The Nova Casino was a house of worship for the North Side of Hells Gate. Gamblers prayed for good fortune against cheap felt tabletops and clacking dice. Slot machines sang like the chime of church bells, and drunken hopefuls paid their tithe in poker chips and spare kraks. Fate changed hands often, favoring no one but luck herself.
Spade watched, bored, as Silas plucked a few more kraks into one of the machines. The wheels spun as the machine sang, images of fruit flashing by before they came to a sudden halt: a goat-horned Aroth, an orange, and a cherry.
"Damn it." Silas pounded his fist against the machine while his other hand dug in his pocket for more kraks. He pulled the lever, symbols blurring. "These are all a scam, anyway. This place isn't as good as what the Lenores got. You should see that place; they've got a whole fucking chocolate fountain! A buffet! And what do we got? A bar and some broken slots."
"Why don't we go there, then?" Spade's attention drifted across the casino–its ugly patterned, weathered carpet and peeling wallpaper. Burnt bulbs scattered across slot machines like uncoordinated fireflies. It was an aging joint in need of repair, but the North Side flocked to it with the reverence of a church.
"We're X, dumbass. We can't show our faces there." The reel landed on another mismatched set. Silas grunted, offered more kraks, and pulled the lever. "'Sides, I'm banned from that place."
Spade was not surprised. He sighed and leaned against the machine. Despite a week of following Silas around, he didn't have a lot of kraks to show for it. Not enough that he'd risk gambling them away.
"I thought we were here to work," Spade said. "Not watch you go bankrupt."
"Nobody's going bankrupt," Silas groused. His eyes did not leave the spinning wheels, as if entranced. "Quit your whining. I'll be done in a minute."
"You said that twenty minutes ago."
Silas's jaw ticked in annoyance, but Spade couldn't tell if it was from his remark or from another loss at the machine. "Tell you what; you go transport the money from the safe, and I'll get'cha when I'm done."
"Fuck no. Crow will flay my ass if anything happens to the money." Spade wasn't usually a stickler for rules, but Spade knew that his role within X was still tentative. If he didn't do things the way Crow wanted, there were worse things than being tossed into the corpse cart.
"I don't know what to tell ya, kid. I'm not leaving until this goddamn game spits out some kraks," Silas groused. It was no use arguing with him–he was only half paying attention.
Spade pushed off of the slot machine and made his rounds through the casino instead. Crow had mentioned someone had been rigging their machines,and so Silas and Spade had been sent over the past few days to make X's presence known. Spade hadn't noticed anything amiss, though, and without the kraks to gamble himself, he was bored out of his mind.
Today was supposed to be different. They'd been assigned to transport money from the casino back to the vault in X's headquarters. It was an easy task, but one that required Crow's trust and Spade's reliability. Spade was eager for the change of pace and excited to prove himself capable.
But the task would have been a lot easier if Silas wasn't his partner.
Spade slowed as he approached the rounded bar in the center of the gambling floor. He recognized the faces at the bar, the laughter that poured as easily as the drinks in their hands. They flung paper bills with an ancient king's face onto the bartop with reckless abandon, demanding more, more, more.
Dral and his crew were always rowdy after a successful harvest. Spade guessed that was where their newfound wealth came from. The kraks never lasted long; they would be funneled right back into the Gate, wasted away on drinks, drugs, and sex until the next corpse came through.
The glint in their eyes and intoxication in their grins felt like an old memory. That had been his job. His life. He'd followed after them like a loyal dog, begging for less than his share after a job well done–and, more often than not, receiving nothing in return.
Greedy fucks, Spade thought. He grit his teeth, the memory of the corpse cart never far from his mind.
Dral glanced in his direction. Spade froze, old habits kicking in, until Dral's gaze passed over him and returned to the bar.
He returned to Silas's side. With the bar still in sight, Spade maneuvered himself away from the group's sight. Silas had not moved an inch since he left, his eyes gleaming with the flashing lights as he flushed his kraks away.
Spade grimaced. An open bag sat at Silas's feet, currency peeking out. He must have exhausted everything in his pockets. Spade kicked the bag away, sensing that it was the right thing to do.
Silas reached down for the next krak, but upon grasping air, Silas finally tore his gaze off of the reel. “What’d you do that for?”
"It's a waste of kraks," Spade said. "I'm doing you a favor."
"I didn't ask for any damn favors!" Silas grabbed the bag and yanked it between his legs, out of reach from Spade's aim. "What, you bored? Go find something to do! There's plenty'a games around."
“You’re just shoving kraks into that thing,” Spade said. “You’re not getting anything back.” He almost felt bad for Silas's poor streak of luck. Dral might have spent every last krak that came through his palms, but at least he knew how to have fun. This was… pathetic.
“You have to spend money to make money,” said Silas.
“You’re not making any money.”
“Soon! Be patient, sheesh!” Silas bat Spade away as if he was a fly and returned his full attention back to the machine.
Spade's temper flared. They had a job to do, and now that he knew Dral was there, he wasn't interested in sticking around any longer. "Enough. We have to–"
A rough hand tightened around Spade's neck. He choked on the rest of his words as he was pinned against one of the slot machines. Snake stared down at him with an uninterested gaze, his body thin but twice as tall as Spade. He was a Youth, one Spade had avoided as much as possible. Dral's lackeys joked that he earned the name Snake because he could unhinge his jaw and swallow children whole. Spade didn't believe it. He didn't want to disprove it, either.
"We have to what? Why can't–" Silas looked up, irritation flashing across his face at the interruption. He blanched when he saw Snake.
“Oh, a friend of yours," he said, rising from his chair, already scanning for the exit. "Well, I’ll leave you to it.”
"Silas," Spade choked out, but the fiend was already gone. Spade was on his own. That fucking–
Snake dragged Spade back to the bar by his neck. Spade struggled in his grasp, but it was a half-hearted effort; he wasn't prepared to fight Snake, or anyone from Dral's crew for that matter. He recognized each face and the fists they belonged to, which ones had cracked against his skull and bruised his pride. He swore this wouldn't happen again. That the next time they met, he would be ready.
Next time came too soon.
Snake shoved Spade onto his knees before letting him go. Disgust coiled in his stomach, but fear kept him from meeting Dral's gaze. Everything he'd wanted to say, the punches he wanted to throw, felt stupid and reckless in the face of the Youths. How was he supposed to stand up for himself when they surrounded him like a pack of starving wolves?
Dral lifted Spade's chin with the toe of his boot. "So, you're back, guts cutter. Did you learn your lesson?"
This sparked ire inside of Spade. He grit his teeth and jerked his chin away, snarling, "You left me there to die."
"But you didn't." There was an interest in Dral's eyes as he regarded his former harvester. Spade had never seen that look given to him before. Dral gestured to the empty stool beside him. "C'mhere."
Spade didn't move at first. His mind warned this was a trap. That Dral would find some way to finish the job. But Dral held out a pint to him–something he'd never done before–and Spade didn't know what to make of it.
You're part of X now. They can't do anything to you, he told himself, shakily rising to his feet. His hands tightened into fists. The thought would've inspired more confidence if Silas hadn't just abandoned him moments ago.
Apprehensively, Spade took the pint of beer and settled on the stool. A week ago he would have relished in the moment. Now, Spade was wary, examining the glass for any signs of drugs or poison. Not that he would recognize them–that was Knight's department apparently. Norma had taught Knight a lot.
"Drink," Dral ordered. With the other members of the Youths caging in, Spade didn't have a choice. He took a small sip. "What do you think?"
"It's swill." But not poisoned, as far as Spade could tell. He took another swig, grimacing. "Can't believe you beat the shit out of me before you let me drink with you."
Dral waved him off. "Everyone gets their ass kicked. It's penance for your weakness."
Penance. The word clung to Spade. It struck him as odd; people from the Gate didn't talk like that.
But Dral isn't from the Gate, he remembered. It was an insignificant fact mentioned in passing when Spade had first joined the Youths. He was busy trying to earn their good graces–where their leader was from didn't matter. But now, Spade wondered. How did Dral end up here?
"It's okay," Dral continued, taking a chug from his own glass. "I forgive you."
"Fuck you," Spade said sharply. His words were laced with venom. He no longer regretted saving that child's life–and he sure as fuck wasn't going to apologize to Dral for it. Not that Dral minded. The older boy took the insult in stride, as if Spade hadn't spoken.
"We've tried to replace you." Dral gestured to a sheepish boy near the back of the group. Aroth, he was even smaller than Spade–maybe younger, too. Little splotches of blood clung to his shirt, too stubborn for removal. "It's harder than you'd think. Turns out you were good at your job."
"Yeah, well, fuck you for thinking you can replace me." Spade took another sip of his pint and slammed it onto the bar. "Should've thought about that before you left me for dead."
"I don't see the problem," Dral said. "You walked away feeling good enough to bitch, didn't you?"
Spade's cheeks felt hot. "No thanks to you."
Dral's lips twitched into a smug grin. His flippant behavior drove Spade mad. Dral didn't care that he'd nearly killed Spade; that had been the point. "I hear you're working for X now."
"So what?" Spade spat. "They pay me better than you ever did."
"I doubt that. The new guys always get the shitty contracts."
"More than you ever gave me." Spade wasn't sure why he was still entertaining Dral. The longer he sat next to him, the deeper his hatred seeded. Anger thrashed inside of him, desperate to show how dangerous he could be. But with the Youths gathered together, he'd be a fool to start a fight. Even with Dral alone, Spade wasn't sure he could take him.
Dral tossed an arm around Spade's shoulders, but the tension in his body told Spade this was no friendly gesture. He pulled Spade in close, his voice low, "I gave you everything I promised. Remember when I found you, Spade? Pathetic, practically homeless. Nobody else wanted you. But I never promised there wouldn’t be pain. You disobeyed me. You went against my interests. So I taught you a lesson you walked away from. Be grateful, dog.”
"I'm not your fucking dog!" Spade shoved him off, but he'd forgotten about the drink in hand. Beer sloshed onto Dral's chest and legs.
Fuck.
Dral stood up to his full height. Even with Spade on the bar stool, Dral towered over him, all muscle and pure venom. "You should've stayed dead, Spade. Working for X makes you a traitor. Did you forget what we do to traitors?"
Spade didn't forget. He couldn't. There had only been one other traitor within the Youths ranks since he joined, and Spade had been the one to harvest him when Dral found out. The screams of that boy haunted him for years.
"You betrayed me first," Spade snapped, but he could see the Youths closing in, reaching for the weapons tucked against their belts. They'd been given the signal.
Spade gripped the pint in his hand and considered bashing it into Dral's skull. If it came down to a fight, Spade knew he couldn't survive alone–but he'd be damned if he didn't take Dral down with him.
"What appears to be the problem, gentlemen?"
Charien appeared behind Dral with a long, pointed frown. He was smaller than Dral, but the depths of his gaze showed only death. Spade shivered. He had taken great pains to avoid running into Charien but, Charien took special interest in running X's gambling houses. Charien was often found at the blackjack tables, which Spade made a point to avoid altogether during his visits.
"This doesn't concern you," Dral protested.
Charien readjusted his black gloves. He was dressed in a silk shirt and a plum vest, the finest dressed among anyone in the casino. The richness of his clothing–imported from places most in the Gate had never visited–made it clear that he was in charge.
"All matters inside of my casino concern me, " Charien said, his voice calm. "And you have just interrupted a riveting game of poker. Unhand him. He’s one of ours."
Dral hesitated, but stepped aside. Spade took pleasure in bumping shoulders with the other boys as he pushed out of the circle.
"Good. Now, it should be said, your kind are not welcome at this establishment–a fact you should very well know given the last time I kicked you lot out." Charien's gaze narrowed between the boys. "I do not give second warnings. Leave."
Dral shifted, his hands fists at his sides. Spade saw him size Charien up, and then change his mind. Whatever he saw in the Executioner's face was enough to send him running. Dral shoved past Charien and made his way to the exit with his loyal hounds in tow.
"Troublesome lot," Charien muttered. Spade stood still beside him and said nothing. Awareness crept up on him as he realized he and the Executioner were alone.
Spade should have been thankful for Charien's intervention. He knew this, and it sickened him. The last person he wanted to be indebted to was this creep. And after seeing how even Dral had backed off, even though he was twice Charien's size… Spade didn't know which man frightened him more.
"Crow phoned in," Charien said, startling Spade from his thoughts. "Silas and I will handle the financial transfer. You should return to X."
"Did he say what it was about?" Spade asked. It was weird to talk to Charien as a colleague. Or as a superior.
"You haven't been properly inducted into the organization yet. I believe he aims to fix that." Charien finally turned to Spade and stared at him. It was, perhaps, the first time he had ever looked in his direction. Spade tensed under Charien's scrutiny, his senses screaming at him to run from the danger. But there was nowhere to go.
Charien's smile was not friendly. "A piece of advice: Respect your superiors, and you will be rewarded beyond your imagination." His advice rang in Spade’s ears. A warning.
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