Page 108 of Fresh Old Bounties

“Let’s talk business,” he said.

“Let’s talk making the information disappear,” I countered.

“You know the price.”

“I have another offer.”

“I’m not a haggler.” To underscore his point, he gave me a dismissive look-over, letting me know I wasn’t worth his time.

I noticed he didn’t do that to Ian, though.

“I don’t haggle either,” I said. “I will pay nothing, and you’ll never try to sell the information to anyone, ever.”

“That’s not going to work for me.”

“Then you shouldn’t have chosen to blackmail someone with close contacts to the bounty hunters. Who gave you the information, anyway?”

Crane’s gaze flicked to Ian. A fast, measuring glance that told me he was trying to determine how much he could push before Ian acted on my threat. “I don’t reveal my sources.”

“We know it was Johnathan Smithe.” Crane didn’t appear to recognize the name. Our mystery man had probably used another name, or, most likely, some random anonymous user name in the dark marketplace. I changed tactics. “How do you know the information about the spellbook is true?”

“I don’t.”

“You would’ve sold uncorroborated information?” What a silly question. Dark market brokers wouldn’t exactly concern themselves with matters of ethics. “Of course you would. But wouldn’t it destroy you reputation if you sold lies?”

“I’m not an auction house. I conduct deals between individuals. Up to the buyer to figure out if the goods are worth their investment or not.”

I smiled. A sly curve of my lips that would’ve made Dru proud. “So you know how to contact the seller after the transaction is finished to give him his cut?”

Crane tilted his head and said nothing.

“Tell you what,” I continued. “You tell us how to contact him, and we’ll forget what you do for the dark marketplace in your spare time.”

His attention didn’t deviate from me. “My offer stands. Pay within the next…” He made a show of checking his expensive wristwatch. “Within the next six hours, or I offer the information to the rest of my clients.”

Ian’s alpha’s presence overwhelmed the room, making my senses prickle with unease and my heartbeats pick up their pace. There was a hunter in this kitchen, and the need to scurry into one of the cabinets and hide was turning into an unscratchable itch.

A bead of sweat formed on Crane’s temple and a muscle jumped in his jaw. Still, he didn’t look at Ian or otherwise allow any fear or concern to show. The man had nerves of steel.

Time to press.

“Tell us how to contact him, or you’re going to bounty hunter jail.”

“We both know you’re not going to do that,” he gritted out.

To steal one of Ian’s trademark expressions, “Oh?”

“If I go to jail, I’m taking you with me. You think I don’t know about your dark magic ventures?”

The alpha vibes disappeared abruptly, and I snapped straight.

“Fine.” I turned to Ian. “Your cemetery or Hutton’s pit?”

“What?” Crane asked, sounding genuinely confused.

I gave him the same dismissive look-over he had gifted me earlier. “Wondering where to better dispose of your body.”

His eyes widened. “You want to kill me?”

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