Page 35 of His Ruthless Match
I drummed my fingers on the table. “Five’s a big number, Kramath. What’s the catch?”
Kramath’s grin widened, showing even more teeth, if that was even possible. “No catch. Just some individuals who’ve grown... inconvenient to our business. Their contracts are void, and they’ve outlived their usefulness.”
I scanned the names. Three were unknown to me, likely low-level pawns who’d gotten too ambitious. The other two, though,rang a bell. Known smugglers who’d been making a name for themselves in the blood artifact trade.
“I’ll take it,” I said, sliding the parchment into my jacket. Then, I thought of Eva. “But just be aware that I have a pressing assignment right now that seems to be growing in importance, so I’ll have to fit these hits in whenever I can.”
Kramath nodded. “Fine by me. As long as you take them out quietly and with no witnesses, you can take a few months to complete the job.”
“I expect payment up front.”
Kramath’s eyes gleamed. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a heavy pouch, the clink of coins inside echoing faintly. “Half now, half when the job’s done. As usual.”
I pocketed the payment as I got to my feet. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
“Always,” Kramath replied in that oily voice of his. “Do keep in touch.”
I stepped out into the chaotic streets. The Below was alive with its usual frenzy—crowds of supernatural creatures bustling through the narrow alleyways, their voices blending into an incomprehensible cacophony. A demon hissed at a merchant over the price of enchanted pearls, while a towering troll lumbered past, his massive frame forcing others to scramble out of his way.
My boots scuffed against the cobblestones, slick with something I didn’t care to identify. Neon signs buzzed overhead, advertising everything from potion shops to discreet problem resolution services—a euphemism for assassins like me. The scent of roasted meat mingled with the acrid tang of spell residue, creating a concoction that was unique to The Below.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, jolting me from my thoughts. I pulled it out. The Shadow. Of course.
“Boss,” I answered, ducking into an alley to avoid the din of the street.
“How’s Eva?” His voice was as smooth and cold as ever, but I could hear the hint of concern in it.
“Your sister is alive, breathing, and just as insufferable as you. I deserve a raise.”
“Noted,” The Shadow replied dryly. “If things are stable on that front, I need you to head to the Crimson Dominion for a check-in.”
“Seriously?”
“There’s a rebel faction stirring up trouble. The last thing I need is a turf war jeopardizing my operations there.”
I stifled a groan. “Fine. But you owe me. Those Crimson Dominion guys are a creepy bunch.”
“I’ll have Izo meet you there and fill you in on the situation.”
And there it was—the kicker. I pinched the bridge of my nose as my annoyance flared. “Izo? For fuck’s sake. Why not just stab me in the eye and call it even?”
Izo was the absolute fucking worst. After what he’d put Vivian through, I wanted him dead. And so did The Shadow, but he wanted to use him first.
“Izo’s useful,” he said. “For now.”
“Yeah, sure,” I muttered. “Fine. I’m only fifteen minutes out anyway. I’ll meet him.”
The call ended abruptly.
I pocketed my phone, irritation coursing through my veins. Izo. Of all people. I wanted to rip his fucking throat out. But The Shadow had other plans for him, so my hands were tied. For now.
The outskirtsof the Crimson Dominion were a stark contrast to the buzzing streets of The Below. The air here was heavier, tinged with the tang of dark alchemy. Crimson banners fluttered from the skeletal remains of ancient towers, their edges frayed and singed.
I spotted Izo standing near a decrepit fountain that oozed black water, his back stiff. He was no longer the imposing figure he’d been before. The Shadow’s mark encircled his neck like a dark, serpentine brand, reminding everyone of his fall from power.
“Jareth,” he greeted, his voice somewhat strained. “Glad you could make it.”
“Don’t get used to it. What’s the situation?”
