Page 11 of Snitches and Serpents

I take one more second to make sure that I have wiped all traces of frustration from my features. Then I open the door and walk inside.

The room looks the way it always does. Walls painted in a color that is neither red nor brown but somewhere in between. Black drapes pulled shut over a window that looks out over the main area of the nightclub below. Some wooden cabinets and shelves along the walls. And a grand desk where Rob Bracken himself is seated.

I move until I’m standing in front of his desk. Then I straighten my spine and clasp my hands behind my back. The pose is reminiscent of a soldier in front of his commander, and Bracken has always preferred it that way, which has made me wonder if he might be some kind of dishonorably discharged military man.

“You summoned me, sir,” I say, making sure to keep my voice respectful.

“Yes,” he simply replies while he continues writing something on a piece of paper.

I say nothing. Only continue standing there in silence while I watch him finish whatever it is that he’s doing.

Rob Bracken is in his fifties. Or I think so, at least. His brown hair has started to get the slightest dusting of gray, but his body is still strong and athletic. I’ve spent the past two and a half years working out and learning how to fight, but I have a feeling that I would still lose if I ever had to fight Bracken. There is something about the way he moves that once again makes me think he was in the military for a long time. A sort of ruthless confidence that people only get when they’ve repeatedly been the one to walk away the victor of brutal fights.

At last, Bracken puts his pen down and looks up to meet my gaze. His gray eyes are, as always, sharp and cool. Full of quiet command.

“This guy owes me money,” he says as he picks up the piece of paper he was writing on and holds it out to me. “Go and deliver a message.”

I quickly reach out and take the paper. “Yes, sir.”

Once I have the paper, he flicks his wrist, dismissing me. I bow my head in acknowledgement and then turn and disappear back out into the corridor.

While I stride through the hall and towards the back door, I glance down at the paper in my hand and read the name and address written there. Then I stuff it into my pocket. The guard by the door gives me a nod as I stalk back out into the dark night.

The address is within walking distance from the club, so I head over there on foot.

My footsteps echo faintly against the stones as I walk up a short set of steps and towards the apartment door specified on my paper. Once I reach it, I check once more to make sure that I have the right number. Then I raise my hand and knock.

For a few seconds, nothing happens.

I knock again.

Harder.

Something clanks inside the apartment. It’s followed by some muffled cursing. Then the lock on the door clicks open.

A man with dirty blond hair and slightly unfocused eyes peers out at me. “Yeah?”

“Ken Ripley?” I ask.

He glances up and down the empty corridor behind me before focusing on my face once more. “Yes. Who are?—”

I kick him in the chest.

He falls backwards, crashing into a side table in the short hallway inside, and then tumbles down to the floor. I stalk after him, throwing the front door shut behind me as I go.

Ken blinks hard and tries to scramble up from the wooden floorboards.

I kick him in the head, sending him crashing back down.

Groans of pain spill from his lips as he writhes on the floor. He twists, bracing one hand on the ground, and then tries once again to get to his feet. I kick his arm out from underneath him and then grab the collar of his shirt. With a firm grip, I yank his face closer while I bend down and drive my fist into his jaw.

His head snaps to the side.

I punch him again.

And again.

This is what I had to trade in exchange for my tuition. And in exchange for not having to touch any of the drugs that the White Serpents handle.

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