Chapter Six

Raven’s heart thumped against her chest as she pressed herself against the wall outside Conan’s door. She couldn’t believe how much she was letting this situation get out of hand. Her emotions were all over the place. Her sex drive was through the roof. If Conan weren’t the reason she’d come to The Barstow, then she’d gladly give herself to him…over and over again.

“Hey, what are you doing out here?” Michy asked, getting off the elevator.

“Just heading in actually, and I found Conan. You can call Devon and the others. No need to keep scouring the city looking for him,” she told her.

“And?”

Raven shook her head. “If he did anything to anyone, there wasn’t any evidence of that anywhere on him or in his condo.”

“So no blood?” Michy asked, with half excitement in her voice. “No random strands of hair or flesh. Did he smell like the girl?”

“No. If he did, I would have certainly done my job and been out of here. I do have a question though. He’s still out of it. Those cigarettes we smoked, that’s different than my regular pack. What’s in them?” she asked Michy.

“You’d have to ask Ivan that.” She shrugged. “Trade secret, maybe? I’m not too sure, to be honest. But even if they’re regular, you see what they do to regular humans, can you imagine what they’re doing to us?”

“I’m in no mood to be preached to. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I do what I want whenever I want, and if I want to inhale the sweet aroma of success in that way, then that’s what I’ll do. What I am in the mood for is a bit of adventure,” Raven said, with a twinkle in her eye.

“An adventure?” Michy’s face twisted in confusion.

“Yes, an adventure. Show me where Ivan lives,” Raven demanded.

Michy’s confusion changed to apprehension. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t want to make things harder for Conan, or anyone who uses his services in our club.”

“Is Alan aware of what Ivan is doing in his club?”

“I don’t know, you’d have to ask him that,” she replied defensively.

Raven knew that tone. It happened whenever pack members realized she was, and always would be, an Enforcer. She liked Michy. In a different life, she would like nothing more than for them to actually be friends, but she’d wasted enough time partying and adapting to the pack. It was time to work.

“Take me to him,” Raven told her definitively.

“To who? Alan?” she gazed toward his condo door.

“No, to Ivan. I have some questions about his product. I don’t like how they made me feel and I’ve smoked before. Never got those results. Take me to him now,” she insisted.

“But, it’s late,” Michy told her.

“Does it look like I care? Listen, you can help me or you can try to deflect and get me on a different path. It won’t work. As a matter of fact, it’ll waste my time and I despise having my time wasted. The faster I figure out what’s going on the faster I’ll be out of everyone’s hair and you should want that. If I find Ivan on my own, you won’t have as much to report back to Shana and Alan with,” she reasoned.

Michy’s defiance deflated, and in agreement. “Fine. Do you want to change first, or are you going to stay in that?”

Raven took a quick glance down at her clothes and headed to Michy's place to change.

Wearing her own clothes, combat kink, as the majority in the Barstow liked to call it, she felt comfortable as they rode in a cab to the other side of town. The building they arrived at mimicked the one they’d just left. It was eerie, sending a chill down Raven’s spine.

“This…looks…familiar,” she mumbled as her eyes darted both ways, up and down the sidewalk.

“It should,” Michy replied. “Ivan wants to be a Barstow so bad, it’s pathetic.”

Raven hadn't any idea how true that statement was until they walked toward the front entrance of the building. A simple slate stone with a shimmering black placard, read: THE GRANT.

Shaking her head, she watched as Michy walked up to the double doors and pushed a button. A tall, slender man opened the door. He was dressed in a three-piece suit wearing coattails. A raised eyebrow greeted them as he stepped outside, blocking them from coming in. Raven inhaled deep, his wolf was old, not a threat to her, or anyone else for that matter. 

“Martine the Enforcer here on behalf of the Council,” Raven announced authoritatively. She let her fangs protrude just enough to show the old man that she’d change and do some damage if need be.

“Here to see whom?” he asked with a long, deep tone.

“Ivan,” Michy answered, placing her hand on Raven’s wrist to calm her down. “She just needs to ask him a few questions about a member of our pack. She’ll be quick.”

Raven eyed Michy wearily. She didn’t like when people spoke for her. It wasn’t necessary, but being that this was an unfamiliar city, her disadvantage was apparent. Her nerves were steady as steel as she waited for the slender man in coattails to make up his mind. Just as she began to figure out ways to disarm and remove him from his post, he stepped aside and opened the door wide for them to enter.

The inside of the building was almost a replica of The Barstow. From its soft red hues to the similarly styled furniture, it made Raven pay close attention to everything going on around her. The only difference between The Grant and The Barstow…no humans. The Grant was strictly occupied by their kind. There weren't any other species present and her senses weren't nearly as overwhelmed as when she first entered The Barstow.

The gentleman, who let them into the building, escorted them toward a private elevator, which took Raven and Michy up to the penthouse suite. There weren’t several spaces, only one. The doors opened into the condo that had a very similar view of the cityscape as Alan’s.

Raven took a deep breath as three women approached them. Each one had hair, blacker than night, dripping down below their waists. Their faces, mannerisms, all held an aura very reminiscent of Shana. When Ivan emerged, he wore satin pants letting them hang ever so delicately off his body. If his cock were completely flaccid, Raven was certain they would fall down.

“Good evening, morning, dawn? What is it? What time is it?” Ivan asked and yawned, running his fingers through his platinum blonde locks.

“Does it matter?” Raven countered.

“I guess it doesn’t, Miss Martine the Enforcer. How may I be of assistance?” he asked her.

“I need to know what you put in those cigarettes,” she insisted.

Ivan twirled his finger in the hair of one woman, while he turned to another and stuck his tongue in her mouth and his hand in her panties. He stroked her lips subtly, smoothly, making Michy turn away in disgust while Raven simply looked on with a raised, unimpressed, eyebrow. She wasn’t envious. She wasn’t moved. She didn’t feel anything toward the brazen display of attempted seduction.

“I hear you've got quite the grip. I saw that much as well. I'm sure Conan would be pleased to know you've sought me out.” Ivan walked over toward a bookcase, pulling something off it. It was square, the size of a necklace box, but thinner. He flicked it open to reveal a fully stocked case of cigarettes. “You see here? This is what you smoked. This is what you want I presume. I sell them for a hundred dollars a pop. Gets the party going, you know?”

“I know. I don’t want to buy one, Ivan. I want and need you to tell me what’s in that so I know what kind of effect it will have on my body.”

“Seems like it did your body good.” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “You and Conan sure enjoyed yourselves. But I can't give you the information you're looking for. Think of these as a prototype of sorts. They're in their market testing stage. I can't just give up all my secrets, you know.”

Ivan’s lack of cooperation wasn’t merely angering Raven, it was endangering his life. Her frustration with him grew and she refused to be dismissed.

“You have about two minutes to give me the answers I’m looking for, Ivan. I’m under direct authority from the Council to treat this situation with the dire urgency it deserves. If you do not want to help me, then I will extract the information from you. I can promise you will not enjoy any bit of that,” she warned.

Michy spoke up, “Ivan just tell her how you make the damn things.”

“Oh, right, so you can scurry back to Alan and have him cut me out of the largest segment of my consumer base? Not gonna happen, sweetheart.” He hissed at her. “It's bad enough he's got the nerve to market those clubs as a place for a myriad of species to mingle. Do you know how much of an elitist he is when it comes to members of his pack? Brown wolves only. Why aren't you threatening him, Miss Martine the Enforcer?”

“Because Alan Barstow is not my assignment,” she replied sharply. “Now, you can take me into another room and tell me what’s in those things, or we can do this the hard way. The hard way is far more preferable to me, anyhow.”

“But doesn't it bother you? The mingling of species? Humans, wolves, bears, any shifter willing to pay their entrance fee? Don't you find it demeaning and exploitative to use our kind, our brethren, as some sort of gimmick to make a dollar?”

“Oh, you're one to talk? What do you think you're doing by selling those cigarettes? A hundred dollars a pop? Seriously? You believe that's not exploiting our kind, our brethren, in any way? Stop being difficult and just tell me what I want to know!” she demanded with ferocity in her voice.

Raven's clenched fist signaled the women, the Shana-lookalikes, to disappear and for Michy to step out of her way as she was in her direct path toward Ivan. He sensed the tension rising, and began to quiver. But he wanted to give the appearance he was braver than he actually was. 

Keeping his resolve, he stood there with his hands on his hips. It was a failed attempt to mock Alan’s fairer eccentricity. He rolled his eyes. “How about we meet in the middle? You pay me for the cig and you get to dissect it yourself? You can filter out the tobacco and decipher the ingredients on your own.”

“Or, you can just tell me what I want to know,” Raven huffed impatiently. She was done waiting.

“I just don’t understand why you’re here in the first place,” Ivan replied with an indignant tone. “I’m sure that whatever it is you’re investigating at The Barstow has nothing to do with me. My cigs are regular tobacco and nothing more.”

“You’re lying,” Raven stated with a snarl, rubbing her thumb over the handle of her blade. “I see things are going to be done to my preference.”

With lightning speed, Raven moved toward Ivan, wrapping her fingers around his throat and slamming him against the wall. She pulled her blade out while her forearm pinned him down. Her touch was delicate as she slid the tip of the blade down the side of his face. “If you think I’m going to continue to allow you to waste my time, you have another thing coming, pissant! Now, I’ve smoked quite a bit in my time. I enjoy it after a job well done. It all bears the same gratification as an exceptional sexual experience. You understand that, don’t you? You like the feeling of release, pure euphoria as your essence spills into one of those lovely vessels of flesh you so desperately flaunt about, right?”

Ivan nodded vigorously, swallowing hard and closing his eyes tight as she ran the blade from his temple down to his jugular. Inhaling deep, she could smell his fear. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know, right? I need to know what the hell you put inside my body.”

“I didn’t put anything inside your body,” he told her, with his mouth trembling.

“Semantics? Do you really want to argue semantics with me, Ivan? I can literally slice you open from ear to ear, but I rather not as I don’t have a change of clothes and it takes forever to get the scent of wolf blood out of my hair.”

“Please, I swear I'm not trying to be difficult but the honest truth is I don't know what's in them. I get them from, uh…” He looked around nervously and licked his lips. “I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to. I just don't know. I think they're probably dipped in some type of hallucinogenic. I apologize if I can't be of more help but that's all I know. I swear.”

“Who do you buy them from?”

“It’s not a who. I deposit the money into an account and I go to a locker, in a gym, to pick up my package. The locker always changes and so does the lock combination. When I’m ready to get more, I send the money and then I get a message, handwritten, no fingerprints, with a locker number and combination. I get an hour to retrieve my goods or else they disappear and so does my money. I swear that’s all I can tell you. Please don’t kill me. I don’t want to die!”

“You’re not even worth the time it would take to clean your flesh from under my fingernails,” she sneered, releasing her hold on him and walking away while sheathing her blade.