Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(29)

According to the dispatcher, Officers Ryan Gaines and John Pacheco had responded to a possible domestic disturbance at Jordan’s address, shortly after midnight, and Dan wanted to know—no, Dan needed to know—if Mike had more facts.

What the heck was going on?

Was Jordan in any real danger?

Was she doing okay after both questionable incidents?

Heavens knew, she would never reach out to him—not again, not anymore—and he had no one to blame, but himself.

“What’s up, Mike?” he called, approaching the gruesome scene.

The burly detective turned around and snorted. “Shit. This must be a peculiar homicide if the DA’s office is on the scene within fifteen hours of the crime.”

“What’ve you got?” Dan asked, ignoring the comment while he scanned the mutilated body still on the floor of the garage. He grimaced and covered his nose. “Holy shit,” he grunted. “Why hasn’t the coroner removed the remains yet?”

“Forensics,” Mike said. “This one’s too bizarre. We need to be careful with the on-scene evidence.”

“Hmm,” Dan intoned. “What do you know about the victim? I heard it was Daryl Smith, a peripheral member of the North Side Posse. Far as I know, the guy was into petty theft, running heroin—maybe some crack—and he may have recently escalated to GTA, but it was all standard, low-level shit. What kind of enemies could he have made? Who the hell would take him out like this, want to leave this kind of message? And why burn most of the chain, but leave the body? Why go for the heart, then leave it intact?”

Detective Jacobs shrugged. “I see you’ve still got your sources.” He smirked and continued, “Truth be told, we don’t know. Not yet. It is Daryl Smith, and there was nothing— absolutely nothing—the vic was into that explains this shit. One of the weirdest hits I’ve ever seen.”

“And you’re sure it was a hit?” Dan asked. “Not some other kind of trouble, an unexpected run-in with a rival gang member, something else the kid was mixed up in?”

Detective Jacobs furrowed his brow. “I’ll tell you this much: It looks like a professional job, not just some run-of-the-mill confrontation; but what we don’t know is whether or not it was a paid assassination, an act of retaliation, or some strange-ass ritualistic deal. We’re gonna have to dig a little deeper on this one.”

Dan studied the outline of the fallen body and winced. “Ritualistic?” he parroted. “What do you mean?” His lower abdomen tightened, and the hidden tattoo on the nape of his neck, just above his hairline, began to tingle.

The detective turned to face him and sighed. “So it’s looking like we’ve got a couple more missing gangsters, all members of the North Side Posse, and here’s where the shit gets weird: The posse was at war with a rival gang—again, some everyday, petty bullshit; nothing that explains this mess—but one of the families of the rival gangsters was into some pretty strange shit.”

“Like?” Dan prompted.

“Like some kind of occultist nonsense, devil worship or something. We don’t know the details yet, just that the vic’s father belonged to some bizarre dragon sect. Ever heard of the Temple of Seven?”

Dan scrunched up his features in a what-the-hell gesture and immediately shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.”

At that, Detective Jacobs gave him a cursory once-over, almost as if he was reading his posture, analyzing his body language for cues, and then he drew back and frowned, slowly shaking his head. “You’re not here about the victim, are you?”

Dan felt his chest constrict, and he tried to play it off. “What do you mean?” He chuckled insincerely. “I’m the assistant DA—whoever did this shit, we’ll be prosecuting the guy.”

“Or gal,” Detective Jacobs interjected.

Dan gestured toward the butchered corpse and smirked. “The guy. Maybe guys.”

“Yeah,” Detective Jacobs conceded. “No doubt.” He paused for the space of two heartbeats and then he cut straight through all the minutia. “But since you only prosecute appeals, the case won’t come to you. So, what are you really here for, Dan? What do you really want to ask me about?” He planted his hands in the pockets of his pants and gave the attorney a no-nonsense stare. “You still carrying a torch for Jordan Anderson?”

Dan dropped his head and stared at the ground.

Well, shit.

Was it really that obvious?





Chapter Twelve

Jordan followed Zane in absolute silence as they left her apartment early Sunday morning, locked the door behind them, and headed to the elevator carrying several duffle bags packed with her things. Zane had said they could retrieve more items later; The Pantheon could purchase or provide whatever she might need, and she could always come back for more.

He had said he would bring her back.

It was all that was keeping her sane.

As it stood, she felt like a card-carrying member of the Stockholm Syndrome club, aiding and abetting in her own capture, participating in her own abduction, following the lion to his den, but for the life of her, she didn’t know what else to do.

The male was real.

The situation was extremely real.

And there didn’t appear to be an easy way out: a fact that had become ever-more tangible over the past thirty-three hours…