On Your Knees, Prospect (Kings of Hell MC 3)

The smile instantly dropped off Vars’s lips, and he pulled closer a chair from the dresser to sit across from his boss.

Magpie poured some dark red wine into two glasses, which he must have brought with him from New York, since Vars hadn’t seen a single wine glass at any of the numerous celebrations in the clubhouse. Magpie passed one on to Vars and leaned back in the chair, spinning the liquid gently before sticking his nose into the glass.

Vars took a sip. The wine was excruciatingly bitter, but knowing Mr. Magpie, it was some kind of expensive vintage a connoisseur would sell his wife and child for, so Vars smiled through the scowl that his lips itched to instinctively form.

“Of course.”

“The Kings never disappointed me or broke the terms of our business agreement. They’d always given me first pick of the jewelry, but at this time I need to make sure the rubies they get their hands on are only offered to me. You will likely not be allowed to handle the stolen goods just yet, but with time you should gain access to the workshop where they are processed." Magpie reached out to Vars and pressed two fingers to Vars's chest, right above the heart. “The stone that keeps you alive is more than that. It belongs to me. Like a pet.”

Vars forced himself not to scowl. Of course. He was grateful to Mr. Magpie for a great many things, but with the Kings welcoming him so readily, he did not want to live his lie constantly reporting back on their activities. “Do you suspect them of stealing?”

Magpie leaned back in the armchair that now seemed like a throne, and he sipped his wine as he pondered the question. “No, but Baal is waiting for an opportunity to expand his territory, and I can’t have the Kings doing any more favors for him. Let’s just say I don’t like… imbalance, so I need to keep an account of what he owns. You will help me with that. The stone I buried in your chest makes you my territory. You are impenetrable to Baal, and you disrupt his influence. He cannot see or hear you. When you are in the room, others and their voices are obscured from him as well. Make use of that if need be.”

Vars stared at him, and the wine suddenly tasted less bitter in comparison to what he’d just heard. “His name’s Baal? Like the prince of hell?”

Magpie rolled his eyes. “He has no name he calls himself, but he exists, and so I needed to call him something. Baal seemed as good of a name as any, considering... what he is.”

“I wish you’d have told me all that beforehand.”

The sapphire-colored eyes focused on him sharply. “When, Vars? When your dead body floated in the water? That would have been a lively conversation.”

Vars scowled. “Before bringing me here. You told me there’s a demon here, I understand that much, but how about mentioning I’m gonna be some kind of mole for you?”

The smirk on Magpie’s face made Vars put the wine away altogether. “Would you like me to take my stone back?”

Vars’s stomach twisted in fear, and he stiffened in the chair, watching the fingers that had given him back his life move over the thin glass.

“That’s what I thought, Vars. I don’t require much of you. Everything apart from the issue of your arrangement with me, you can share with your new…” Magpie frowned, as if he were looking for the right word. “Friends. I would actually encourage you to do so. Balance between myself and Baal is necessary, and you are the key to that. They should know what you are.”

Vars downed all his wine, but the bitter tickle at the back of his throat wouldn’t be enough to give him the type of courage he needed for that conversation.

Chapter 6 - Vars

“So you’re like... a zombie?” Joker asked, with an appropriately wide grin.

Vars tapped the large wooden table used for club meetings and looked at his new brothers. The bulk of new information still rattled in his brain. Mr. Magpie told him of the demon, but he failed to mention the time travel—which explained some of Laurent’s many quirks—and the fact that Knight and Elliot both interacted with the ghosts trapped within Baal’s domain. And there he was, thinking his story was crazy.

“Undead,” he corrected, and his fingers reflexively moved to rest against his breastbone, where the dull heat of the black stone resided.

“How did you die?” Fox’s lively green eyes settled on him. The man had been over the moon to be relieved of accountancy duties, and had even made Vars coffee on the day he’d passed on the paperwork—that counted for something.

Vars gave a low chuckle, bracing his shoulders as if he were back in the hot water, struggling for air but in the end desperately breathing in liquid instead.