Page 67 of Glitter Rose
“Gabriel? What for?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.” He claps my shoulder again, leaning in. “Actually, that’s bullshit. Got you a sweet job, brother.”
“What kind of job?” Every muscle in my body tenses.
“The kind where you thank me later.” He winks at Miller. “Now move your ass. He doesn’t like waiting.”
I abandon my tray. Gabriel requesting me could mean anything from a promotion to a bullet in my skull. Three months of careful infiltration, and still, I’ve never had a one-on-one with the man himself.
The mansion sits at the north end of the compound, acolonial monstrosity of white columns and manicured hedges. Two guards flank the entrance, rifles across their chests. Thompson and Gonzalez. Both ex-military. Both competent enough to be dangerous.
“Jones.” Thompson nods as I approach. “Business?”
“Green requested me.”
“Didn’t know you were that important.”
“Makes two of us.” I keep my tone casual. “Where’s his office?”
“Second floor, east wing.” Thompson gestures with his chin. “Follow the hallway, take a right at the painting of the old man. Can’t miss it.”
Inside, the mansion reeks of wealth preserved beyond its expiration date. Crystal chandeliers, Persian rugs, artwork worth more than most people made in a year before the world ended. I’ve been inside only twice before, covering for a sick teammate and sneaking the blue box into Paris’s room, but the opulence still makes my skin crawl.
I climb the sweeping staircase, boots silent on the plush carpet. The painting Thompson mentioned stares down from the landing. Jacques Green, Paris’s father, the man whose work created this nightmare. His eyes follow me as I turn right, heading deeper into the east wing.
Voices drift from the end of the hallway, Gabriel’s office door standing slightly ajar. I slow my pace, every sense on high alert.
“—looking forward to tonight.” Gabriel’s voice. “You know what I want.”
Min-ji responds, her tone clipped. “The red or the black one?”
“I’m in the mood for red.” His voice drops lower. “And fix that attitude until then.”
“If you fix Mike’s.”
Gabriel laughs. “Mike serves hispurpose.”
“He—”
“I’m already doing what you want.” A chair creaks. “And I am being very forthcoming right now. So I expect the same in return. Do you understand what that means?”
Silence stretches, taut as a tripwire.
“Yes,” Min-ji says.
“Yes, what?”
Min-ji’s exhale betrays her fear. “Yes, sir.”
“Keep—”
I deliberately scuff my boot against the carpet, creating noise that signals my approach. Three more steps, loud enough to be heard, before I knock on the mahogany door.
“Enter.” Gabriel’s voice, commanding even through the wood.
“Sir.” I step into the devil’s office.
Gabriel Green sits behind an antique desk, his frame wrapped in a suit. His dark blonde hair is slicked back without a single strand rebelling—controlled, just like everything else in his disgusting domain. A man playing emperor while the world burns.
