Queen of The Reapers by Jessa Halliwell
Twenty-One
Tonight was supposedto be a quiet night, but when Dimitri’s involved, it never is. After we pulled Stevie out of that fucking interrogation room, Dimitri sent Atlas a text requesting to hold a last-minute meeting at Hell’s Tavern tonight. Atlas could’ve said no, but that would’ve forced us to travel to another syndicate’s sanctuary. And after finding Dimitri so close to our girl, none of us were comfortable leaving her alone. Even Ezra, who’s been keeping his distance, agreed to head back to the house and keep an eye on her. I still can’t believe Dimitri got her in his clutches, and all four of us missed the signs.
“I can’t believe you okayed this shit.” Cyrus hisses, cutting his eyes at Atlas and we vacate his office and head downstairs.
Atlas says nothing in response, but the empty expression on his face speaks volumes. He doesn’t want this meeting to happen any more than we do.
The three of us step onto the main floor of Hell’s Tavern and it feels like we’re walking into a battlefield. It’s just after 4 AM and even with all of our customers gone, the air in the room feels stifling. We step towards our lounge, and it’s as if every eye in the room is following us. It’s fucking unnerving. We may be on home turf, but it’s hard to feel completely at ease with so many killers filling our booths.
Once we reach our section, we settle into the blue velvet couches and quietly assess our company. Given the short four-hour notice, I’m surprised to see representatives of every west coast syndicate in attendance. The Immortals of Portland. The Brotherhood in San Francisco. The Devil's Disciples of Los Angeles. Even The Forsaken of Seattle made it in time.
Like us, none of them wear any obvious markers showing their affiliations, but I spot each crew’s leader with no problem. Being head of security means it’s my job to keep tabs on everybody, including our allies. After all, the thin line between enemy and friend often blurs in our line of business.
Everyone made it on time, but no one looks happy about it. Even Dimitri’s ex-crew looks irritated. He must’ve not bothered to clue them in on his plans, either.
It’s just after 4:20 AM when the man of the hour finally strolls in.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Dimitri says, taking off his jacket and hanging it over a chair. “Something unexpected came up.”
The way he throws a pointed glare at our table elicits a flicker of rage in all of us. If we didn't know that Ezra was watching her like a fucking hawk right now, that shit would've sent us into a frenzy.
“Thank you all for agreeing to meet on such short notice.” He continues, offering everyone in the room a menacing smile. Dimitri knows none of us have a real say in the manner. If we get a text from the West Coast leader, we have no choice but to answer.
“The Reapers have been hospitable enough to offer their space as a meeting point and I want you all to know that tonight, this is a neutral space.”
“Cut to the chase, Mitri.” Alek, The head of The Immortals, calls out. “Where’s your father and what is this all about?”
Guess we weren't the last ones to find out about Oleg’s passing, after all.
Dimitri flashes Alek a sinister grin. “I’m glad you asked.” He says, hopping up on the stage. “Gentlemen,” He booms, extending his arms out in a grand gesture. “It’s a new era for our business. Trafficking guns and drugs to make ends meet is a thing of the past. The profits don’t always outweigh the costs and frankly, why should we continue slumming it with local street gangs when there are other more profitable ventures to explore. Sex is the future. The profits are exponential and the opportunity cost is minimal if you manage your resources properly. It’s no secret that Los Angeles is The West Coast’s most profitable territory to date, and that is all thanks to the underground sex clubs I established years ago. I’ve spoken with the council and they agree that it’s time the rest of the west coast syndicates follow suit.”
The silence that falls over the room is deafening. It’s an unspoken rule within The Organization that we keep our money out of women and children. Sex work is one thing, but we all know what Dimitri’s really talking about is sex slavery. It’s easy to keep your “opportunity cost” so minimal when your entire staff is working for zero pay.
Andrei, the muscle of The Forsaken, jumps up from his seat and slams his palm against the table. “Did Oleg even sign off on this shit?” He asks, furrowing his brows. “Who the hell do you think you are coming in here and telling us what to do with our cities?”
Dimitri lets out a vile, sadistic laugh as he slowly shakes his head. “You’re right. Oleg wouldn’t have signed off on this, but his opinion no longer matters. He’s dead.” He says, leveling his eyes on Andrei as his smile fades. “And I’m afraid, old friend, so are you.”
Before anyone can do anything to stop him, Dimitri whips out his gun and pulls the trigger. The bullet zips across the room and rips into the center of Andrei’s forehead with deadly precision. Blood drips down his face as the man's heavy body crumples to the ground and the rest of the room erupts in chaos.
Every other man in the room draws his gun and begins shouting as the distrust in the air boils over. The three of us sit and watch as Dimitri’s eyes glimmer with excitement. We’re used to him and his calculated cruelty, but it’s obvious that for most of the men in the room, this is their first real taste of who Dimitri really is, beyond his careful veneer.
“I’m the new head of West Coast operations.” Dimitri calls out over the melody of protests and accusations. “If any of you have a problem with that, now is the time to speak up.”
The sounds in the room die down as soon as they come to terms with what this all means.
“Questions?” Dimitri asks, flashing the room a broad grin. “No? I didn’t think so. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He says, tucking his gun back into its holster before jumping off of the stage to pick up his coat. “I’ve got some personal business to take care of. I expect full status reports on your new business ventures in no longer than three months. Have a good night, gentlemen.”
With that parting statement, Dimitri exits the building nearly as quickly as he arrived. Leaving the mess he made behind for us to clean.
Pushing drugs and running our various legitimate businesses has been working for us for the last 7 years and The Organization never once complained about the 40% overhead they took in.
This change is personal and is Dimitri’s way of separating himself from his predecessor. But enforcing a change like this is overkill and will garner him more enemies than he can handle. Everyone in this room can see that the man who was just standing before us is nothing like Oleg and, no matter how hard he tries to separate himself, he’ll always be stuck in his step-father’s shadow.
This change is personal and is Dimitri’s way of separating himself from his predecessor. But enforcing a change like this is overkill and will garner him more enemies than he can handle. Everyone in this room can see that the man who was just standing before us is nothing like Oleg and, no matter how hard he tries, he never will be.
This change is personal and is Dimitri’s way of separating himself from his predecessor. But enforcing a change like this is overkill and will garner him more enemies than he can handle. Everyone in this room can see that the man who was just standing before us is nothing like Oleg and no matter how hard he tries, he never will be.
This change is personal and is Dimitri’s way of separating himself from his predecessor. But enforcing a change like this is overkill and will garner him more enemies than he can handle. Everyone in this room can see that the man standing before us is nothing like Oleg and no matter how hard he tries, he never will be.
This change is personal and is Dimitri’s way of separating himself from his predecessor. But enforcing a change like this is suicide. Everyone in this room can see that the man standing before us is nothing like Oleg and no matter how hard he tries, he never will be.
This change is personal and Dimitri’s way of separating himself from his predecessor. But enforcing a change like this is suicide. Everyone in this room can see that the man standing before us is nothing like Oleg and no matter how hard he tries, he never will be.
* * *
I release an exasperatedbreath and rub my temples just to make sure my brain is hearing him correctly. “What did you just s… say?” I ask, peering closer to his face.
Ezra stares at his zippo, flicking the lid open and closed, over and over again. His mouth is pressed in a hard line and his eyes look dead inside.
“She’s gone.” He repeats, refusing to look up at the three of us. The second we opened the front door, we found him like this at the foot of the stairs. Atlas tried to get him to talk, but for the first couple of minutes, he refused to say anything. Just sat there playing with his lighter. It wasn’t until Cyrus screamed at him that we finally got him to say those words.
“What the fuck do you mean she’s gone?” Atlas hisses, glaring at him. “You were supposed to watch her. What happened?”
“Mitri happened.” Cyrus spits, pacing the floor. “I knew that meeting was just a fucking distraction. The asshole did something to make her leave.”
“It wasn’t Dimitri.” Ezra says, finally glaring up at the three of us as he clenches his jaw. “It was me.”
“It was you?” I ask, glaring at him. “What does that even f… fucking mean?”
“She wanted to see the monster.” He says dismissively. “So I let her.”
“Did you hurt her?” Atlas asks, flaring his nostrils as an eerie calm overtakes his entire demeanor.
Ezra solemnly shakes his head. “Not in the way you think.”
“We need to go find her.” Cyrus says as he continues to pace. “It isn’t safe for her out there.”
“She made her choice.” Ezra says, standing up as he tucks his zippo away. “She doesn’t want us and it’s time we fucking accepted it. She was only ever supposed to be a toy. Just consider her permanently broken.”
I look at Atlas and Cy, and they both look conflicted. Like they actually buy into Ezra’s bullshit. This is stupid. He can't do this. He can’t just make a decision about our lives like this.
“F… fuck that.” I snarl, grabbing my keys. “I’m going out t… to find her whether you like it or not. I’m n… not done with her. N… Not by a long shot.”
“Tristan,” Ezra calls out and the ice in his voice stops me in my tracks, “if you bring her back to this house, I will kill her. Her blood will be on your hands and if you think I give a fuck about the repercussions, you’re wrong. I don’t fear death, I welcome it.”
The fire within me slowly extinguishes, as my shoulders slump. I may want Stevie back, but there’s no way in hell I’m putting her in danger. As much as I hate to admit it, Ezra’s right. If I bring her back here and he hurts her, I’ll never be able to live with myself. Right now, the safest place for her is as far away from us as possible.