Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy #1)(92)

I’d heard this story so many times from so many people that I could guess what he would say next.

“I tried to apply to be a tollbooth operator. They want someone with a bachelor’s. What the hell does a tollbooth operator need a bachelor’s for? Army would pay for me to go to college, but I can’t afford to take the time off. We’ve been trying hard for two years. We just get deeper and deeper in the hole.”

“Did Santino explain what’s involved in working for me?”

Troy nodded. “Yes.”

“My rules are simple,” Mad Rogan said. “Be where you’re told to be when you’re told to be. The first time you lie to me will be the last day you’ll work for my House. If you try hard but fail, it won’t be counted against you. Being lazy and sloppy will get you fired. Getting high or drunk will get you fired. Being in debt will get you fired.”

Troy opened his mouth, his face stoic.

“I’ll take care of your foreclosure,” Mad Rogan said.

“With all respect, Major, I came for a job, not charity. I want to work and provide for my family.”

“It’s not charity,” Mad Rogan said. “House Rogan owns all of the loans of its employees. Home, auto, college, anything else. When someone else holds your loan, you become a security risk. I don’t like security risks, so I take care of my own. People who work for me do get hurt. Your medical is covered, your life isn’t. You have a family, so take that into consideration. I pay well, so take some of that money and buy yourself a decent life insurance policy.”

Mad Rogan fell silent.

Troy swallowed. “Am I in?”

“You’re hired.”

Troy’s face went white. He stopped breathing, and for a moment I thought he would pass out. He could deal with rejection. He must’ve braced himself for it so he could get up from this table and walk away with some dignity. But the relief of acceptance was too overwhelming. His entire life had been riding on Mad Rogan’s words, and now he couldn’t process it.

I reached out and touched his hand. “It’s okay.”

He looked at me, stunned.

“It’s okay,” I repeated. “He hired you. Your home is safe. You’re okay. Breathe, Troy.”

Troy inhaled deeply.

Shivers ran down my spine. I finally realized just how dangerous Mad Rogan was. Most Houses had their private armies, but Mad Rogan took it a step further. For Troy it wasn’t just a job. It was a chance to be a man again, to be appreciated for his skills and to provide for his family. It was a new life, and Mad Rogan had given it to him. That’s what he did. He found ex-servicemen at their lowest, gave them a chance to matter, and rewarded them for it. I now understood perfectly the man who had reported to Rogan after the Range Rover had blown up. Rogan didn’t just own them financially. He owned their souls. They thought he was God.

“When do I start?” Troy asked.

Thunder rolled down the street. I jumped off my chair. It came from behind Mad Rogan and to the right. He sprinted, clearing the fence. I ran out of the eating area into the parking lot and caught up with him at Franklin Street, Troy at my heels.

Smoke billowed from the justice center. The thick plume of it poured out of the eleventh floor, rising up. Oh no.

Something shot out of the window directly under the smoke and plummeted to the street. What the hell?

The thing charged down Franklin Street, running toward us on all fours in powerful leaps, half hidden by the vehicles. Something fast and as big as a pickup truck.

“You start now, Mr. Linman,” Mad Rogan said and ran toward the thing. As I pulled my gun out of my purse, Troy Linman yanked off the jacket of his suit, threw it on the ground, and ran after Rogan. I chased them, gun in hand.

The thing cleared the small sedan in its way and landed on the street, out in the open. Shaped like a cheetah with the head of a dog, it was made of metal. Sections of thick pipes sat where its bones would be, and chains wound around the metal skeleton. There was nothing holding it all together, nothing except magic and someone’s will. I’d never seen anything like it. Small animated objects, yes, but this, this was incredible.

The beast slowed and raised its head. A small bright spark shone in its long jaws.

“It’s got the artifact!” I yelled.

Mad Rogan stopped and brought his arms forward. The beast fell apart, sliced in four sections. The pipes and chains crashed to the ground and scattered.

“Find the animator!” Rogan walked toward the metal debris, moving cautiously. The pipes and chains slid apart in front of him, skittering across the pavement. He was sorting through it, looking for the artifact. Troy grabbed a loose pipe that had rolled to our feet and brandished it.

I spun around. An animator mage had to be within a short distance of his or her creation. On our left was a pay-to-park lot, complete with a toll bar and an automated payment booth. Directly in front of us, across La Branch Street, a ten-story parking garage blocked out a chunk of sky. Both were a bad idea for a quick getaway. In a moment, the area would be swarming with bailiffs, marshals, and cops. There was no way to escape quickly through the parking garage or the crowded parking lot. I turned. On our right, an empty square lot took up the entire block. It held only two cars; it had to be a tow-away zone. The animator wouldn’t risk parking there either.

“What are we looking for?” Troy asked, hefting the pipe like a club.