The Night Movers, page 20
Once they approached the inky black void, Ridley flushed, grateful nobody could see his reddening skin in the darkness. It wasn’t a hole in the ground, it was a staircase, painted black, illuminated by low iridescent purple lights that lined each riser.
“What is this place?” Ridley whispered as they walked the stairs leading them back into the underground.
Nobody answered him. Instead, Titus said, “Once these doors open, you need to have your game face on. They’re going to expect you to walk with your head down and your eyes averted. Those in the first room won’t notice, but once we breach that second set of doors, all eyes are going to be on you. We can’t half-ass this. You need to act like…like…”
“Like I’m the queen of the underworld?” Ridley murmured, echoing Linus’s earlier words.
“Like I’m the queen of the underworld?” Ridley murmured, echoing Linus’s earlier words.
“That works,” Sugar said.
Ridley straightened his spine, blew out a breath, and put his game face on. He could do this. He had to do this. Blood rushed in his ears, his mouth so dry his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He could do this. He could do this. He was safe.
It was only when they were almost at the bottom of the long staircase that Ridley spotted them: two figures cloaked in darkness, their clothing as inky black as the night itself. He squinted, trying to make out their faces, but it was no use. They were wearing hoods. Not hoodies, like the alphas surrounding him wore, but actual black hoods, like executioners from medieval times.
They were alphas. He could smell it on them. Why could he smell it on them? No scent blockers? Most people wore scent blockers when out in public. It was only then Ridley realized he could smell the pack as well. He’d grown so used to their scent that it had never occurred to him to question why it surrounded him still.
But why wouldn’t they wear scent blockers? Was it a rebellion thing? An intimidation thing? Did multiple scents overwhelm their opponents? Give some kind of an advantage when fighting? Ridley had taken Diesel’s talk of street fighting in stride but hadn’t put much thought into what that meant. To be fair, he was in the throes of his heat, but now, he wished he’d asked some questions.
Like, if this was street fighting…where was the street? Other than the road they’d taken to get there, Ridley could see no street. And now, they were back underground. Again. In an underground city that the rest of the world didn’t even know existed. Maybe they didn’t want to know. As a kid, he’d heard other children tell tales about a city underground, of a criminal underworld, but it had sounded like something out of a comic book, so he’d quickly dismissed it.
Yet, there he was, dressed like a character out of said comic book, about to deliberately antagonize a group of murderous alphas…for the greater good.
Sure. Why not?
Despite the heavy black doors before them, nobody slowed as they approached, like they expected to march straight through two solid steel doors. Maybe they only looked solid. Ridley shook his head. That made no sense. But neither did Titus barking, “Holland,” at the two men as he approached.
Upon hearing the word, the two hooded alphas reached for the door handles, swinging them wide. As they passed through, the two alphas bowed—literally bowed—at them. An icy finger of fear slid along Ridley’s spine. He’d never seen alphas bow to other alphas before. Not without a crown and title involved.
King of the Underworld.
That was what Linus had called Titus. He’d assumed it was a joke, but once inside, he realized just how wrong he’d been. He wanted to slow down, to look, to at least turn his head and scan his surroundings, but he didn’t dare. Titus had told him to keep his eyes forward.
All around them, people laughed and talked, but Ridley couldn’t see their faces, couldn’t read their motives, couldn’t see the threat before it happened. It was unnerving. But not as unnerving as all that chatter dying the moment the heavy doors slammed shut behind them.
Ridley could see fluorescent lights hidden behind opaque ceiling panels and cream-colored walls that had probably once been white. Two doors loomed before them. Someone had spray painted the words “The Arena” onto the wall in black and red, the same red as the doors ahead. It looked very much like the artwork on Sugar’s walls. Had he painted it?
Somewhere in the large space, music played, but it was muted, only some notes and words hitting Ridley’s ears, amplifying his disquiet. The need to look was like an itch he couldn’t scratch, growing and growing until it was the only thought in his head. He needed to look, to know, to see who these people were. Why were they there? Were they alphas? Omegas? If so, why wasn’t he choking on the scents? Did some people need scent blockers and not others?
He bet Diesel would tell him the truth. But there was no time. The pack walked in lockstep around him; if he so much as misstepped, they’d all collide into him, causing an embarrassing public scene and Ridley was the only one not wearing a mask. Before he knew it, the red doors were upon him. Why had the crowd all gone silent?
What was happening?
Ridley didn’t turn his head, but from the corner of his eye he saw it. Saw them. His blood ran cold. Just like the alphas outside, every person in the room appeared to have their heads down. Bowing. Was it out of respect or fear? Ridley suspected the latter.
Titus didn’t strike Ridley as a benevolent king. What would happen when they realized their new king had a queen? An omega queen? Would they rebel? Try to overthrow the pack? Did they already know?
As they approached the doors, two girls clad in barely-there dresses ran to grab the handles, swinging the doors wide just as the two alphas had. They kept their heads down but Ridley could see they were almost…giddy. Why? Because they’d opened Titus’s doors?
Ridley’s mood soured as he took in each of the girls. They were pretty, he supposed, but definitely not Titus’s type. He was Titus’s type. And his mate. His only mate. As they passed, Ridley couldn’t help himself. He gave the two girls a dismissive look, then placed a hand on Titus’s shoulder. Both girls’ eyes went wide as they looked at them, then at each other.
Too bad, skanks.
Once inside, Titus stopped abruptly, just at the edge of the entrance. Ridley almost ran straight into his back. Diesel’s arm snaked around his waist, keeping him from disaster. Ridley beamed at him. Diesel was so good to him. When it was clear Titus had no intention of moving, the pack spread out to stand side by side, looking down into the arena below. Ridley couldn’t help but do the same.
The entire room was made of concrete, distorting every sound, then amplifying it. Just ahead was the first step leading down into the pit-like ring. Everything was cold, hard concrete. There were no seats, just concrete stairs that curved around the entire ring, serving as bleachers.
There, at the bottom of the steep risers was a ten-foot-tall, five-sided cage, fully encased in barbed wire. If anyone was shoved against that wire, they’d be shredded. But safety clearly wasn’t their biggest concern. There was no padding on the ground, nothing to cushion a blow should one fall. Just red paint rolled over the unforgiving concrete surface.
Was it to hide the blood?
The room was warm, the air damp, heavy with sweat and alpha pheromones. Like the previous room, the doors slamming shut, echoing through the space, had all eyes on them. Ridley’s heart jackrabbited around his chest, crushing his lungs. Could they smell his fear? He did his best to keep his expression neutral but he had no idea what his face was actually doing.
Most of the risers were empty, except for the ones closest to the cage. It seemed the small crowd had split into four factions, keeping to themselves, though, now, they all watched them—watched Ridley—with curiosity.
Sugar pointed to a group of men on the far side of the arena. “That’s The Scavengers. They came together after their other packs booted them out for their crimes. Like most scumbags do, they found each other and formed a new pack. Most of them don’t like each other, but that hardly matters.”
Ridley took in the rag-tag group of men. There was nothing at all that indicated these men were a pack, no unity at all. No sense of family. They stood together, but still alone. “What do you mean?”
“Everything is safer in a pack,” Steele said. “Even committing crimes. They traffic omegas, mostly overseas.”
“Overseas?” Ridley parroted.
Steele sighed. “Babies. They’re runners for the breeding farms. They transport the babies to their new owners—wealthy beta couples, both foreign and domestic—most of whom are in Europe and Asia.”
“Jesus,” Ridley muttered, disgusted, his eyes landing on another group. “And them?”
A large group of black men lounged around on the first four risers, some sitting, some lying on their backs, all staring up at Ridley. While the other packs looked at Ridley with a palpable hostility, there was a quiet menace to this bunch. Maybe it was the laziness of their gazes, the way they roamed Ridley at their leisure, like panthers who’d already gorged themselves and were too tired for dessert.
“The Last Sons,” Sugar said.
Ridley shivered. He knew of them. They were famous. Their pack spanned multiple territories, held thousands of members. Their initiation rituals had left some potential members dead.
“They have their hands in everything from gun running to designer drugs, with a little pimping on the side,” Steele said. “Real go-getters.”
Before Ridley could ask, Ryker pointed to a group of men who sat to the right of The Last Sons, but far enough away that nobody would mistake them as friends. “Those are the Kage ōkami. Third generation Yakuza. Mostly arms dealers, but they dabble in other things like porn and collecting money from unwilling debtors. All you need to know about them is that they’re violent, mouthy, and smart.” Ryker stared at someone in the group, giving them a disgusted look. “Well, most of them are smart.”
Ridley still listened, but the man looking up at them pulled his focus. He was beautiful. Tall and lean, with a face that was all sharp angles. He wore billowy black pants and a sleeveless black tunic with a tall collar that came up almost to his chin. His inky black hair was pulled into a bun on top of his head, revealing his undercut on both sides. He had thick brows, fox-like eyes, and a generous mouth that pulled into a smirk when he realized Ridley was studying him. He crossed his fully-inked, well-muscled arms over his chest.
“You’re drooling,” Diesel teased.
“Am not,” Ridley managed. “Hot or not, he’s still a piece of shit.”
“‘Sup, cuz,” the man called, like he’d heard Ridley’s comment.
Ryker gave the man in question a wan smile before pulling his hand from his pocket and offering his middle finger. The man chuckled, revealing snowy white teeth.
“Cuz?” Ridley asked. “He’s not really your cousin, right?”
“Why? You want him to set you up?” Titus asked, slipping his mask off, his expression somewhere between mutinous and sulky.
Ridley rolled his eyes.
Ryker continued to stare at the man. “My Aunt Yumi’s kid. Kenzo. He’s their leader.”
“Our little omega goes right for the top dog every time,” Jensen teased.
The rest of them removed their masks as well. Ridley still didn’t understand the significance of them. Everyone in the room knew everyone else. Maybe it was just an intimidation thing, like pro-wrestlers used to do back in the day.
Ridley bumped his shoulder into Jensen’s with a small smile. “Shut up.”
A loud, obnoxious laugh echoed through the space, making Ridley flinch, drawing his eyes to the final group. His lip curled in disgust.
“Who are they?” Ridley asked.
“Bratva,” Steele said. “They call their pack the Mordovian Maulers.”
“Bratva?” Ridley asked. “Russian mafia?”
Steele nodded. “The bald guy is Yuri. He’s their leader. Used to be an enforcer and assassin. He revels in torture. Has committed some of the sickest retaliatory acts I’ve ever seen. He loves to hurt people. He’s a sick fuck and he rarely loses in the cage. They all thrive on violence.”
“I’ve beaten him,” Titus said, tone growing smug.
Ridley tugged his gaze away from the men to look at Titus, his heart skipping when he found him already watching him. Ridley didn’t look away. Neither did Titus. They just continued to stare at each other until Diesel’s voice broke Titus’s hold.
“Yeah, once,” the alpha said. “Then five of our omegas went missing.”
Ridley’s stomach heaved. “Five? He killed five omegas over a fight?”
Diesel looked grim. “He hijacked one of our trucks before a rendezvous point. We only found one of them. What was left of them. He’d left her as a warning. We’re not sure what happened to the others.”
“And we can’t prove it, of course,” Sugar said.
Ridley stared down at the tall, broad man with his gleaming scalp and deeply lined face. He didn’t necessarily look old—maybe in his late forties—but he looked…hard. Soulless, like the evil in him shone through. Ridley studied the man until a movement beside him caught his attention.
A boy. He was small, a fact compounded by the way he was squatting on the floor, balanced on his heels, his knees tucked under his chin. Ridley could only see his profile, but he had soft cheeks and deep brown hair that fell over his eyes.
And a leash. He had on a fucking leash. A choke chain. One far too large for the boy’s scrawny neck. The metal gleamed in the dim light. Each time the leash tugged, the boy winced. Ridley thought it was the lack of air, but then he noticed the blood droplets on his snowy white shirt. An omega, obviously. All omegas wore white.
Pain seized him, like a knife slipping between his ribs and piercing his lungs. He was totally powerless to help him. His hand went to his necklace, playing with the pearl there. His gaze followed the links of the chain from the boy to the man holding the other end.
He stood beside Yuri, deep in conversation, seemingly talking about someone from the ōkami, staring them down like he wanted their attention. He was much younger than the leader, maybe thirty. He had icy blond hair and a tattoo on his face that was too far away to look like anything but an amorphous blob. He wore gray cargo pants, a black t-shirt that was two sizes too small, and boots as thick and lethal looking as the ones half his pack wore, including himself. He looked like one of those militant fundamentalists who passed out flyers and talked about the importance of gender traditions.
Ridley dropped his gaze to the boy, realizing he’d also angled his body towards the Okami. One of the Okami stared back. The hairs on the back of Ridley’s neck rose as the man beside Yuri followed the boy’s gaze to the other side of the room.
The nasty sneer that spread across his face made Ridley’s breath come faster. As he watched, the man yanked the boy to his feet hard, using only his leash. He gripped his face in his large hand, squeezing the hinge of his jaw until he opened for him. He caught the other man’s eye—the one beside Kenzo—then spit directly into the boy’s mouth before shoving him back to his knees.
Ridley’s nostrils flared, a low growl sneaking past his lips. A glimpse at the man beside Kenzo told Ridley he felt the same. A tattered black shirt and smooth brown skin appeared before him.
Ridley’s gaze slowly climbed to meet Sugar’s, the alpha’s agitation obvious. “Easy,” he soothed.
“He’s just a little boy,” Ridley seethed.
Ryker was still watching the scene unfold beside them. “He’s nineteen,” he said. “The same age as you.”
Ridley turned the full force of his outrage onto him. “Does that make it better?”
Ryker sighed. “Of course not. I’m simply saying he’s not a child. And he’s only been with Rurik for a week or two. Before that, he belonged to Hideo.”
“What do you mean?” Ridley asked, stomach sinking.
It was Jensen who spoke up. “Hideo put Rain up as the prize in a fight around ten days ago. Hideo lost. Rain went to Rurik.”
Ridley was going to throw up for real. He needed to find Ren. He had to. But how was he supposed to sit there and watch omegas get bought, sold, and traded like chattel? That was a person down there. A human being with thoughts and feelings.
Ridley looked down to the angry man beside Kenzo. He was pointing in the boy’s direction. “Is that Hideo?”
The man was roughly the same height as Kenzo, with broader shoulders and a thicker build. His deep brown hair was close-cropped on the side but long enough to fall over his eyes on top.
“No, that’s Orochi, his brother,” Titus said.
“Why is Orochi pissed about Rurik taking an omega who belonged to his brother?” Ridley asked, struggling to follow. “Was he their pack omega or something?”
Ryker shook his head. “Not that I know of.”
Ridley shook his head. “I thought you said trading omegas is common. Why’s he so mad? ” he asked, trying and failing to keep the disgust from his voice.
“Because he was supposed to inherit the boy upon his brother’s death,” Jensen said.
“Inherit? Wait, his brother’s dead?” Ridley asked, trying to keep up.
“It was a death match,” Sugar said, as if that made perfect sense.
“A death match?” Ridley hissed. “Do those happen a lot?”
“When someone feels slighted enough, yeah,” Titus answered.
“Only a few times a month,” Diesel added, like watching people get beaten to death was no big deal. Though, Ridley supposed it wasn’t.
Not to them.
Before he could ask another question, Titus broke in, gently pushing Ridley to get him moving. “Let’s go to our seats.”
Ridley followed Titus down the concrete stairs to the cage below, the others right behind him. As they passed the boy, Ridley couldn’t help but stare. They’d called him Rain. He looked miserable. He was squatting, chin on his knees, staring at Orochi with a look that made Ridley feel like he was interfering.
