Chapter 7: Draco approaches the cop's booth only to find Kai already holding court, shirtless with prison tattoos on display, slapping the table as the cop chokes on his cock - 'Miss me, brother?'
The hollow feeling from firing Leo stayed with Amari for two days. It lived in her stomach, a cold, weightless cavity that no amount of coffee or distracted reading could fill. She kept checking the news, half-expecting to see a story about a fired waiter found in a dumpster, but there was nothing. Just silence. That, she understood, was the point.
The mark on her neck had faded to a yellowing bruise, easy to hide with her collar. She wore it like a receipt.
When she pushed through the heavy doors of The Black Lotus that night, the bass was a physical pressure against her chest. She moved through the crowd, a spectre in the strobe light, heading for the sanctuary of the VIP lounge. She had the name Harlow and the garment district address folded in her pocket, a quiet dread building for the meeting with Jayla tomorrow.
The bouncer gave her a nod, unclipping the rope. The lounge was quieter, the sound from the main floor a muffled throb. Draco was in his usual booth, but he wasn’t alone. A man in a rumpled sport coat sat across from him, a glass of soda water sweating on the table between them. The off-duty cop. Their conversation was low, serious.
Amari hesitated at the edge of the dim light, not wanting to interrupt. This was business. The kind that happened in whispers.
A roar of laughter shattered the tension.
It came from the deepest shadows of the lounge, near the private bar. It was a raw, unfiltered sound, all teeth and hunger. Amari turned, and her observer’s mind took in the scene in disjointed flashes.
A man was sprawled in a large wingback chair, his boots planted wide on the floor. He was all hard angles and loose-limbed chaos, one arm thrown over the back of the chair, the other holding a bottle of brown liquor by the neck. His dark hair was cropped close, his face marked by a faint, fresh scar along his jaw. But it was his eyes, even in the low light, that burned with a reckless, kinetic amusement.
And between his legs, a woman was on her knees, her head bowed, bobbing with a rhythmic, practiced dedication. His free hand was tangled possessively in her hair, not guiding, just claiming.
He laughed again, tilting the bottle to his lips without looking, his gaze sweeping the room. It landed on Draco and the cop, dismissed them, and then locked onto Amari, standing frozen in the middle of the carpet.
His smile widened. It wasn’t friendly. It was an evaluation.
“Draco!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the low hum. “You startin’ a book club and didn’t invite me? The fuck is this?”
The cop’s face tightened. He didn’t look at the spectacle, keeping his eyes fixed on the table. Draco didn’t turn. He simply held up a single finger, a gesture of pure command, and finished his sentence with the cop in a calm, low tone. The cop nodded once, stiffly, and slid out of the booth. He left without a glance back, disappearing into the main club.
Only then did Draco lean back and turn his head toward the wingback chair. “Six months inside and you learn no new tricks, Kai. Just louder versions of the old ones.”
Kai shoved the woman’s head away gently, patting her cheek. “Get lost, sweetness. Gotta say hello to family.” She stood, wiped her mouth, and melted into the shadows without a word. Kai took a long pull from his bottle, his eyes never leaving Amari as he stood. He moved with a prowler’s grace, all contained violence looking for a direction.
“Tricks?” Kai said, stopping a few feet from Amari. He looked her up and down, the appraisal crude and total. “I heard you picked up a new one. This her?” He circled Amari slowly, a shark tasting blood in the water. “She don’t look like much. Quiet little thing.”
Amari didn’t move. She let him look. She noted the coiled tension in his shoulders, the way his knuckles were scarred, the faint smell of industrial soap and cheap whisky that clung to him. Fresh out.
“Amari,” Draco said from the booth, his voice a flat line. “This is Kai. He’s back.”
“Back and better, brother,” Kai said, finally stopping in front of her, too close. He grinned. It didn’t reach his eyes. “So you’re the calculator. Heard you got a server fired with a whisper. Real subtle shit.”
“It was efficient,” Amari said, her voice barely above the thumping bassline, but clear.
“Efficient.” Kai barked a laugh. “I like that. A fancy word for afraid to get your hands dirty.” He leaned in, his breath hot and alcoholic. “You know what’s efficient? My way. See a problem, break its knees. Problem solved. Doesn’t come back. No math required.”
“It draws attention,” Amari replied, holding his gaze. “The math is about not drawing attention.”
For a second, something flickered in Kai’s eyes—annoyance, interest, she couldn’t tell. He straightened up, turning to Draco. “She’s got a mouth on her too. Thought she was just a pair of watchful eyes.”
“She’s both,” Draco said. He hadn’t moved from the booth, a king observing his chaotic court. “She’s useful. Which is more than I can say for you, making a scene in front of a man with a badge.”
“That guy?” Kai snorted, dropping into the booth opposite Draco, sprawling. “He’s so far into your pocket he’s lint. He wasn’t gonna say shit. Besides…” He grabbed a clean glass and sloppily poured from his bottle, pushing it across the table toward where Amari still stood. “…I missed you. Wanted to make an entrance. Celebration drink. For me being home. For you having a new pet.”
Amari looked at the glass, then at Draco. A tiny, almost imperceptible nod. She sat, not next to Draco, but on the edge of the adjacent seat, taking the glass. She didn’t drink.
“She’s not a pet, Kai. She’s an asset. You’d do well to remember it,” Draco said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And you’re back on probation. No independent plays. You run with Jayla and Amari for now. You listen.”
Kai’s smirk faltered for a heartbeat. “Jayla? I heard she’s been playing babysitter too. What is this, a daycare for clever orphans?” He recovered, swigging from his bottle. “Fine. Whatever. Who am I listening to?”
“You’re listening to the job,” Draco said, his eyes cold. “Amari has a lead. A ghost named Harlow. Jayla meets her tomorrow at nine to follow it. You’re going with them.”
“A ghost hunt.” Kai rolled his eyes, but there was a new spark there, the thrill of a potential chase. “With the calculator and the hellcat. This oughta be a fucking riot.” He turned his burning gaze back to Amari. “So, calculator. This ghost. Why we dragging her out of the shadows?”
Amari reached into her pocket, unfolded the paper, and slid it toward the center of the table. “Draco wants her found. That’s the ‘why.’ The address is an old loft building in the garment district. That’s the ‘where.’ The ‘who’ is what we need to learn.”
Kai snatched the paper, squinted at it, then laughed. “Shit. I know this block. It’s a corpse. Squatters and lost souls. If your ghost is there, she’s already dead.”
“Then we confirm it,” Amari said evenly.
Kai stared at her, then at Draco, the joke dying on his face. He saw it now—this wasn’t a punishment for him. It was another test. For all of them. Throwing his chaotic fire, Jayla’s impulsive violence, and Amari’s cold analysis into the same pot and seeing what either cooked or exploded.
He raised his bottle in a sarcastic toast. “To teamwork, then.” He drained it, slammed it on the table, and stood. “Nine o’clock. Don’t be late, calculator. I hate waiting.” He winked, a gesture devoid of warmth, and swaggered out of the lounge, leaving a wake of disrupted air.
The silence he left behind was thick. Amari finally took a sip of the liquor he’d poured. It burned all the way down.
Draco spoke, watching the space where Kai had been. “He’s a hazard. But he’s a loyal hazard. He’ll burn the world for me, and sometimes, that’s exactly what you need.” He finally looked at Amari. “Jayla will try to dominate him. He’ll try to provoke her. Your job is to make sure the mission doesn’t get lost in the noise. Find Harlow. Bring me a name, a reason, a location. Something real.”
“And if Kai’s right?” Amari asked, the liquid courage of the whiskey letting the question out. “If she’s already dead?”
Draco’s expression didn’t change. “Then bring me proof. Even ghosts leave bones.”
He stood, signaling the conversation was over. As he passed her chair, his hand rested for a moment on her shoulder, right over the fading bite. “He’s wrong, you know. About you being afraid to get your hands dirty.” He leaned down, his voice a whisper in her ear. “Dirt is easy. It’s the blood that’s hard. Tomorrow, you’ll see which one your new teammates prefer.”
Then he was gone, leaving her alone with the empty glasses, the phantom echo of Kai’s laugh, and the certain knowledge that tomorrow night, the hollow feeling inside her would be filled with something much, much worse.