“Mr. Torelli, I assume.”
The Aurelian stands. He has dead-looking eyes, even for the usual slate-grey of our species. His out-of-shape bulk is clad in a fine suit.
“Good detective work,” the owner of the club nobs. “I take it that’s what you are, then? Detectives?”
He’s not exactly subtle.
I laugh coldly. “Yeah. I’m looking to buy girls because I’m an Aurelian Law Enforcement agent.”
Now he’s standing, I can clearly see Torelli’s huge, paunch belly – straining against his dress shirt. A thick gold chain dangles from his thick neck. I want to reach forward, grab it, and choke this crime boss out with it.
Instead, when Torelli extends his fleshy hand, I shake it.
“You know what they say about an Aurelian without a triad?” I look Torelli straight in his cold, dead eyes through the tint of my goggles.
“I do,” he nods. “That he didn’t protect his triad – and that’s true.” Then the man snorts. “I didn’t protect my triad. I killed them myself. They were too loyal to the Empire, and I was too loyal to gold.”
My muscles tense up beneath the material of my suit – but I force myself to stay calm.
Behind me, the auras of Kitos and Hadrian flare with fiery anger. They’re already ready to kill this man.
Torelli laughs, apparently delighting in our discomfort. His eyes are still – like the cold, dead stares of Scorp when they come charging for you.
I sense that while Torelli might be an Aurelian in flesh and blood, he’s really a reptile beneath that skin.
He looks us up and down, before murmuring:
“Maybe you aren’t Law Enforcement, then. I doubt any of those bastards could stand there without immediately trying to rip my throat out with their bare hands murdering my triad.”
Oh, we’re close to that, you bastard.
Torelli continues: “Of course, if you tried that, you’d be dead before you’d get half way across the room.” He gestures to the chairs in front of his huge desk. “Now, let’s talk business, shall we? Why don’t you sit down?”
His dead eyes flicker across to Allie – looking her up and down and licking his lips hungrily.
“That’s a pretty little slut you’ve got there. She’s your type, I presume? Strong and curvy?”
My hands nearly ball into fists at the leering disrespect he shows our Fated Mate – but I must resist my urge to teach this bastard some respect.
Remember, this is just like any other undercover assignment, Daccia. Maintain your cover!
"Get down!" Kitos barks at Allie in a rough tone – as if he’s addressing a dog. Allie immediately sinks down to the ground. I hate to see her humiliated like this, but we need to keep up appearances – and there’s no way we’d have trusted her to stay alone at the hotel.
I take a seat in one of the chairs, opposite Torelli’s desk.
"She's exactly my type,” I growl. “I didn't see too many girls like her out on the floor. Do you have anything similar?"
Anything, not anyone. As if these girls are objects, not living people.
I study Torelli’s face – looking into his cold, dead eyes for any clue that he’s seen a girl exactly like Allie before. I know how similar the two sisters look.
However, his eyes stay dead and empty. If he has seen Allie’s sister, he’s not giving that knowledge away.
Instead, Torelli peers across his desk toward our kneeling mate. I hate that his gaze can even touch her. It makes my skin crawl. He’s unworthy to even look at my mate.
Maybe I’ll take his eyes from him, when this is all over.
Torelli keeps scanning us. “Why are you wearing glasses?”
"We took some hits en route,” I try to sound nonchalant about it. “Space-pirates. The area is crawling with them. They ruptured some systems in our ship and we got coolant gas in the eyes.” I snort theatrically. “Fucking painful.”
“I’m sure,” Torelli breathes quietly.
He didn’t take the bait, so I press him further.
“You know anything about the pirates in this area? We want revenge."
Torelli licks his lips. It’s the first time his body language hasn’t seemed artificial.
“Revenge is not usually a profitable endeavor,” the crime boss muses. “I have no interest in unprofitable endeavors.”
Then, his cold eyes narrow.
“In fact, you’re starting to sound a lot like a cop.”
I don’t respond. In many conversations like this, the man who speaks first loses.
Instead, I keep my eyes trained on his. Torelli narrows his eyes slightly, and continues:
“You know, Law Enforcement doesn’t have any jurisdiction out this far – and I sure as hell don’t have an interstellar warrant on my head.”
That’s true – he doesn’t have a warrant. There’s no record of Torelli, or his crimes. I don’t know if he ever had a triad, and I can’t confirm his boast that he murdered them. In every way, this mysterious Aurelian is an enigma.
“Stop stalling,” I snap. “What’s the price per head?”
There’s a twitch in Torelli’s jaw. I’m sensing things about his body language I would never have noticed before. It seems the Bond has increased my sense of perception, just as it’s made me stronger and faster.
This additional information reveals to me that Torelli is growing ever-more suspicious by the second. I wish I had my Orb-Blade at my side – because the more the tension rises, the quicker I sense that violence will erupt.
Torelli leans forward, perhaps thinking the same thing.
“I don’t have an interstellar warrant on my head, he repeats, “but if three Law Enforcement agents caught me selling girls, I sure as fuck would get one. Prostitution is one thing. Actual involvement in the slave trade is another. I've got no interest in having three triads come here with Orb-Weapons drawn, ready to arrest me.”
He narrows his eyes.
“How did you find me?”
Hadrian’s aura flares with impatience. Before I can stop him, he barks out: “We’re not fucking cops.”
Unfortunately, I sense that Hadrian’s denial is all the proof Torelli needs
