A grim chill scratched along Max’s spine.
He flipped an outside light on, then let the door slam behind him as he went out into the quiet storm of little hellions. These punks had managed to bruise Fang Lee and had left a nasty cut on Selena’s cheek, Greer had told him. How did you even fight little monsters like these? And what the hell were they doing here on the WKB compound?
The light did little to give their features a more human perspective. They were pale creatures, of varying heights, dressed all in black. The youngest appeared to be twelve or so. The oldest maybe eighteen. They showed no fear or anxiety or even curiosity.
“Who’s your leader?” he asked the blank-faced adolescents.
A boy stepped forward. He was taller than the others. Wider. Older, but still a baby. Tats filled the space where his eyebrows should have been. “I am.”
“You know who I am?” Max asked.
“I do.” He stepped closer. The scrolling blue ink where his brows should have been coalesced into words. Fear. The Lion.
“Then you know I’m the sergeant-at-arms here on the compound. How about you tell me who you are?”
“I am Lion.” He spoke in a soft voice. Not a weak one, nor a mild one. Just contained.
“Uh-huh. What the hell were you doing crawling around my woods, spying on WKB business?”
“We are WKB business.”
“Not if I don’t say you are. No one moves on this compound without my permission. Try again.”
“Are you denying us entry to our quarters?” Lion asked.
Max ground his teeth. “No.”
Lion nodded at the others, sending them on their way. A quick count of boys equaled the number of cots inside. Unless there was another contingent of shadow warrior boys, all were accounted for.
“Why were you out tonight?” Max asked when he was alone with the boys’ leader.
“Why were you?”
“This ain’t a game I’m playing. Answer me.”
“We were protecting you.”
Max frowned. “I don’t need a pack of kids to watch my six. Who gave you those orders?”
“King.”
Fuck. It. All. Max nodded. “We’re done. For tonight.”
Lion started to walk away, but he turned back. “Mad Dog—why did King single you out?”
The million-dollar question. “I don’t know.” But he sure as hell would find out.
Max walked into the dark grounds, away from the little freaks’ quarters. No one was around. Crickets were his only companions. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the cool night air.
“Greer, the guys can stand down,” he said into his comm unit.
“Roger that. Angel, you copy?”
“Roger. We’re pulling out.”
* * *
Pete lived in the suite above the clubhouse. Max took the outside staircase two steps at a time. The door wasn’t locked. He let himself in without knocking. He’d been in Pete’s digs before, but he never was prepared for the smell that hit him. The guy wore his clothes until they fell off his body. The day’s heat was still trapped inside the small space, deepening the stink.
Pathways were channeled through the clutter, leading to an old sofa and an armchair that looked like they’d been on someone’s porch for a few years before becoming his treasured pieces. Pete had cleared a small area on an overturned crate he used as a coffee table. His heroin paraphernalia was set out in prep for a shoot.
“Just in time. Join me?” Pete offered.
“No. Smack’s not my thing.”
Pete laughed. “I know. You’re more of a pothead. You should step up your game. This junk is pure shit.” He wrapped a rubber strap around his bicep. Max backed up to a support beam and lowered himself to the ground. He watched Pete shoot up. “It’s why I’m here. All the uncut heroin a junkie could want. Fuckin’ heaven, man. It’s King’s leverage against me, and he knows it.”
Max propped his wrists on his bent knees. He waited for the sedative effects of the heroin to spread through Pete’s veins. Didn’t take
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