Deviant Games (The Controllers #8) - L.V. Lane Page 0,33

blinked sporadically over dirty, raucous establishment doorways in the hopes of enticing passing visitors or locals to dispose of their hard-earned credits. Overlapping music met hollered words that might have been an argument or a normal conversation fighting against the occasional scream and distant patter that was unmistakably gunfire.

Light drizzle fell from low clouds making it impossible to tell the time of day. Mud was everywhere, splattering the ruptured tarmac ground and lower walls of the adjoining buildings. Boxes of garbage, bottles, plastic, abandoned vehicles in varying states of looting made an obstacle course of the walkways and road.

The reek of rot, garbage, and greasy food permeated the air.

Three fights broke out in the short walk to my destination, and at least two people were left for dead.

Ryker would've fucking loved it.

As I pushed open the door of The Embarrassed Fork (I can only assume it was a translation fail), I was greeted with a wall of smoke and the roar of conversation.

He was sitting at the bar, as agreed. Probably pissed because the shuttle delays had kept him waiting. Soon, he wouldn’t be troubled by such mundane matters.

Soon, his troubles would be over.

I slid into the barstool beside him.

"I was waiting for someone," he said, taking in my uniform with a sneer, which was interesting given he wore the same.

"Yes," I said. "You were waiting for me."

His brows puckered. The Alpha was a member of the Uncorrupted elite force. My lapel offered no rank, which meant I was at the bottom—a nobody in a society where rank was everything.

I leaned in close. "You were waiting for a contact."

He shook his head, and wariness entered his demeanor. "Got the wrong man, friend."

I pushed a small hand-held tablet across the bar until it rested in front of him.

"What's that?" he asked, discarding the beer he'd been nursing on the counter and poking the tablet with a thick finger.

As with any ranked system, those higher got better toys. This was a standard issue for the elite Alphas. I was not an elite Alpha, and I should not have one. "Is this mine?" His thumbprint triggered the unlock, even as his other hand tapped his breast pocket. His face clouded when he realized his device was still there.

A recording began to play, and the future substitute device dropped from nerveless fingers.

Anticipating this, I stepped into him, pressing the tip of my blade into his ribs. "That, my friend, is a set-up. You wanted to help the Empire, didn't you? This is how you help."

I felt no remorse as my knife slipped between his ribs.

In the Uncorrupted, you could claim what you killed. He was part of the Alpha elite force. Now that he had betrayed them, an opening was made.

That opening would be mine.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Victor

"SIR, YOUR EX-wife is here to see you?"

It was phrased as a question by the little Theta plant going through the pretenses of being my assistant. He wasn't all bad; he was actually an excellent assistant. I’d be disappointed when my security decided it was time to put a bullet in his head. Then I would have all the bother of the recruitment process again. "Richmond, I've mentioned this before. But please don't use the word 'wife' in any context pertaining to Eline. Alphas don't marry for a start, and I've spent the last twenty-eight years trying to forget we were once in a relationship. Which is hard given we have a daughter together. But I do my best. The mother of my child, Eline, a challenging specter from my past, are all acceptable terms. Ex-wife, is not."

"Yes, sir!"

I wondered if he had our conversation on speaker.

I was hoping that he did.

"Please, tell Eline that I have a prior engagement. See if you can schedule her in for next week."

Next week, I was going to be busy and forced to reschedule again.

The faintest click of my office door opening was all the warning I got.

"You do not have a prior engagement," she said, sweeping into the room like she owned it.

Richmond poked his head in the open doorway. I took back all my prior praise about his competence and waved him to close the door. "I do have a prior engagement. Woodrow Brock is merely late."

"Well," she said, like this was the perfect opening. "That would be his loss."

Thus my office, and sanctuary, was once more invaded.

"Did you need something that could not be covered off in the usual message medium?" I asked bluntly. She never came to my