Page 22 of Claimed
An unfortunate oversight from our fearless leader.
I can almost picture his scowling facade when he realizes this will not be an easy snatch and grab.
Not that I ever expected this to be anything of the sort.
The dark market has been under a rather watchful eye for several months. All since a colony in Georgia stumbled upon one of the warded entrances into the nefarious network. I’m not even surprised these guys upped their security measures. No doubt every bidder was vetted and tracked for days. It was another reason why I made sure the penthouse was crawling with sex crazed bodies last night.
More smoke and mirrors.
Personally, I have never had a use for the sick fucks running this shit show. Even being under the same roof as the auctioneers is rubbing me all the wrong ways. But our history is not squeaky clean.
And neither is my past.
Our prim blond host motions and one of her towering meat suits of a guard walks over with a wooden crate in his grasp. He sets it before her and steps back, his position a classic guard pose.
The woman lifts the lid and draws out a Kevlar vest. “Three crates of thirty. Bidding will begin at twenty thousand.”
I glance past the table to the waiting lots. Without knowing what they are keeping the ampules in, it is hard to gauge just which lot the Brightex will be.
The vests go to a vampire near the rear of the room. The next lot is a set of RPGs. Though Horan stiffens at my side, he remains silent as the purchase goes to an enterprising human male with a robust French accent.
I hated to break it to him, but the entire auction is going to be hard to swallow. We are after one thing and one thing only, but I know he was cataloging every face and who bought what. I agree with the necessity of what he is doing. I do not want such a deadly weapon in anyone’s hands. Though I will never say so aloud.
Many of the next lots hold more weapons like military grade rifles and even a case of grenades. Some are less openly nefarious, like the vests or refrigerated pallets of donor blood. But most colonies have access to blood banks or willing donors. Anyone willing to buy blood from the dark market has a need for it outside of a sanctioned purpose.
Like territory wars in free zones.
I stave off my shudder, but it’s a near thing.
The hulking security detail moves forward. Three large males step toward the table with three petite black cases locked to their wrists. I shift a bit. Each case is made of shiny black composite, the front sporting thick locks and a logo I have never seen before.
The blond woman motions them and they spread out on each side of her. Setting the cases on the table, the males unlock each and turn them around, showcasing small glass vials filled with a milky yellow liquid. Murmurs fill the room.
Horan goes still.
“Three cases of Brightex,” the woman says. “This drug specifically targets the supernatural population, allowing your men and women an added boost to their power.”
The chatter grows in volume and excitement prickles along my senses.
“We will begin the bidding at fifty thousand a case,” the woman adds. “There is a cap for all three. If the highest bidder wishes to only purchase one case, the rest will go into a second lot until all the cases are sold. Do I have an initial bid?”
“A hundred and fifty,” comes a masculine voice behind me.
I turn to find a large male, perhaps taller than Horan, with midnight hair and startling gold eyes. His face is more rugged than handsome, and his voice is rasping and mild.
“Two hundred.” My head whips over as the voice rips through me. The woman from the club stands before her seat, her tone mild and her posture fierce.
Brightex? She wants the fucking Brightex?
Anger spirals inside of me, and I don’t know what is worse, the fact that it bothers me or the fact I had nearly fucked her in the damn club hallway the night before.
Maybe both.
“Three hundred,” says the man.
Horan nudges me. “Are you going to bid?” he demands under his breath.
Right.
