Page 30 of Bloodlust

It's clean.

Must be nice.

I lean over the steering wheel, squinting as we drive through the screeching gates of an abandoned warehouse. It's dark. Silent. Only the humming of the motor is audible. When Alba said the meeting place was in the middle of nowhere, he wasn't lying. It's not even on a map. The man might look stupid but clearly, he's got resources.

That worries me.

"I can't see anything," I say, pressing the gas pedal gently. A dim light flicks on in the distance. I turn the wheel. "Well, this is not the welcome I was expecting."

"What? You wanted a red carpet?" Leo jeers, arms crossed.

"Shut up." I roll my eyes. He's still salty that he didn't get to drive. "Grab my gun."

Leo opens the glove compartment as I pull in beside the shoddy building. "Here." He places the pistol on my lap as I put the car in park. "Ready? Or do you need a minute?"

"No, I'm good," I say, pocketing the gun. "Let's go."

Frankie, Leo, and the others trail behind me in silence as we walk up the wooden stairs. My heart races as we stop at the top of the landing. Before I can knock, a short, hairy man with a comb-over opens the door.

"This way," he says, voice like gravel. "You are late." He leads us through a small hallway to the back room. "You make us wait."

"Perhaps next time choose a more accessible location," I say as we enter a scarcely lit room.

"Finally," Malik says, resting his fists on the table. I glance around at the five men standing around him, suddenly glad that I came equally guarded. He gestures to the chair opposite him. "Sit, Camilla."

Leo pulls out my chair and I sit down, unease stirring in my stomach as I observe Malik's posture. He's stiff, stoic, and serious. Not at all like the man from a few nights ago. Something's different.

And different is never good.

"Thank you for coming all the way out here," Malik begins. "It is nice to see you again."

"Likewise," I say, keeping my tone neutral. "But let's skip the formalities, shall we?" I tilt my head. "The contract?"

"About that..." Malik glances at the hairy man on hisright. "My men—" he pauses, avoiding eye contact like a little bitch, "—my men, they are not so sure about our… union."

I clench my fist. "Your men?"

"Yes." Malik lights up a cigar and takes a puff. Tension from my own men fills the smoky air as he leans back in his chair. "They think that going into business with such a...youngorganization might be problematic."

"Angeli Della Mortehas been around for over a century," I state, controlling my breathing. "I would hardly say that'syoung."

"Yes, but due to recent...changes," Malik shrugs, “we are not so confident in the, uh, new organizational structure. We think it might be best to explore other options before we make any final decisions."

My eyes harden. "Other options?"

Malik's second-in-command lets out a small laugh. "A wisemanalways explores other options, no?"

Ignoring the troll's emphasis on the word man, I keep my gaze locked on Malik. "You told me that you only speak in dollars, right?" He nods hesitantly. "Well, I can guarantee you that there is no other organization on the East Coast that can make you asfluentas we can."

"Such confidence should be earned, little girl," the troll spits, curling his hand around the back of Malik's chair. "This is exactly the problem, Malik."

My head snaps toward him. "And you are?"

"Doesn't matter who I am," the troll rasps. "Only matters what is good for business."

"For someone who doesn't matter, you seem to be doing a lot of the talking," I note, catching Malik's attention. "Maybe it isyourstructural organization that is problematic, not mine."

Malik stiffens. "All we are saying is that we need more time to make a decision."