chairs. On each table at any given time a variety of items could be found, most often cocaine, since that was the drug he harvested and manufactured for himself. All the years he felt trapped and cheated being born in the bowels of the rain forest with all those other animals had finally paid off. Almost a hundred miles from where he was born in a dingy old hut at the base of the Gungi was where his empire had begun. Two years ago he’d found the land, or actually found the useless natives tirelessly working their callused hands to manufacture cocaine. The coke was being shipped to Raul Cortez in Peru then on to the United States, where Cortez had his army of dealers pushing it to those weak enough to become addicted.
After doing the useless minions a favor and ending their meager existence, he’d slept in the middle of what was nothing more than a huge tent. Sleeping and thinking, thinking and sleeping was what Sabar did for seven days. And in the same time that it had taken the God that humans worshiped to create this foul world, he had come up with a plan to control it.
Except instead of resting on the seventh day, Sabar killed. He hunted and devoured whatever crossed his path, letting the thrill of the hunt, the thirst for blood run gracefully through his veins. The idea had manifested over the weeks he stayed exiled in the forest, and eventually he’d gone out to find his own workers. Only these workers weren’t filthy humans, they were shifters. Ones like him that the Shadow Shifters didn’t want, felt like they didn’t need. When, in essence, they were the better of the species, they were superior. He would show them, once and for all.
He could simply attack the tribes in the forest: take his growing group of Rogues and pillage their camp in the deep recesses of the night. But that wouldn’t have the effect he wanted. It was too quick, too painless. What he had in mind for the Shadow Shifters was something much more drawn out and deadly. As the laws of revenge went, there were none.
Manufacturing his own product, shipping it to the States on security-cleared US military aircrafts, and having the humans he allowed himself to deal with push the product gave a much better profit than Raul Cortez had ever seen. The Cortez Cartel had nothing on Sabar and the Rogues.
Less frequently he worked in ammunition. One thing Sabar had learned from his military contacts was that the US government loved to fight, and they loved to have the upper hand in a fight. So they were always in the market for the latest and greatest in warfare. It just so happened that one of Sabar’s newest associates had exactly what the government wanted—and more excitingly, what America’s allies wanted.
So for the moment life was sweet.
But only for the moment. There were still some glitches in his plan, some issues that he needed to resolve.
The Kalina Harper thing, for instance. A chance encounter he’d never quite forgotten, one he’d finally realized was meant to be.
There were other issues, other legs of his plan he’d yet to reveal, but tonight was about taking the next step. Facilitating his plan was of utmost importance. If he wanted to rule he needed an army behind him. Drafting new Rogues wasn’t difficult; there was a lot of unrest among the shifters, both the shadows in the forest and the ones stateside. The Shadow Shifters prided themselves on sticking together, following their rules, and living the life outlined for them—inside ridiculous parameters. They were loyal to one another, dedicated to their Etica and their way of life. But there was division, an act Sabar had foreseen years ago. Now a shifter himself, he coddled the philosophy of breaking with tradition like a newborn baby.
Humans, on the other hand, loved three things: money, power, and respect.
All Sabar wanted from the spineless creatures was their money.
He already had the power, was blessed with it along with his inferior DNA. Being a shifter was his saving grace, being a step above the human race his reward. He loved the control and fear his cat evoked, loved the leader it had bred him to be. He’d waited a long time to step up and claim what was rightfully his, and now he was almost there.
As for respect, that would come or they would die. It was quite simple to his way of thinking.
“JC’s ready,” Darel said from behind.
Sabar rubbed a hand down the back of his close-shaved head, inhaling deeply before he turned. Darel wasn’t afraid of him. Leery of what his next move might be, yes, but not afraid. This could be a good thing, Sabar noted, or it could be bad. He hadn’t decided which yet. But he liked Darel, liked the kill-or-be-killed mentality the shifter possessed. Looking at the broad-shouldered beast with its green eyes glaring back at him almost made Sabar proud. He’d trained Darel, brought him under his wing when he was just a boy, raised him to be as vicious and cutthroat as he was. Yes, he was proud. But he wanted to be prouder.
“Did you check his receipts from the last time?”
Darel nodded. “I did. He was even.”
“Good,” Sabar said, taking a step so that he and Darel were now walking together toward the other side of The Point. There were four tables over there, filled with blocks of coke that JC was to pick up and distribute on the streets for quick sale. “Watch him, though. He stinks,” he said, extending his long tongue to lick over his lips.
Beside him Darel grunted. “He’s no fool, boss. He knows if he fucks up his ass is mincemeat.”
Sabar nodded. “Make sure he doesn’t forget that little tidbit of information.”
“No problem.”
Through heavy metal double doors a human walked. He was tall and built like a toothpick, his face sunken in and leathery like he’d seen too much sun and not enough sunscreen. Dark eyes darted around the room as he walked with a sure gait, his stench wreaking of fear. Sabar’s stomach churned. If there was anything he hated more than the Shadow Shifters, it was a spineless human.
“Howdy,” the man Darel called JC said.
Darel stepped in front of Sabar. “Here’s the shipment. You’ve got a week to turn in the money and your receipts.”
“Shit,” JC hissed. “All this? You want me to move all this in a week?”
“If you can’t,” Darel said menacingly, “we’ll find someone who can.”
“Nah, that’s…,” he stuttered. “That’s … not necessary.” Rubbing a hand through his greasy hair, he made a wide step around Darel to the first table. Long fingers moved along the silver-covered package as he blew out a low whistle. “I can do it.”
“You’d better,” Darel said with a growl that had JC jumping, almost falling over the merchandise.
“What the fuck are you guys?” JC mumbled as he looked up to see he was surrounded by the two of them.
“Your worst fucking nightmare!” Sabar snarled.
In the confines of his bedroom on Sunday Rome continued to stare at the computer screen. His back hurt, his legs were begging to be stretched, but his eyes remained fixated on the words, the letters, the feelings behind each sentence his father had written.
The last year in Vance Reynolds’s life was a tumultuous one. Along with the Delgados he’d been trying to create a stateside alliance like the Assembly in the forest. They wanted a government in place for the Shadow Shifters who’d opted to live out in the open among the humans. In the forest there had already been whispers of an uprising, threats of rogue shifters staking a claim in the village they’d helped build. Vance figured it was only a matter of time before those rogues made their way to the States.
The stakes were much higher here in the land of the free. Shifters were living in the open instead of remaining hidden under the canopy of the rain forest, reported only as shadows or man–animal beasts. They could walk along the streets with their heads held high, make a living for themselves and their families, and still honor their heritage. But like any group living in unknown territory, they needed boundaries, rules, protocols to maintain their most protected secret.
In the last few months of his life, Vance had begun a preliminary outline for how they could make that happen. At that time there were no Faction Leaders in the Zones, no one to really keep tabs on what was going on all over the continent, and Vance could not do it alone. He trusted Henrique and Sofia Delgado, along with his wife, with all his plans and secrets. All but one.
As Rome stared at the screen, he knew without a doubt that neither his mother nor Nick’s parents had known about Vance’s latest plan. A plan that had shaken all Rome’s ideals and beliefs in the man he looked up to.
