Page 10 of Unleash Hades
I knew Brett Bradley. If you didn’t interrupt him, the man would never shut up.
“The asset is heavily guarded, and probably a victim herself,” Brett said, his finger tapping on the tabletop. “But if our information is correct, they’ve seen enough to bring the whole organization down. We think they’re the smoking gun.”
“So go talk to her yourself…” I was getting annoyed.
The man could speak a novel when a haiku would suffice.
“Aren’t you listening?” he said, with a smirk. “They’re heavily guarded. I can’t just walk up to them and demand information. It needs finessing. They must be cultivated. We must establish trust.”
“And you want me to join the Underground so I can fight and…”
“Fight the asset in the ring. That’s right,” Philippa reached over with a fork, picked a piece of meat from Rose’s plate and plopped it into her mouth.
“You want me to beat a woman?” I said, confused. “That will establish… trust?”
“How sexist of you,” that ponce, Brett, said, in mock offense. “She’s more likely to beat you. After all, Juju here was a champion, and she certainly could give you all a run for your money…”
“Blah-blah-blah,” I said, swatting him away. “Alastair and I were there beside her when she had to fight off your bratva friends. Don’t use your daughter to guilt me.”
“Again, so many words from our silent Frenchman,” Rose almost laughed.
I rolled my eyes.
Maybe she was better when she was tired and silent.
“I would have thought that you’d be more interested in helping,” Philippa said, leaning on her elbow, and giving me a dashing, deceptive smile.
“Why?”
They talk in circles, always tap dancing like giant, annoying, Circus bears.
“Because we’re taking down Richard Davenport,” Brett said, wiping his nails off on his lapel. “Ever heard of him?”
Well, that made all the difference.
Chapter 3
Calissandra
Laurent Media Offices, New York
Mornings were peaceful, asI made my way to work.
The crisp air outside the penthouse would give way to a muggy New York City summer. The concrete would become unbearable.
As was habit, I started my morning by seeing Rafe - giving him a full platter of last night’s dinner, along with a glass of juice anda hot chocolate with vitamin protein powder stirred in. He was a man who, as far as I could tell, lived in the alley beside our building. Polite, and quiet, he often sat on the bench outside, as if he was waiting for something, or someone. I started feeding him nine years ago. At least one good meal. Now he was a part of my day.
“Morning Rafe,” I said as I turned the corner. Rafe held a winter trench coat closed at the collar. He leaned away from me a little and smiled.
“Morning Mrs. Davenport,” he said.
I had never given him my name, but he’d heard the doorman call me that once, and had used it ever since. I never chose to correct him. I never corrected anyone, even though I preferred the name Laurent.
After handing him the food, I got up to walk away.
“Keep your head clear!” He called out, in lieu of a farewell.
He was a bit like a fortune cookie or the astrology report. His morning phrase would always affect my day and seemed strangely prophetic.
