Chapter 146
Raven
The white rabbit mask felt ridiculous on my face. Through the eyeholes, I watched a group of men in pig masks shuffle through the ornate front entrance, each wearing identical brass badges pinned to their lapels. The pigs disappeared into the house like livestock heading to slaughter.
Fitting.
"Ready?" Scarlet's fox mask tilted toward me, all sharp angles and knowing smirk frozen in crimson resin.
"As I'll ever be."
We moved with the next cluster of arrivals—wolves, ravens, bears—all expensive masks hiding expensive criminals. The front door loomed, carved mahogany that probably cost more than most people's cars.
A woman appeared in the doorway before we could slip past. Mid-forties, designer dress, the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes. She blocked our path with the casual authority of someone used to being obeyed.
"Oh my!" Her laugh was tinkling crystal over ice. "A bunny and a fox? How delightful!" Her gaze swept over us, assessing. "Though I could have sworn the last group wore pig masks. And they were from the North." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "So where exactly are you two lovely creatures from?"
Scarlet went rigid beside me. I felt her elbow jam into my ribs.
"Um. Hey!" She shoved me forward slightly. "Tell her!"
Thanks for nothing.
My mind raced. The pig masks had worn badges—I'd caught a glimpse as they passed. Simple brass squares with cardinal directions engraved at the top. "NORTH" on the pigs. Below that, strings of numbers. The one I'd seen clearly read 3,247.
"East," I said, injecting just enough boredom into my voice to sell it. "We're from the East."
The woman's smile widened. "The East! Oh, how wonderful!" She clasped her hands together. "Eastern guests are always so much more... valuable than our Northern friends. Please, please come in!"
I stepped forward. Scarlet's relief was palpable even through her mask.
"Just one moment." The woman's hand shot out, stopping me. "Your badges, darlings. House rules."
Shit.
I'd seen the numbers. Thousands. All of them. My brain scrambled for purchase.
"That garbage?" I let out a sharp laugh. "I don't wear that cheap tin. My number won't fit on something so small."
The woman blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"Nineteen thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine." I said each digit slowly, like I was explaining basic math to a particularly dense child. "You really think someone at my level needs to advertise?"
Silence dropped like a guillotine blade.
The woman's face transformed—shock melting into something close to worship. "N-nineteen thousand...?"
"Nine hundred ninety-nine," I finished. "Hence why the badge stays home. Unless you'd prefer I had it custom-made? Maybe in platinum? With diamonds spelling out the numbers?"
"No! No, of course not!" She practically vibrated with apology. "Please, forgive me. I should have realized. Someone of your... stature... naturally wouldn't need—" She gestured frantically at the door. "Please! Right this way! My deepest apologies for the delay!"
Scarlet's shoulders shook. The fox mask couldn't hide the laughter threatening to escape.
We swept past the stammering woman into the house. Behind us, I heard whispers spreading like wildfire.
"Nineteen thousand?"
"Is that even possible?"
"Must be someone really important..."
---
Inside, the house was exactly what I'd observed from the rooftop—crystal chandeliers, marble floors, artwork that screamed "I have more money than taste." Guests mingled in clusters, masks turning toward us as we passed. The weight of attention pressed against my skin.
We found a table near the back, away from the main crowd. I sank into a velvet chair that probably cost more than my motorcycle.
"Nineteen thousand nine hundred ninety-nine?" Scarlet hissed. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"That we needed to get inside." I kept my voice low. "And that whatever those numbers represent, higher is better."
"You don't even know what they mean!"
"No." I watched the room. "But I know it's something dark. Something criminal. And I know these people respect power." I turned to her. "Sometimes you just have to commit to the lie."
The crowd shifted. Conversations died. At the front of the room, the woman from the door stepped onto a small raised platform. Her smile was radiant.
"Welcome, everyone!" Her voice carried beautifully. "I'm Miranda Volkov, your hostess for this evening. My husband Murray Volkov couldn't be here tonight—pressing business overseas—but he's asked me to extend his warmest regards to all of you."
Volkov. Nash's intel was right.
"Tonight is special," Miranda continued. "So many of our partners gathered in one place! It's a rare treat. Now please, if you'll follow me..."
She walked to what appeared to be a solid wall, pressed something hidden in the decorative molding. With a soft hiss, the wall split, revealing a staircase descending into darkness.
Of course there's a secret basement. Why wouldn't there be a secret basement.
---
The underground space was obscene.
Parking garage in size, palace in execution. The staircase opened into a massive room—vaulted ceilings, more chandeliers, tables laden with food and drink that could feed a small country. The center held rows of leather chairs and polished tables arranged theater-style. Along the walls, doorways led to smaller rooms, floor-to-ceiling windows revealing… entertainment.
Through one window, I glimpsed women in evening gowns and vacant eyes, drinks in hand, swaying to music I couldn't hear.
Through another, more women. Younger. Too young.
My stomach turned to ice.
"This place makes my skin crawl," Scarlet muttered. "And I've crawled through some pretty disgusting places."
"The worst is yet to come," I said quietly. "I can feel it."
We moved toward the back row, trying to maintain our low profile. I'd just reached for a chair when Miranda's voice rang out.
"Oh no, no, no!" She swept toward us, arms extended. "The bunny and the fox! You two can't possibly sit in the back!" Her hands found our shoulders, steering us forward with surprising strength. "Come, come! Front and center for our most distinguished guests!"
"Nineteen thousand nine hundred ninety-nine is not that special," Scarlet grumbled under her breath as we were herded to the front row.
A man in a bear mask—brown fur, realistic snarling expression—leaned toward us as we passed. His badge read "WEST" and beneath it: 6,789.
"Oh, it's plenty special," he said, voice warm with amusement. "In this economy? This market? Getting those kinds of numbers?" He whistled low. "You two must be absolutely raking it in. Nineteen thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine kids in one year? That's impressive work."
The world stopped.
Kids.
Nineteen thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine kids.
My hands clenched into fists beneath the table. The rabbit mask suddenly felt suffocating, the eyeholes too small, the air too thick.
"Fuck," I whispered.
Scarlet's hand found mine under the table, squeezed hard. A warning. A tether.
Don't blow the cover. Not yet.