“Let me get this straight,” Lance started, staring at the drink Derek had brought him: a crisp glass of whiskey.

Its woody smell fogged his thoughts. He suppressed the scoff clawing its way up his throat. His hands itched to reach for the glass and drain it in one swift gulp. The revelation of his parents’ death didn’t make resisting any easier. He focused on his breathing, drowning out the noise in his head.

Then again, why shouldn’t he give in to his temptations? So many years had been wasted in hoping for more than just closure—a second chance. A chance to no longer be an orphan. Maybe he deserved it for what he’d done to that kid. Flashes came to him in waves: the fist slamming into his chest, the kick to his ribs, the tears sliding down his cheeks, the blood dripping from his nose, the kids chanting their encouragements.

The snorty laugh from the kid as he ignored Lance’s pleas to stop.

Then the tunnel vision.

And the taste of blood.

Monster.

Lance shook his head then crossed his arms and legs, closed off to the three strangers in the room in an attempt to hide his discomfort. He slid the drink away, his hand shaking. Kaela eyed it then stared at her own empty glass with a deep frown.

He continued, “You want me to gather information for you, and… just tell you if I hear anything interesting?”

Eric wore a lopsided smile. “I’ll occasionally ask you to get specific info for certain clients, but yes. Let me know all the gossip in the slums that you can gather. Shootings, gang activity, whatever you can get your greasy little hands on.”

Lance sighed. “I don’t know how I feel about letting a bunch of strangers tamper with my store. I bought that place with my own money.”

“And I respect that.” Eric smiled devilishly, his fingers tapping lightly against his cane. “But with a paint job, some extra security, and my leadership, you’ll be making more money than you ever have before… guess that’s not saying much, though.”

Lance frowned, but Eric’s eyes just flashed with amusement.

Eric looked at Derek. “Did you get the chips I asked for?”

Derek removed a bag of chips from his leather jacket and tossed it to Eric, who caught it, opened it, and popped a chip in his mouth with a satisfied hum.

“You never paid for those,” Lance said.

It was petty, and his voice cracked saying it, but it felt good to finally let a comment slip. Just one snarky remark to ease some of the tension in his chest.

Eric waved his hand. “Pay the nice man, Derek.”

Derek reached under the table and revealed Lance’s case. He laid it gently on the table’s surface and opened it. All the money was still inside.

“I… I don’t understand,” Lance said, staring at the case. “You’re giving me a refund?”

“Nope,” Eric said through a mouthful of chips. “I’m going to use that money to fix up your store. Call it an investment. Besides, you seemed disappointed in the info I gave… and I just hate disappointing my employees.”

Kaela rolled her eyes and grabbed Lance’s drink. He let out a breath and almost thanked her.

“So that’s all I have to do? Just grab information? There isn’t anything… else you want me to do?” He avoided the word illegal, not that it was unfamiliar.

Those murky eyes peered into Lance’s. “Not necessarily…”

Kaela smiled, and Derek scratched at his scruffy chin.

“For the next few days, I just want you to get to know us. Tomorrow, you’ll spend your day with Derek at one of his bars, the next day with Kaela at one of her brothels, and then dear old… me.” He extended his arms widely, his cane dangling between his fingers.

Lance grimaced. A bar. Of course it would be a bar. God, what he wouldn’t give to bite the hell out of his nails right now.

“Any questions, my new employee?”

Derek checked his watch and stood, padding to Eric. He bowed to Eric’s ear and whispered something.

Lance let his eyes wander the room until they landed on Kaela, who stared back. Not glancing at him or smirking as she had been doing all night, she stared right at him, like he was some puzzle she was trying to piece together. Lance stared back, despite the pit in his stomach. Something about her was more terrifying than he felt comfortable admitting to himself.

She opened her mouth, then closed it, then looked back at Eric. Lance shook his head to regain his focus. Those yellow eyes couldn’t be real.

Eric tapped his cane on the floor. “Meeting adjourned. Kaela, Derek, you may leave. Lance, I’m not done with you yet.”

“Woohoo,” Kaela said unenthusiastically, downing the last of Lance’s drink.

Derek and Kaela stood and made their way to Lance’s right. They opened a door and stepped out, the night air rushing into the room. Lance gawked at the sight. His escape had been right next to him the whole time. Eric beckoned him over.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Lance strolled over to him. As if they’d been lifelong friends, Eric put an arm around him, his smile friendly. Lance flinched at the sudden touch, and his skin crawled. His face turned warm, and he shoved his hands in his pockets to stop himself from brushing the arm off.

“This family of mine,” Eric started, “you’re a part of it now.”

“Is that so?” Lance responded absentmindedly, clenching his teeth and waiting for Eric to remove that damned hand from around his neck. His skin burned.

“Of course, Lancelot.” His smile curled even farther upward. He led Lance closer to the door Kaela and Derek had left through. “I know this is all very sudden, but think of me as a spider, crafting a web slowly and precisely all around this city. Webs take time, and they take patience. You, Lancelot, will enable me to complete my web. With you, I can wind each strand through the streets of the slums and gain easy access to all its secrets. Does that make sense?”

He opened the door and waved Lance out, but Lance looked back at Eric. His eyes were even darker than before, like a starless night sky. The only contrast to that darkness was the small chip bag he cradled in his hand, labeled: Chipsy Crisps.

“What if the police find out about your operations?” Lance asked.

Eric leaned on the door and stared at Lance with a sick interest, his gangly body still somehow intimidating. Or maybe it was the blade hiding somewhere in that cane. Despite his slender fingers blocking most of his view, Lance made out two black orbs staring at him from the head of the cane. It looked almost like… a wolf?

“Are you planning on sweeping my web away, Lance?”

Dread gripped Lance’s stomach. He sighed. “No. I’m just not keen on getting arrested. I’d rather just wither away at my store than be trapped in a jail cell.”

Eric looked at him for a second too long, a knowing smile inching along his face. “I assure you that won’t be a problem.” He popped another chip into his mouth. “As you can see, this is a show of trust. I’m letting you leave without a bag or a drug. You know where my hideout is now. Question is… what are you going to do with that bit of information?”

With a laugh, Eric closed the door, leaving Lance to look around the peculiar alleyway. A lamp hung on each side of the door, the square brick space leading into a narrow passageway.

Lance fumbled for his wallet. All his money was still there—what little that was, anyway. But something had been tucked among the money; a card with three addresses on it. One had “Eric” written above it, the other two labeled “Kaela” and “Derek”. Eric couldn’t have slipped that card into his wallet when he was leading him out of the room. Could he?

A twinge of anger flickered in Lance’s chest. He shook his head. The information on his parents was free. And the money was going to be used on his store instead. Lance rubbed his tired eyes. It was all for Eric’s benefit, but still—all that just to get information in the slums?

“What have I gotten myself into?” he asked quietly as he wound his way around the mazelike alleyway hiding the headquarters of the spider and his web.

Before he stepped onto the street, Lance leaned against the wall, the cold brick provoking a hiss from him. He slid to the ground and buried his face in his hands.

Tears formed in his eyes, and as hard as he tried to hold them back, a few managed to escape.

He should’ve known he wouldn’t get a happy ending. It was too much to ask for his parents back, for a chance at something better than what he had now. It was stupid, but it was all he had to cling to, the only kernel of warmth he could nestle against his chest in the cold nights on a bare mattress, imagining a life with a family. A real family.

Is that why he called them his family? Lance thought, setting his jaw as he looked back down at the card. To manipulate me? To make me think I would be a part of something? Bastard.

Frustrated, he wiped the tears from his cheeks and rested his chin on his arms.

He almost laughed. The universe had played a trick on him. He’d asked for a family, and he got one—just not the one he wanted. A ‘family’ with a handful of strangers that were likely just using him for profit.

He could leave—escape the city and start over. But where? And with what money? He’d started over once before. Finding a semblance of life in the slums had taken years of scrambling.

Nowhere else would be any better. Not for him, anyway.

Lance cursed at the ground then picked himself up and stepped onto the street. He wasn’t in the slums, that was for sure. The buildings around him were cleaner, sturdier. He passed by offices, boutiques, restaurants, and laundromats. The streets lacked trash and dirt. Bodies weren’t lifeless or sleeping on the side of the road. Barrels of fire weren’t the only source of heat. He avoided crowds, most of them congregated outside bars, and slinked through the alleyways instead. Somehow, even they were cleaner than the slums.

He looked to the night sky, at the stars all staring down at him, and he hoped they were guiding him on the right path.

After what felt like an hour of walking, Lance finally reached his store. It was rusted and old. Paint was chipping off the walls, and graffiti covered the rest. It was a broken mess, but it was his. It was home.

Lance entered his store. The doors were locked, the lights turned off, and the keys left in Lance’s pocket. Derek was thorough, he had to give the man that—thorough enough to kill Lance without anyone catching on. Not that evidence was ever useful in the slums. What was his story? What were any of their stories?

Lance locked the door behind him, shuffled to his room, and fell onto his mattress. The weight on his shoulders was gone, but without its presence, all that remained was an emptiness. He rolled over and closed his eyes.

He was trapped in Eric’s web, and Eric had all but confirmed the police would do nothing about it. But it was the closest thing he had to a fresh start.

I suppose I should get used to it.

* * *

The smell of stale cigarette smoke, alcohol, and greasy food filled the air. One of which surfaced too many memories… and temptations.

The nightmare had granted Lance a reprieve last night. Maybe the knowledge of his parents’ fate played a factor. Or maybe he was exhausted from being kidnapped and offered a job. Either way, Lance refused to question it. He welcomed the first good night’s sleep he’d had in years.

He needed it for today.

The flashing neon sign of beer pouring into a glass flashed across the room. Lance looked out at the tables and booths across the room, seating patrons with burgers and steaks and drinks.

And alcohol.

Lance gulped.

Derek—his stone-cold disposition from the previous night replaced with a bright smile and a glint of light in his brown eyes—served every customer as readily as the next, whether they were new customers searching for a buzz or regulars entering together and speaking with Derek like they’d been friends for years.

If only the customers he smiled and laughed with knew he could make them disappear without a trace, Lance thought.

Lance kept conversation to a minimum, excluding an occasional introduction when a regular questioned Derek as to who ‘the new guy’ was. He kept himself scarce, surrounded by too many people to feel comfortable with anything but watching and listening. He kept his face bored and his movements casual, but his heart raced, and he wiped his sweaty hands on his pants more and more. Too many people were around to calm down—too many faces and sounds and smells.

Lance cleaned out the handful of shot glasses before him, resisting the urge to lick them clean instead, while Derek listened intently to a drunken man’s rant about catching his wife cheating on him with another woman.

Derek leaned forward and looked around like he was about to tell the man a secret. “I’ll tell you what, pal. Go by The Red Rose and tell them Derek sent you. You’ll get a good discount.”

Lance stopped his jaw from dropping as the man thanked Derek and left to claim the discount. Derek lazily scratched his chin then leaned toward Lance.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“See?” Derek whispered. “I got what info I could out of him then sent him over to Kaela’s business for the rest.”

“I don’t see the point,” Lance said as he slid a shot of whiskey down the bar toward a man waiting on his phone, muscle memory coming into play. More than anything, he wanted to bring the shot glass to his lips instead. Just to taste it. To remember what it was like. “What’s the point of knowing if some guy’s wife cheated on him?”

“Who do you think he paid to find out?” Derek asked with a knowing grin.

The doors to the kitchen opened, and a server emerged carrying a platter of burgers and fries. The smell yielded a growl from Lance’s stomach.

The server set the platter at a table where two men sat then turned and sent a subtle head shake in Derek’s direction.

“No good info,” Derek said. “That’s what he means.”

“Why are you telling me this, again?” Lance asked, grateful that the ambient noise of the bar masked his growling stomach.

“Eric told Kaela and I this morning to give you a rundown on how we do things in our businesses. And to teach you what we can about getting info.”

“Yeah, well, that explains the thirty-minute lecture on body language.” Despite the grumble in his voice, it had been a fascinating half hour. Lance eyed the men eating their meal then surveyed the handful of tables lined against the wall with other patrons eating their own burgers or steaks. The meat looked so tender and juicy, the fries crisp and golden. His mouth watered.

“Feeling alright?” Derek asked.

Lance meant to remain silent, yet he found himself talking before he could stop it. “It’s just… weird. This part of Arachna is so different from the slums. It’s brighter, cleaner, and people laugh and eat good-looking meals like that.” Lance gestured toward the platter of burgers and fries at the table deemed lacking in useful information. “People can lock their doors and feel safe instead of it just being a minor annoyance to anyone trying to break in.”

“Yeah, the cops almost never go to the slums,” Derek mused. “Makes me wonder how a guy like you managed to survive that long.” He chuckled as he turned toward a man taking a seat at the bar.

Lance sighed. You’re not the only one. He continued cleaning out glasses as he glanced at Derek, who approached the newest patron like a fox stalking a rabbit.

“Shot of vodka,” said the man, taking his seat at the stool. He hunched over, leaning his head against his hand. Guilt shadowed his face. “You know what?” He slapped some money on the table, and only then did Derek pour. “Make it two.”

“I take it you went to The Red Rose?” Derek said wryly.

“How’d you know?” asked the man, as if he’d been caught in the act of murder.

Lance scanned his face. His eyes were dark and heavy with bags.

“Lucky guess.” Derek shrugged, placing the two drinks down and leaning over to better inspect the man. “Feelin’ alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” the man choked out after downing the first shot. “I just think I’ll forget everything that happened this morning. God, I did some things I should never have done.”

“It is a bit early for that, but hey, we’ve all been there,” Derek assured. “Happens to the best of us, man.”

“I guess.” He downed the second shot with a sour look on his face then looked at his watch. “I need to get going.”

“What’s the rush?”

“I have a meeting to get to, and I don’t think my superiors would be very happy about me being late.” He gave a fake laugh and slid from the barstool.

“What kind of meeting?” Derek asked as he grabbed the two shot glasses and slid them over to Lance, appearing only casually interested in what the man had to say. Lance perked his ears as he cleaned the glasses, peering at the man from under his hair.

“Just some project,” the man said, straightening his tie, his stature turning confident. The stature of a man entrusted with a great secret but proud enough to let the world know he couldn’t speak of it.

“Ooh,” Derek said, his eyes widening along with his smile. “What kind of project? Some sort of new marketing? Call me old-fashioned, but word of mouth is still the best way to promote any product. How do you think I’m able to keep this bar open?”

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s a secret.” After slapping down a generous tip, the man disappeared, walking with more confidence than he’d entered with.

Derek hummed a tune to himself as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Anything interesting?” Lance prodded. How much would Derek tell him?

“You weren’t listening?” Derek asked.

Lance shrugged. “I didn’t think I had to since you were already doing it.”

An abysmal lie, but Derek didn’t appear to notice.

“Apparently, his company is working on a secret project. And anything involving the word secret is interesting, especially when they work for a company that hasn’t been around for very long.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know about Landreau Corp? How their newest building is in our humble little city?”

Lance nodded. It’d been difficult not to notice a skyscraper suddenly appearing in the city last year. Even from the slums, the top of it was visible.

“Well,” Derek continued, “one thing that’s not hard to spot about them is they all have a tie with that symbol on it. Those hands holding a ball of flame.”

“I didn’t see anything like that.”

Derek smirked. “I thought you weren’t paying attention.”

Lance’s heart skipped a beat. “I still saw the man walk in. Doesn’t mean I was listening.” He didn’t meet Derek’s eyes, looking out at the patrons instead.

“I almost didn’t catch it either, until he straightened his tie. So now we know that this Landreau Corp is working on a secret project.”

“They’re a pharmaceutical company, right?” Lance said. “They’re probably working on some miracle pill. A lot of companies probably have secret projects that don’t mean anything.”

Derek rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Do you remember what Eric said yesterday?”

Lance crossed his arms. “Hard to forget.”

“Information is currency. And he’s right. Whatever it is they’re working on, Eric needs to know about it so he can make a profit. If he learns that Landreau Corp is working on a miracle pill, maybe he can let it slip to a few other companies and get paid. That’s how things work around here.”

“Right, well, I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Lance glanced at the clock on the wall. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

Lance rounded the corner of the bar, but a strong hand gripped his arm. He glared at Derek, a snarl on his lips. His heart pounded in his chest, and his skin burned. He followed Derek’s stare to a group of three men laughing as they entered the bar. They stumbled over each other, visibly drunk.

Lance ignored the feeling in the pit of his stomach and glared at Derek again. “Something wrong?” His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. He tried to wrench his arm free from Derek’s iron grip, tempted to kick him.

“Yeah,” Derek said, finally letting Lance go. The maelstrom in Lance’s mind eased, but his arm burned where Derek had touched him. “I know these guys. Kaela told me about them. They’ve been going around different establishments, piss drunk, smashing things and starting fights.”

“What do you expect me to do about that?”

“Stay here and take this.” Derek handed a beer bottle to Lance. “Use it if one gets too close.” Derek rounded the bar, the three drunken men oblivious to what stalked them.

Lance’s gut twisted at the sight of them. He looked around the bar, and none of the customers noticed the tension in the room, brewing like a storm cloud.

Derek was a predator tailing his prey as he weaved through the chairs and tables, the patrons not acknowledging his movements. A ghost amongst the living.

A ghost that was about to haunt three very intoxicated men. One of them, a man with spiked hair dyed blood red and shades on his forehead, stomped to a nearby table and pulled a man’s chair from under him with a messy laugh. The man’s beer spilled everywhere, and he was on his feet seconds later, shouting at the spiky-haired man, spit and residual alcohol flying from his lips as he listed off every curse in the book.

The spiky-haired man’s laugh stopped short, and as he raised his fist to throw a punch, Derek grabbed his wrist.

“Problem, gentlemen?” Derek asked, his friendly attitude slipping back into who he’d been the night before.

“Yeah, this guy’s shouting at me for no reason!” yelled the spiky-haired man with slurred words. “My friends and I are here to get a drink and leave, nothing more. I was just taking care of him for you, sir.” The man tried to free his arm, then braced his leg on Derek to pull harder, but Derek’s grip held strong. “Why don’t you hop back behind that bar and serve me a drink?” He poked Derek’s chest as if expecting him to move back a little. Instead, he winced in pain as his finger jammed against Derek’s unmoving form.

Lance parked himself in a corner and kept still, his knuckles white as he gripped the cold bottle. The less attention he could draw to himself, the better. The patrons in the bar turned their heads toward the commotion, and murmurs turned into dead silence.

“I’m gonna have to escort you out of my bar,” Derek said, his voice calmer.

When he put a strong hand on the young man’s shoulder, the poor sap threw a punch. Derek dodged it and threw one of his own. The man fell back onto a table, his eyes wide and his nose dribbling red. His two friends shouted in a drunken rage and jumped onto Derek’s back.

Derek shoved his back against the wall, crushing the two men under his muscled weight. They crumpled to the ground.

The red-haired man wiped his nose and charged Derek. The blood barely noticeable on his dark knuckles, Derek sent a punch into the man’s stomach then threw another to the back of his head. He dropped to the ground with a grunt.

Only one of the two lackeys stood back up, a lanky man with skin even darker than Derek’s. He pulled a switchblade from his pocket, a lopsided grin marking his face.

The lackey lunged. Derek avoided swipe after swipe of the blade until he grabbed the man’s wrist with one hand, his other wrapped around his neck.

“I know you didn’t just try to stab me in my own bar,” he hissed.

The knife slipped from the lackey’s fingers. Derek stretched the man’s arm out and sank his knee into his elbow. The only sound louder than the crunch of splintering bone was the piercing shriek of pain.

The third lackey, a fleshy man, groaned on the floor as he reached for the fallen blade.

Derek slid the knife away and kicked the man’s face. Blood splattered on the wooden floor. He released the second man’s neck and pushed him toward the door. He and his two friends stumbled out of the bar, sobs carrying over from the one cradling his broken arm.

The man that had been pulled from his chair cheered drunkenly while the rest of the bar stared silently. Derek grabbed the switchblade off the floor and approached Lance.

Lance gripped the bottle harder. Derek managed to rip the bottle away and placed the switchblade in Lance’s hand. “There,” he said with a small smile. “Consider it a welcoming present.” Derek cleared his throat and went to the back to wash his hands, ordering a nearby server to clean the mess.

The silence in the bar faded as the patrons hesitantly returned to their meals and conversations. The air was stiff with tension and fear. It was as if none of them had ever seen a fight break out before. They probably haven’t.

Lance opened his mouth, but no words came to mind. Not even a goodbye. He stared down at the switchblade in his hand, closing it and slipping it into his pocket. He turned to leave, but Derek stopped him.

A worker exited the kitchen with a to-go box and passed it to Derek.

“Don’t forget your lunch,” Derek said, offering it to Lance.

Lance looked down at the box then searched Derek’s face for any sign of malice. But he saw no knowing glare in his eyes, no nervous shifts of movement.

“Why?” Lance asked. He didn’t bother hiding his doubtful expression.

“Because you’ve been here for hours and haven’t eaten,” Derek said, resting his hands on his hips.

Lance leaned against the bar and pursed his lips. “I know I’m supposedly a part of this group now, but you kidnapped me. And now, today, you’ve been constantly talking. What’s the deal? Is this some way of getting information out of me like everyone else?”

Derek didn’t react, only set the box down and crossed his arms. “I was just doing my job yesterday. I’ll be honest with you, I thought it was weird that Eric wanted to see you, as he’s never brought a client to the hideout before. I thought it was even weirder when he offered to make you a part of the family, or web, or business, whatever you want to call it… but I figure I should do my best to treat you as such.”

Lance scanned for any signs that he was lying. No tics. No avoiding eye contact. No exaggerated movements.

“Look, if you don’t believe me, at least think of it as an apology for knocking you out in your own store, hmm? I’m trying to make a show of good faith here.” He sighed. “If Eric trusts you, then I will too, because I trust him. Is that so hard to believe?”

Lance lowered his voice. “Who are you, exactly? You’re more than just a bartender and info gatherer. You didn’t leave a trace that you were at my store. You even cleaned up the damn mirror and blood in my bathroom. God knows how you had time to do that.” He narrowed his eyes. “And you just took down three guys by yourself. What the hell do you do for Eric, exactly?”

Derek leaned on his hands on the bar, biting his lip and staring at the polished wood in thought. “I… have a sordid past. I learned how to do a lot of shady shit. Eric scooped me out of that life and brought me on with him. He saved my ass. As for those punks, well… I’ve been in a fair share of fights before.” He shrugged.

Lance sighed then hesitantly grabbed the box of food. Derek hadn’t attempted to hide his body language at all. He just laid it all bare in front of Lance. Maybe he was telling the truth, but Lance wondered what he’d done in his past to pick up those skills.

Maybe I don’t want to know. “Well… apology accepted.”

“I should warn you, Kaela’s not going to be as willing to give you a chance as I was today. She’s a tough nut to crack, and she was pissed that Eric brought in a stranger out of nowhere.”

“Yeah, I gathered that.” Lance walked to the door. “Thanks.”

“Oh,” Derek said suddenly, snapping his fingers. “I have a cellar in the kitchen. Would you like me to have a barrel of wine delivered to your store? It’s the best in town.”

Lance blinked. His heart skipped a beat. He could do it. He had no parents, no second chance. Well, I suppose I have this one, but… God, an entire barrel of the stuff. He choked on his words a few times, trying to force them out. “No thanks,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.”

Lance sighed as he stepped out the door and into the bright, cloudy outside. He paused, still shocked at the cleanliness of this part of the city compared to the slums. Fresh coats of paint, flashy signs, and smiling faces; pastry shops, hardware stores, apartment buildings, all as clean as the rest. He felt as if he’d stepped out of a noir film and into… well, the present.

Derek had been kinder than last night, but if Eric ordered him and Kaela to tell Lance how they ran their businesses, he could have easily ordered them to gather info from him as well.

But that doesn’t make sense, he thought with a curse. Eric already knew everything about him, right down to his fight at the orphanage. So then, what was Derek’s ulterior motive for the act of kindness?

The smell of the food in the box trailed to his nose as he walked the street. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a decent meal. Looking around, Lance cracked the lid and peeked in. The burger and fries stared back at him. He gripped the box tighter when strangers passed, waiting for them to take it for themselves. None of them even tried.

As the minutes passed, Lance sneaked a few fries, then a few bites of the burger, and by the time he returned to the slums, the food was gone, and his stomach was full.

When Lance reached his store, he dropped the empty box on the ground and gasped. At least ten men were ambling around his store.

One of the men turned to Lance with a smile on his face.

Lance closed his open jaw. With steps lighter than even Derek’s, the muscular man padded to Lance, his pale hand outstretched.

Lance didn’t extend his own hand, but then the man reached down and grabbed the box. “Don’t want to litter, now. I know this is the slums, but we don’t want anything distracting from your new store.”

Lance stared at his store, almost failing to hide his excitement. It had yet to be finished, but a new coat of paint already graced the sides of the building as several men worked on the front. The door was gone, and the inside was filled with more men painting and working. The old, rusted shelves rested on a nearby truck as new shelves were being carried inside. It already looked twice as good as it had before, and it wasn’t even finished yet. The money Lance had given to Eric wouldn’t cover all this. Why was Eric so invested in him?

The man extended his hand once more. “Now I’d like a handshake.” His smile was genuine and reached his warm brown eyes. “Name’s Rob, sir. Glad to see we’ve added another underboss to the… what does Eric call it? Web?”

“Uh… nice to meet you, Rob.” Lance grimaced at his hand. “I’m not really much of a handshake kind of guy.”

Rob furrowed his brow, but his smile didn’t disappear. He ran a hand through his fiery red hair. “Ah, I understand. I have a cousin who’s a bit of a germaphobe.”

Lance opened his mouth to argue but let it go instead.

“These burgers are good, lemme tell you. Least they were back when I worked at Derek’s bar.”

“So… how long is it going to take before my store is done?”

“Probably another day or so. This place was more of a mess than we thought, no offense. We only needed to make some cosmetic fixes. I’m pretty shocked the old girl is as sturdy as she is.” His smile didn’t falter in the slightest. It appeared even more genuine than Derek’s. His face was bright and cheerful. Did he even realize who he worked for? “You picked a good building.”

Lance ran a hand through his own hair and allowed himself to nibble at one of his nails. “Did you just call me an underboss?”

Now the smile faltered. “Yes, sir. That’s what Eric told us, at least, that you were a new underboss.”

“Yeah, well, it sounds like Eric dramatized that story a little bit. I’m not the boss of anyone. I’m just apparently a part of the ‘family’ now.” His stomach twisted as the word left his lips.

“I understand, sir.”

That word grated Lance’s ears.

“Please stop calling me that. Just call me Lance.”

Rob raised an eyebrow. “Huh… Not a fan of being in charge?”

Lance paused, considering the question. He shook his head.

Rob’s smile relaxed. “Thank God. I thought I was going to break my jaw smiling that wide.” His demeanor changed entirely, becoming more relaxed, more casual.

Lance failed to hide his surprise. He’d seemed so genuine. Was Derek faking as well?

“Well, as I said, we only have a few more cosmetic changes to make, but I wouldn’t recommend you sleep here tonight while we finish up. Eric told us to tell you that you have a room at a hotel over on Widow Street, near The Red Rose.”

“Why were you trying to kiss my ass so bad?” Lance asked.

“Eric made it, um… very clear that we were to be nice to you.”

Lance eyed the men fixing his store, a familiar weight settling on his chest. Eric really had that much power, to make so many men treat a stranger like he was the most respected person in the world.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Rob. I’ll be going.”

“Yes, s—” He caught himself. “Yes, Lance. We’ll be done with her by tomorrow afternoon.” Rob bit his lip as if trying to cut off more words from escaping his mouth.

Lance turned to walk away, stealing one last fleeting look at his store. It would be the last time he’d see it run down.

It was almost sad to think about.

“Lance,” Rob called.

Lance turned. Worry was written on Rob’s face. Was that fake too?

“You’re going to be meeting Kaela tomorrow, right? Derek told me, and… just be careful. She’s not very fond of people. Especially strangers.”

Lance nodded and turned, beads of sweat forming on his brow. For Derek and his own men to be wary of Kaela, and with those yellow eyes staring him down… Fear settled into Lance’s heart, a heavier weight than even Eric gave him at their first meeting.

Well… maybe it won’t be so bad.