Page 2 of Room One Hundred and Five

I can’t bring myself to think of losing everything four generations of Astors have built all because of a gambling debt my father owes. Astor practically built this city. I can’t let it fall into the hands of the sharks waiting for the first signs of blood in the water.

Seattle’s winter isn’t far off. This deep underground makes the cement walls locking us in, feel like Death’s personal hang out. I cup my hands in front of my mouth and blow on them.

“I don’t see any other way to do this. Just keep your heads on a swivel. Make sure he’s alone before we hand over the final detail you need to know.”

Like I said, I don't trust anyone. The man we are meeting with takes money to do dirty jobs. If we can buy him, that only meanssomeone else with deeper pockets can offer more for him to double-cross us.

But our options are limited. We all know it. So here we are.

“Heads on a swivel,” I repeat without taking my eyes off the hulky man lumbering our way. I drop my hands to my side when we can finally see the whites of his eyes.

He juts his chin my way. “You Astor?”

Club Genesis’ runner comes to a slow, rolling stop in front of us. He shares Emilio’s taste in shitty vices. Cigarette smoke wraps around a head full of curly, red hair and the cherry of his cigar glows like a one-eyed demon’s eyeball.

Real spooky shit if that sort of thing knocks you off balance.

For me, it’s just another fucking Wednesday lately.

“I was hoping for someone who would be a little lighter on their feet. Your boss recommends you. Says you can be trusted with the job we have but I have to be honest. I don’t see how a fucking two hundred and thirty pound man makes a good cat burglar.” I keep my tone serious, although the idea of this man in a catsuit breaking and entering flashing through my head is laughable.

When I shift my weight to the left, light catches on bubbling irritation in the other guy’s eyes.

“Two-eighty and didn’t your momma teach you not to judge people?”

Touchy. The beast of a man inhales a room full of air, testing the strength of the stitches to his cotton pull over. A couple of veins pop along his temples and thick fingers curl into a fist like I crushed his playground-sized feelings.

Emilio chuckles beside me, lighting up another fucking cancer stick. He reaches into the car and pulls out a Cohiba cigar from his stash in the backseat and offers it up as a peace offering.

“Sorry, big man. No disrespect.”

“Damn. Yeah. Thanks. It’s all good, man. I didn’t mean to be snappy. You never know who the fuck you’re meeting at the ass end of a dark basement.”

The runner’s voice matches his size—big, powerful and rough around the edges. Now that he’s in front of me, I can finish my list of details about him. The cotton pull over looks like it is made to fit every bulge of his arms and the slacks are tailored to fit his unique size. He looks like he will enjoy the five hundred dollar cigar Emilio gave him. But what has me intrigued is the leather coat and multitude of weapons he has strapped to the inside. With the help of the headlights bouncing off the metal, I count at least four guns and three blades.

This crazy fucker lives for scaring the shit out of people and then delivering on the nightmares he instills. I would bet my last dollar that nobody tells him what to do.

My chuckle is genuine. “No shit. You really don’t.”

“For God’s sake, put that down. And stop riling up the clients. You do this every time, Big Red. They paid us for our time after all.”

The big lug physically tenses at the sound of the woman’s voice.

I stand corrected and I would be out a bet, it seems. The hulkish brute is afraid of something. Or should I say someone.

A smaller shadow peels out from behind the bigger one. My gaze falls off the giant’s face to land on a petite woman witha cute button nose. This one is more feminine and smells like moonlight and mystery. Black hair, skin-tight…whatever it is women wear that covers them from collar bone to ankle in shiny black. Leather or latex? She’s sexy. But the gold bands on her ring finger says she is spoken for. Doesn’t matter. We don’t have time to play, anyway. But she’s cute all the same.

A delicate hand plucks the smoke out of her friend’s mouth before dropping it to the floor and crushing it. For a second the runner looks like he wants to talk back but thinks better of it.

“Forgive my friend. Big Red is just a little overprotective. Like he said, you can never tell who to trust when the common meeting places lack just about anything welcoming.”

Her hand is soft in mine when we shake. “Understandable. I didn’t realize we hired a team.”

“Red and I work together on a few jobs here and there. I moonlight for Club Genesis when they need my particular skill set. Red makes sure people don’t get stupid on me. Believe it or not, not a lot of people adhere to an honor system in our line of work. He makes sure they do. I hope that’s not a problem.”

I push indifference into my expression. “Smart. And like I said, understandable. As long as the job gets done, I don't care who does it.”

“None of us do,” Stefan adds, with the same flat tone I use and matching scowl. Emilio remains silent doing what he does best. Observing.

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