Page 61 of Stroke of Shadows

“That wasn’t my fault.” Frustration seeped into Wyatt’s voice. “You’re losing control. I’ve said this before–our name isn’t enough anymore. Not since the Undercity’s been split. You need fear.”

“You think people don’t fear me?”

“How many shipments have we lost because our own people weren’t afraid enough?” Wyatt’s movements became more exaggerated. “Every single day we lose more territory to the fuckers who dominate the Undercity because you refuse to work with Breed.”

“Careful what you say, boy.” Angel’s hands curled around the glass hard enough to crack. “The Gods are always listening.”

“I’m not commenting about our faith. You’ve always taught me how we’re superior. How humans control the city, but you know that’s not true. Not anymore.”

“We do not work with Breed,” Angel growled. “End of discussion.”

Wyatt punched a fist against the wood of the desk. “Are you not listening, old man?”

“I’ll still put you over my fucking knee, boy.” Angel’s eyes glared over the glass as he took his first mouthful, seeming to hold the liquid in his mouth before swallowing.

Wyatt rubbed a hand through his dirty blond hair, yanking at the strands. “Look, I’ve been working on something. A deal with someone that’ll give us the edge. We need to finally break the bigger market.” Wyatt slipped forward in his seat until he was perched on the very edge. “We’ll gain the fear we rightfully deserve and bring more power to our name. We’ll finally take our place amongst the other Lords.”

“A Lord?” Angel sneered. “Enough of this nonsense, Wyatt. We’re Beauchamps for fuck’s sake. The Undercity’s beneath us.”

“Times have changed, father,” Wyatt snapped. “We need a stronger alliance to keep our position of power. Gideon’s the leader of the Undead, and he’ll—”

“Fuck’s sake,” Angel seethed. “We don’t work with Breed, Wyatt. I’ve never even heard of this Undead.”

“The fact you haven’t heard of them just proves how out of touch you are.” Anger vibrated every word. “The Undead are the firm that’s taking over the Undercity. They’ve already taken territory from the Vipers as well as the Irish.”

“We don’t need the Undercity, never have.” Angel shook his head. “Our family has been here since well before crime became organised and renamed as the Undercity. We’re better than those street scum.”

The chair scraped as Wyatt shot to his feet. “Financially, we’re down thirty percent, and it’s been increasing for years. Our money isn’t infinite.”

Angel scoffed, which only made Wyatt angrier.

“The container lost tonight was worth a million,” he said between gritted teeth. “But it used to be worth five. Collectors aren’t fucking buying from us anymore. We’re losing the market because you only cater to your own fucking tastes.”

“Enough!”

“I’m not going to sit here and let you fuck up my inheritance.” Wyatt snapped out the words like bullets. “If it wasn’t for my idea to loan money with high interest rates, we’d already be fucked. I took the decision to seek an alliance with a Daemon, and with him, we’ll penetrate a new market.”

“And what exactly was the deal agreed?” Angel slowly moved towards his son, each step deliberate. “What does this Daemon want in exchange?”

“Nothing we can’t give.” Wyatt licked along his bottom lip. “Father, he’s going to—”

A loud crack, followed by a burst of heat as a fireball exploded. After a second, the flames calmed down, and the glass that Angel had thrown into the fireplace glittered amongst the wooden logs.

“You stupid fucking cunt. What’s the first thing I ever taught you? You can’t trust Breed.”

Wyatt’s face flushed a deep burgundy, his eyes bloodshot. “Father—”

“You’ll remain silent when I speak, boy.” Angel’s expression calmed. “Now, luckily, while you were off making friends with the enemy, I was securing us a real alliance, one that will actually benefit us.”

Wyatt waited a heartbeat before speaking. “Who?”

“Sloaneee Halkins.”

“The fucking Crows?” Wyatt slapped his palm against the top of the desk. “We don’t mess with the drug trade. That’s not our territory.”

An image of an older man with a crooked nose appeared in Sythe’s mind, one of the men that controlled the drugs on the street. The Crows were simply the distributors amongst the upper side, but the gang were known to be violent thugs and have just as strong superiority syndrome as the Beauchamp’s.

Angel grunted. “Sloaneee, in the last year, has taken over the majority of the drug trade. Even selling to that godsforsaken Fae market. That’s an alliance I can get behind, a human and not some Breed cunt who’ll backstab us as soon as he’s bored.”

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