, and black granite of Duke’s crime den.
Sloane doubted he would’ve noticed anything like that before, but Cecilia had changed more than just the chemical composition of his body. She’d made him see things he never would’ve before.
But his appreciation for soft carpet, warm light, and long dark hair tangled over his pillows didn’t wipe out decades of training. It took only a matter of minutes to find the vampire’s various caches of weapons, drugs, and cash. Accessing his various devices took only slightly longer.
Duke wasn’t smart enough to turn off mirroring on his devices, which meant that once Sloane got past the password protection, he was able to seeeverything.
Multiple phones, multiple accounts, multiple illegal businesses. He found them all, alongside every other sordid secret the man saved in his digital spaces. A network of associates sprawled before him, each one a potential threat to the woman sleeping peacefully in his bed.
There were other things, too.
Sloane stared at the images on the screen for several long moments, considering the best course of action. He’d never had use for allies before, and he certainly didn’t trade in favors, but he was adaptable.
Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he dialed the most recently called number.
A woman’s voice came through the line in his helmet. “Cece? Girl, if you hang up on me again?—”
“This isn’t Cece,” he said, claws drumming on the smudged glass of the desk. “This is her mate.”
To her credit, Dahlia didn’t immediately launch into questions. She paused for a beat before she drawled, “…You must be the friend she mentioned.”
Hackles raising at the slight mocking edge in the woman’s voice, he insisted, “Hermate.”
“No offense, weirdo, but until she tells me that with her own mouth, I’m still calling you a friend.”
“Understood,” he grated, “but irrelevant. I need to speak to your criminal mate.”
“Excuse me?”
Growing impatient, he pressed, “Felix Amauri. Head of the Amauri crime family, responsible for underground gambling dens, arms trading, and illegal smuggling across territory borders. Sanctioned the hit that killed Yvanna Amauri?—”
“Wow, can younotlist a dozen things that might get my husband thrown in prison, please?” Dahlia’s voice had lost what little good humor it possessed. Her tone sharpened with warning when she demanded, “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m Cece’s mate,” he reminded her. “And I need to speak to Felix about a possible threat to you.”
