average human’s Reviews > Control My Night > Status Update

I had a minute or less to capture his interest, or I’d be cast out without a second chance. Better use it. “Not the poetic prose I would have used, but not inaccurate. I wish to strike a deal with you.”
“Arwood wouldn’t send you to speak for him, little girl.”
Little girl? A bit much from someone a handful of years older at most. I didn’t bite. “Arwood isn’t aware of my intentions. Can we discuss this matter privately?” I pointedly glanced at his roulette opponent.
Leon agitated his chips, flipping one over his pointer finger. “I’m in a streak,” he said. “And not moving until I’m sure it’s worth it.”
He must have thought I was stupid, because he’d just lost. Twice. “I’m searching for Isobelle Sayer.”
Clack clack went his chips. “You and everyone else in Prague, it seems.”
“Do you know where she is?”
The dealer halted bets as the ball bounced into high black. Leon’s lips pressed together as the other man whooped again. “You talked of deals. I haven’t heard one yet.”
“My release from Arwood is contingent on her recovery. You help me find her, I work for you.”
He laughed without humor as the dealer spun the wheel again. Leon put everything in the last third and on black, mimicking the previous bet of his opponent. Everything I needed to know about him was now laid out on the table between us. “No deal. I have enough personnel, and my bed is full.” He agitated the chips in his hand again, focusing on my cleavage. “In any case, I prefer my women a little … skinnier.”
I maintained eye contact, but barely. Heat rose beneath my collar, humiliation washing down my arms. Fat. He thinks I’m fat.
I swallowed, trying to think. Leon wasn’t strategic. He copied evidence of success in the hopes for instant gratification, and he’d hit me head on because he was a bully who thought he could get away with it. It was a test, too. He’d never give the time of day to someone who failed to recognize an insult. His comment on my appearance wasn’t helpful in achieving my immediate goal, so I tried to ignore it. I’d cry about it later.
My beast wanted to rip his head off. I ignored her, too.
With an air of confidence I didn’t feel, I tapped my nails on the glossy wood like I was bored already. “Being in your bed doesn’t interest me,” I said. “It’s your protection I’m after. My value extends further than twenty seconds on your thousand thread-count sheets.”
Clack. Clack. “That’s an insulting inaccuracy.”
“My apologies. Is the thread count higher?”
He paused, his eyes narrowing. Had I gone too far? I pushed on. “Isobelle and I have something in common.”
“Being blonde?”
“Our … abilities.” His opponent slowed in the stacking of his chips, peering at me like he questioned his hearing. “Have the rumors about me hit your ears yet?” I tapped my collar.
Leon studied me up and down, seeing me properly. Yes. He had heard the rumors. “How do I know they’re true?”
I came closer. “If you need a demonstration, take me to a room full of people you wish to be rid of and I’ll show you.”
The man beside me froze.
“You’ve established quite the tally.” Leon crossed his arms. His opponent backed away. “How can I be sure it’s not my name you wish to add to that list?”
“I’m Arwood’s special ammunition. He enjoys utilizing my abilities, but I have no intention of aligning myself with him long-term.”
Leon’s arms remained crossed. Unconvinced. I played to his ego.
“I petitioned my father, Edson Backhus, to negotiate a deal with you and Mr. Kohnstamm because I respect the way you do business. That still stands. With Isobelle returned to Arwood, I’ll be free to work with your family.”
They say a watched kettle never boils. The seconds I waited for Leon to consider, then nod to his bodyguards, were some of the longest I’d experienced.
I didn’t dare look for anyone as I followed him, trailed by his security, out of the function room and down a cordoned-off hallway. Anika had said they’d be watching me, and I believed her. Leon gestured to an office, barked a bunch of sentences in Czech, and closed the door, silencing the noise from the party.
“You have four minutes to speak.” He slid a hand across a glossy obsidian cabinet hosting curved Scandinavian-style vases. “If I don’t exit—alive and well—after those four minutes, they’ve been instructed to enter and pump you full of bullets.”
With that, he sat behind the chrome desk and stretched out his long legs, looking every inch an egotistical prince.
I’d never, ever, said the words out loud, but Holy fuck rang through my mind so clearly I’d be surprised if Leon didn’t hear it. There was no way I’d be able to drug him like this. I’d have to ask him for a drink before we joined everyone again. And somehow pilfer the vial out from underneath my tight bodice without knocking my boobs loose or giving myself away.
Hopefully Arwood’s team weren’t far behind and they had a back-up plan, because I was not cut out for this.
“I respect—and expect—an effective contingency plan in an ally. I have no intention of hurting you.” I sat opposite, crossing my ankles and settling my hands on my lap in full work-meeting mode. “So. Isobelle.”
“I have no idea where Isobelle is.”
I held his gaze for several beats, employing one of Lissandra’s techniques. He was the first to drop it. “When did you last see her?”
He chuckled, more than my question called for. “Two months ago. I was fucking her, and she screamed so loudly I went blind.”
Eugh. He was wasting the precious time I had. “Get to the point, please.”
“Just did. My vision came back soon after. She went crazy, saying it was her fault, and left.”
“The blindness didn’t last?”
Leon gestured theatrically to his face like I’d asked the most redundant question ever. I supposed it had been, but in my shock it had slipped out.
My ability was permanent. Isobelle’s was temporary. She didn’t cause lasting damage when she lost control.
I strengthened my tone. “Had this happened before? How long were you in a relationship?”
“No, and a few weeks.” He clicked his tongue. “I don’t do relationships.”
Except Arwood had thought them together in an official sense. Did I believe the perception of a grieving father, or the arrogance of an overcompensating boy? “No? Then what did you call it?”
“We were hanging out. Not a big deal.”
He readjusted on the chair, balancing an ankle across his knee. Everything about this room was impersonally perfect, including the gleaming marble floors. His shoulders shifted underneath his double-breasted blazer as he wiggled a polished shoe. For some reason, the expression ‘doth protest too much’ crossed my mind. The only son of a crime lynchpin, surrounded by bodyguards all day and, presumably, fleeting interactions at night. He didn’t let people close, but had Isobelle gotten under his skin anyway?
And where the hell was Arwood’s team? I was at least one minute down. No shouts came from the security on the other side of the door. This room was as quiet as a vault.
“Did she make any mention of what she might do after? You said she was upset.”
Again, Leon gave a shrug, brushing the contrasting black pocket of his jacket. Balmain? I had a blazer at home with similar lines.
“She wanted to fix it. The screaming,” Leon said. “Next I heard, she’d disappeared.”
“Some mutual associates are saying she was taken by you.”
He scowled before he could stop it, schooling his features into neutrality. “Those accusations are bullshit. We’ve been trying to find her, too. I liked her, and my family respects the fuck out of our truce with Arwood—even if it won’t last much longer. Three shipments of girls have gone missing this week alone.”
My eyebrows had begun to draw together. I smoothed my expression. “Arwood’s not doing that.”
“He knows our schedules. He’s always negotiating for more territory. My family’s had networks here and in Germany for generations. No one else would dare interfere.”
His words rang eerily familiar. Urgency flickered, then flared. Our four promised minutes were ticking, but it was more than that: resounding clarity had hit me like a bucket of ice-water.
We were being played. Both sides were. By Johan, or someone else? Was their strategy to manipulate each side into a war? If so, it was working. Each group would be so focused on burning each other, someone could swoop in and take what remained.
I tried to suppress my panic even though I had probably less than a minute left here. Talking things out with Leon wouldn’t diffuse the situation between both sides. But finding Isobelle might.
“Did Isobelle mention if she was meeting anyone, or had intentions to go anywhere?”
Leon straightened the buttons lining his sleeve, bored again. “She’d been researching. She left a note saying she would—”
A sharp knock froze me solid.
Before I had the chance to work out how I’d react to two guards entering, guns blazing, the door swung open, revealing Leon’s mother, Gisele. Her curvy frame, clad in a silver mermaid-style gown, dominated the doorway, her toned shoulders offset by a cascade of raven waves.
Arwood would be here soon. This wasn’t happening.
“We are to welcome the guests. Come.”
No no no—
Leon didn’t move. “We won’t be long, Mother.”
She barked a single directive in German, her dark eyes narrowing as they landed on my collar. Leon sighed, getting up. I emerged into the hallway as Steadman, Matej, and several of Arwood’s team strode toward us.
“Backhus, there you are!” Steadman grabbed my upper arm, pulling me to the side. “You were not given permission to leave your post.” He maintained the charade, not releasing me until the Kohnstamms and their security entered the function room.
I was still reeling from my conversation with Leon. Could I trust Steadman? He’d said he’d proven his loyalty to Arwood. He also could have been lying. But with what I knew, I couldn’t do nothing. A war would put me in even more danger.
“Got the vial?” Steadman asked. I nodded. “Then you’ll try again as soon as the presentation is over.”
Applause sounded, drawing us into the room. I clutched the folds of my dress, searching the crowd. I needed someone I trusted to talk to. I needed Silas.
Leon and his mother took to the platform where Ivan Kohnstamm stood. He handed Gisele the microphone, smiling at the audience as she welcomed the guests and introduced the charity this event was raising funds for. Her melodic voice silenced the crowd—
—and a metallic scent flooded my nose.
I inhaled sharply and stepped forward. Steadman tugged me beside him. “You’re staying here, banshee, where I can keep an eye on you.”
An attendant passed by, leaning down to offer seated guests the drinks on her tray. The combination of the angle and her movements meant the collar of her shirt gaped just enough to reveal the top of a diamond tattoo on her neck. The same mark seared on the trafficked girls we’d found in Waldemar’s building, the same mark on Ferko.
Johan’s mark.
I went hot, then cold, as the smell intensified. I couldn’t see Silas but could make out Arwood’s head near the stage. Gisele opened an envelope, announcing a donation from one of their partners. A smatter of polite applause rippled across the crowd.
Another attendant walked past, his head turned toward Gisele, the tip of a diamond peeking behind his collar. I zeroed in on all the serving staff. Dotted like ants in the crowd, they walked slowly, alert, as if waiting for something.
Or someone.

What better way to push two sides into a confrontation than to attack both at the same time—and cause each side to think the other was at fault?
Steadman shook me. “Keanna,” he said, in a way that hinted he’d addressed me more than once. “What’s wrong?”
My mouth had gone dry; my voice cracked as I bleated, “I need to talk to Arwood.”
It filled the room. Unmistakable. Sickening. The smell made my eyes water.
“What’s wrong?” Steadman repeated, his gaze catching on the serving staff. His frown deepened as he clocked their behavior.
Death.
No Silas. No Anika. Arwood and Lissandra were too far away. I pushed up Steadman’s jacket sleeve. No caracal tattoo.
“Banshee, what the hell are you—”
I pulled his shirt collar to the side. No diamonds.
Steadman shook my shoulders again. “Speak.”
A man in a valet jacket steered a silver drink cart stacked with glittering wrapped presents beside the stage as Gisele announced the next donation to another round of applause.
I swallowed. “Something’s about to happen.”
The serving staff filtered toward the back of the room.
“Keanna?” Steadman repeated. In the steady depths of his eyes, I glimpsed fear for the first time. “What do you—”
“We need to get out of here. We need to get out of here now.”
He pulled out his phone. While it rang he signaled to Matej, pointing to the front of the crowd.
“Next up, a generous donation from one of our dear friends and partners, Arwood Sayer,” Gisele announced, opening the envelope in a flourish. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, everyone!” She paused, allowing another wave of applause.
It consumed me. The cloying sweetness of danger flooded my nose. My stomach revolted like I was about to be sick.
Arwood’s team converged toward the stage as the silver presents beside Ivan and Leon Kohnstamm exploded.

49%

The shield shifted to protect the open doors as Silas collapsed against the leather seat, then winked out as Steadman accelerated. Our wheels crushed flowerbeds as we raced around exiting cars.
“Shield up, Silas,” Steadman said as we swung onto the road. A fleet of sedans followed. The Kohnstamms, or Johan’s people? Either way, they were keeping up. “This car isn’t armored.”
As Steadman said this, figures popped up out of the sunroofs of the cars closest to us, barely visible against the night sky. One of our taillights exploded. I flinched. Steadman murmured “Shit” and swung the car into a different lane with a speed that had me securing my seatbelt.
Silas wrapped a shield around the back of the SUV as we screeched onto a side street. Undeterred, two of the vehicles sped up to flank us. The headlights drew closer.
“Silas!” I warned, but he had already brought his palms together as if in prayer. He inhaled. Another shield enveloped both cars, suspending them above the road. As he exhaled, pulling his hands apart, the shield dispersed. The sedans plummeted, momentum sending them sailing in opposite directions. Gunmen flew across the bonnets as the cars plowed into the buildings to either side.
The four cars further back swerved to avoid them, gaining ground.
“Don’t let that shield fall, kid,” Steadman grated, turning the wheel and hitting the throttle, narrowly avoiding a tram. I nearly faceplanted into the window; an advertisement for a serum and the wide eyes of passengers flashed past.
“I’m a battery,” Silas grunted. “Not an infinite power source. We need a Plan B.”
“Plans B, C and D are you keeping that shield up until we lose these fuckers. I don’t care how you do it.”
“If I drain myself to death, all shields will fail.”
It took a moment to realize what he meant. The amulet around Steadman’s neck, protecting him from my scream.
The shield wrapping the car wavered.
“Don’t you dare, mage. You know what will happen. And if they aren’t enough motivation, do it for the well-being of the woman beside you.”
Me. He meant me.
I locked eyes with Silas for a split second. Had Steadman figured it out? How?
The shield strengthened. Silas swayed, shaking his head. He was going to run himself into the ground.
“Silas,” I whispered.
The Kohnstamms pursued us relentlessly. As we got closer to the city center, more people and more traffic would slow us down.
Threats or not, Silas wouldn’t last much longer. I unbuckled.
“Put your damned seatbelt on,” Steadman warned, swerving.
“I have an idea.” I turned to Silas. The streetlights emphasized the hollows under his eyes. “Do you have enough strength left to hold me?”
He shot me a bewildered look, nodding. I double checked my bodice—everything was still tucked in, thank God—and manually overrode the lock.
Steadman clued on quicker than Silas. “If you scream inside this car, banshee, so help me.”
“I’m not an idiot, Steadman,” I ground out. “Right-hand turn when I say to. Silas, I need you to make sure we don’t go boom.”
“Shit,” was Silas’s emphatic reply. He plucked off his tuxedo jacket, throwing it to the side, and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt.
Pulse pounding against my collar, I shoved open the door, groaning with effort. Wind whipped my hair about my face. Silas wrapped the seatbelt around his waist, visibly swallowing as I latched onto his bare forearm.
Steadman swerved again. My arm shook from holding open the door. I shuffled my butt until it almost hung off the seat. Below, the road loomed close, moving very fast.
Silas gritted his teeth, extending the shield to deflect the spray of bullets aiming for us. He shifted the folds of my dress aside, shuffling between my thighs. The sight of my bare leg hooking around his torso almost distracted me—until Steadman swerved again.
My butt slipped off the seat.
A squeal lodged in my throat as Silas’s hand clasped my waist, gripping tight. I hung, suspended, the backs of my thighs my only anchor to the vehicle and fully at Silas’s mercy.
Exhausted Silas, who’d already been put through enough.
“Please don’t drop me.” I hated how my voice wavered, but the road was so close. Falling at this speed would do a lot of damage. Not to mention being run over by the Kohnstamms afterwards.
Silas clutched me closer. “I won’t.”
Fear flushed my clammy skin, but his unwavering hold—and the intense look in his eyes—helped me push it away. We reached an intersection. Green lights. Cars waited on either side.
“Now!”
Steadman spun the wheel. We veered sharply right, the four cars closing in. The two closest prepared to T-bone us. Our shield dropped. The men standing in their sunroofs aimed straight for me and our exposed tires. Headlights blinded me.
A sapphire shield wrapped around my neck like a silk scarf, expanding as I let loose a scream. On the other side of the barrier, Silas held me while the pressure—with nowhere else left to go but toward the pursuing cars—billowed outwards.
Our pursuers ricocheted. One careened straight for the set of streetlights. Two spun, colliding with cars on either side. The final one blew straight into the front of a store, clipping a pedestrian.
A dropped grenade doesn’t discriminate. It just detonates. Civilian cars crashed into each other, accumulating a mess across the intersection.
The shield dissolved to Silas’s drawn face. He pulled me back inside, panting. Fatigue folded over him like a blanket; he passed out, head lolling onto the seat.
Arwood’s battery, depleted.
My beast settled in my chest, sated. Horror washed me faint, my stomach turning cold, the tears I’d held at bay all night thickening my throat.
In the rear-view mirror, Steadman’s steely blue gaze met mine. “Nice work, banshee.”
His approval tasted foul on my tongue.