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Lash approached the back door of the art gallery, and waited by the video camera. Yeah, he’d have preferred to chill on this face-to-face for a couple of days, but his own needs notwithstanding, he had sellers curing in his bathroom and he needed product for them to hit the streets with.

Then he had to turn some soldiers.

After all, the little Shit hadn’t wasted any time filling his ranks—although there was no way of telling how many were left after the Brotherhood’s raid at the farmhouse.

Never thought he’d be glad those motherfuckers were lethal at their jobs. Go. Fig.

Lash had to assume that the Omega’s boy toy was going to quickly cook up another batch of inductees. And given that the kid had been a successful dealer, he was going to resume making paper as soon as he could. Both of which would give him the resources not only to fight the vampires, but come after Lash.

So it was a case of the clock ticking. Lash was damn confident that the Shit couldn’t get a meeting with Benloise right now because he was small potatoes—but how much longer would that be true? Sales mattered. Smarts mattered. If Lash could get a foot in the door, someone else could.

Especially if they had the special talents of a Fore-lesser.

With a click, the door locks were sprung and one of Benloise’s enforcers opened up. The guy frowned at Lash’s Lady Gaga rig, but got back in the game quick. No doubt he’d seen a lot of crazy shit—and not just on the drug-trade side of things: artists were no doubt wacky nut jobs for the most part.

“Where’s your ID,” the guy said.

Lash flashed his fake driver’s license. “About to be up your ass, motherfucker.”

Clearly, the combination of the laminated card and Lash’s familiar voice was enough because a moment later, he was allowed in.

Benloise’s office was on the third floor in the front, and the trip up there was silent. The guy’s private space was bowling-alley uncluttered, nothing but a long expanse of black varnished floorboards that culminated in a raised platform—which was the desk equivalent of a set of lifts for shoes. Benloise was parked on the dais, seated behind a teak table that was the size of a Lincoln Town Car.

Like a lot of guys who had to stand tall to hit five-six on a tape measure, everything the short man did was big.

As Lash came forward, the South American stared out over his steepled fingers and spoke in his smooth, cultured way. “I was so pleased to receive your call after you failed to make our last meeting. Wherever have you been, my friend.”

“Family problems.”

Benloise frowned. “Yes, blood can be trouble.”

“You have no idea.” Lash looked around at all of the absolutely nothing, locating the hidden cameras and doors—which were in the same positions they’d been in the last time. “First off, let me assure you that our business relationship remains my top priority.”

“I am very pleased to know this. When you didn’t arrive to buy the pieces you were contracted for, I wondered. As an art dealer, I depend on my regular customers to keep my artists busy. I also expect my regulars to fulfill their obligations.”

“Understood. Which is the real reason I’ve come. I need an advance. I have an empty wall in my house that has to be filled with one of your paintings, but I won’t be able to pay with cash today.”

Benloise smiled, showing orderly little teeth. “I’m afraid I don’t make those arrangements. You must pay for the art you leave with. And why ever is your face covered up?”

Lash ignored the question. “You’re going to make an exception in my case.”

“I don’t make exceptions—”

Lash dematerialized across the space, taking form behind the guy and putting a knife to his throat. With a shout, the guard over by the door went for his heat, but there wasn’t a lot to shoot at when your boss’s jugular was on the verge of springing a leak.

Lash hissed in Benloise’s ear, “I’ve had a really bad fucking week and I’m tired of playing by human rules. It is my full intention to continue our relationship, and you are going to make that possible not only because