Basilisk (The Korsak Brothers #2)(90)

They say drugs kill, but does anyone ever listen?

“Yeah, Leandros,” I said into the phone. “Death and destruction by the dollar. The meter’s ticking. Go.”

I hadn’t had a chance to check the incoming number, not with Kishi Junior both seducing and making a meal of my leg. But it didn’t surprise me to hear a familiar voice. Five people total had my personal number. Our work came by referral only these days. “Kid, thank Bacchus,” I heard the relieved exhalation. “I need you and Niko at my place now.”

The three seconds was up and I had the muzzle of my Desert Eagle planted between toddler Kishi’s moon eyes as he gnawed harder at my lower thigh. I had a high pain tolerance—you learned to in this business, but to balance it out, my tolerance for nearly everything else in the universe was low. Damn low. Too bad for baby. It was night-night time. I might as well stop the pattern now. The same as his parents, he would grow up to be a killer anyway.

Like you did?

As if I didn’t know that.

But I was a done deal; the Kishi wasn’t, not quite yet. “Goodfellow? You in trouble?” I started to put pressure on the trigger and tried to ignore the shadow of guilt I felt. It was a kid. A killer kid, but a kid nonetheless. Couldn’t I relate? On every single level? Then again, did I care if I could relate? Was I Dr. Phil? Hell, no. I was, however, Niko’s brother. That had me yanking harder at my internal leash while frowning crossly at Niko as I gave him a few extra seconds to move over, slide his katana blade between my leg and the Kishi in order to pry the creature off in one efficient move.

“You owe me,” I grumbled at him.

While the last Kishi squealed, barked, yowled, and laughed hyena-crazy through a toothy muzzle, Niko threw him down and hog-tied his preteen fuzzy ass. My brother—he wasn’t a bleeding heart. There were more dead monsters and people in whatever version of hell you wanted to believe in who’d testify to that. He did like to give a break when he thought one was due, though—or when he thought their birthright shouldn’t automatically condemn them.

He’d learned that raising me and adjusting to my birthright—a lifetime of habits, right or wrong, was hard to break.

Robin’s voice was in my ear, catching my attention again. “Am I in trouble? Ah. Hmmm. It’s more like everyone else is in trouble with the exception of myself,” he hedged. “I’d rather explain it in person and give you the keys to the bar. Ishiah left them for you.”

Ishiah was my boss at my day job/afternoon job/ night job—whenever I wasn’t out doing what pulled in the real rent money: kicking monster ass. He owned a bar called the Ninth Circle, was a peri—a winged human-type creature that had spawned angel legends—and was generally neutral on whether he should kill me or crown me employee of the month for making it a week without icing a customer while serving up his or her liquor of choice.

Why would he want to kill me? We had a lot of unpaid tabs because I once hadn’t made that said employee of the month. But hand held to the empty, godless space that filled the sky, if I killed you, you usually had it coming. Or you just weren’t that quick. In my world, the two were practically the same.

“The keys? Why did he—Ah, hell with it. We’ll get the story when we get there.” I looked down at Niko crouching on the street, rhythmically rubbing the Kishi’s stomach. He crooned mournfully, my blood on his teeth, the silver of his eyes surrounded by the white of fear. “Fuck me,” I sighed. Before I let Goodfellow off the phone, I added, “By the way, do you know anywhere we could drop off a baby Kishi to be raised up all good with God? Religious, righteous, and true? Oh, and nonpeople eating?”

“Your imitation of a Southern drawl is pathetic and, yes, drop him off here.” He rattled off an address. “They take in strays all the time. But you better do it in the next hour or they’ll be gone.”

“Gone where?” I asked.

“Who knows? I t doesn’t matter. They’ll all be gone. Everyone. Now hurry the hell up. I’m paying your bill this time. I’m a puck, a trickster, and a used-car salesman. Don’t think I won’t squeeze every penny out of Niko’s well-shaped ass if you don’t perform this job to perfection.” His phone disconnected in my ear.

“Who was that?”

I grinned down at my brother. “Robin is hiring us for a job, and I’m thinking seriously about taking a dive in the fifth, because it’s your ass on the line if we screw up.”

“Goodfellow will be a good client. He wouldn’t cheat us.” Niko finished the knot on the rope and slitted his eyes at me. “And let us leave my ass out of it. Why I claim you as my blood, I will never know.”

That wasn’t true. I didn’t know why he put up with me, but I took it on faith that Niko knew something that made me worth keeping around. Niko knew extraordinary things that most others didn’t know and wouldn’t ever know. He was like that. Then again, very rarely, Niko screwed the hell up, wasn’t the infallible older brother—because no one was infallible. No one. I hadn’t kept count before, of the times he was wrong, but if I’d known what was headed our way, I might’ve starting adding them up now.

Number one was a little over sixty minutes away and headed for us like a freight train.

Tick-tock.