“Look,” the agent says, “let’s take a step back. What if I’m not here as an FBI agent? What if I’m here as a representative of KNT?”
“Prove it.”
His jaw tics, and there’s a moment where I think he may just tell us to fuck off and walk, but he looks down at Nicole and that seems to bolster his resolve. He pushes the hoodie sleeve up and reveals his forearm. Inked across the pale flesh in faded ink is a snake.
“No shit,” DK mutters. “For real?”
Nowhere, not in any of the records, any of the royal fraternity accounts, does the name Alessio Knight appear as a member of KNT or any other fraternity.
“This is royal business,” he says, pulling his sleeve back down to the wrist. “And I know the system. A generous donation will be made to the House of Night by dawn.”
DK nods, the wheels spinning as he processes it all. “Well, Nicole, looks like we’ll get him out of there for you, do the rites, and then your family can set up the final arrangements.”
“Wait,” she says, looking over at Knight. “Before you go in there… there’s more.”
“What do you mean, more?” I ask, that uneasy feeling rising up my spine again.
“My brother didn’t OD. He was turned on by his brothers.” We both stare at her until she continues, “A week ago, some of the junkies my brother hangs out with found a stash of Scratch hidden in one of the back rooms. Abig stash. Something left over from when Lucia was still alive, I guess. It was like Christmas morning to them. My brother thought he’d hit the goddamn lottery.” She swallows hard. “At first it was one big party, but once the high wore off they had to figure out what to do with the rest, keep it, or sell it.”
“They could’ve destroyed it,” I note.
The look she gives me makes my balls shrink. “No fucking chance. The group is split in half, and now they’re at a standoff. No one’s left the building since.” Her voice drops. “Conrad, my brother, he called me and told me he was trying to talk sense into both sides. By the time I got here last night, the paranoid ones flipped. I was hiding up in the office when everything went to shit. They found his phone and accused him of working with the cops. Thought he was gonna rat out the location. Then they dragged him into the middle, made everybody watch while they… while they put two in his chest and one in his head. I saw it all and waited till they all passed out or started arguing again, then I ran and called the police.”
“Sounds like you made the right call.” I lift my eyebrow in Knight’s direction. “This has gone way beyond local management.”
“No, it hasn’t,” he says. “If the cops come, the junkies in there will turn this into a blood bath. It won’t be one body that needs picking up; it’ll be dozens. They’ve already killed one person trying to protect their stash; with their level of paranoia, everyone will end up dead.”
“So we go in first and test the waters?” DK asks with a dark laugh. “That sounds like a suicide mission.”
Knight shakes his head. “You guys will get a pass. No one fucks with the Barons.”
He may be right. It’s an unspoken rule that we’re to get in and out without a hassle, but if these guys are as jacked up and paranoid as they say, it’s not a comforting thought.
“I don’t give a fuck about the drugs,” Nicole asserts. “I just want Conrad out of there.”
“You guys are messy as hell, you know that?” Slade notes. His brother laughs.
“Things have been a challenge for a while,” Knight agrees. “Ever since the bombing, the hierarchy is fucked up. There’s no leadership. Odds are, if someone doesn’t step up soon, they’ll self-implode, but I don’t want that to happen today.”
DK blows out a breath. “So we’re walking into a room full of wired and exhausted junkies who hate each other, with a fresh corpse as the centerpiece.”
“Pretty much,” she says, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
I look at DK. He looks at me. Same thought: we don’t want any part of this war, but we’ve got a job to do.
“Fuck. Let’s just get it done,” I say, looking at Knight and Nicole. “Stay here.Bothof you.”
Thankfully, they don’t argue, and while Jace and Slade hang back, not wanting them to think it’s an ambush, DK and I slip through the side door. One bare bulb swings overhead, throwing shadows into the building. The stink inside is worse: mold, piss, and that copper-sweet scent you never forget once you’ve smelled it enough.
Then I see the body.
The kid couldn’t have been more than eighteen, still wearing the KNT prospect patch. He’s on his knees in the middle of the floor, hands zip-tied behind him, head hanging. Blood sheeted down his chest and pooled black under him.
“Christ,” DK swears.
That’s when I hear it–metal on metal, a soft clink to the left. DK’s already got his pistol up by the time I get mine halfway out. We’re not alone.
Bodies peel out of the dark. Five on the far side of the kid, six closer to us, all wearing the same faded snake patches, all with gunsshaking in their hands. The first five look like they’re dissolving from the inside out–cheeks hollow, sores shining, pupils pinned to nothing. The others in front of us just look tired, homeless, like they’ve been sleeping in these same clothes since their house was destroyed.
