However much he didn't want to go, work was calling. Bram had to earn his keep. He was dressed —if unshaven, sleepy, and hungry— and there was no excuse left for him not to meet Damion by the cars. So, he turned off the lamp and headed out of the door into the cool night air.
Bram wove his way through the makeshift village of shacks set up in the south yard of the grounds, in the shadow of one of Paris' factories. Officially, all the makeshift houses belonged to the workers that kept the factory running, an act of altruism by the owner. In reality, it was much less so. Those who were lucky enough to have clean employment in the factory put most of their wages right back into the factory by paying for a house on the factory grounds and the amenities they needed to survive, which they bought in the factory's dry goods store. Everyone else didn't work in the factory at all, but, like Bram, handled the owner's other, darker business.
The car lot was on the other side of the factory grounds and even walking fast to stave off the chill and the time Bram arrived to find Damion leaning against one of the cars scowling at him. Another alpha was already in the front passenger seat, seemingly more relaxed.
"Took your time!" Damion hissed in the gloom. "Slow as quicksand, aren't you bog-trotter?"
Bram thought of a few choice words in response but kept his face neutral and looked from Damion to the alpha in the passenger seat.
"Who's driving?" Bram asked the alpha.
"You are," the alpha said.
She was a big woman, and as black as they came. Bram had slept with her more than once; they were both outcasts, and they got along well. If it was the two of them alone, they would have made a picnic of the job. But two alphas of their unique and lowly station would usually have a supervisor along, a beta of purer blood to make sure they didn't screw things up. But then again, if things did go wrong, the beta would blame it on them. The only good thing was, as a beta, Damion was in the backseat. Higher station or not, he wasn't in control of the car when there were two alphas along.
Bram ignored Damion and walked around the car to get into the driver's seat. Damion huffed and shut the door too hard as he got into the back seat. As ignoring Damion was a pastime for Bram, he turned on the car, and focused on hoping only a few people were going to take note of a car starting up at this hour.
"You got the map?" Damion asked, poking Bram in the back of the head.
It occurred to Bram right away that was going to become a habit, and he was dreading the rest of the trip immediately.
"I know the way," he said curtly, and pulled out of the lot.
"What's this job?" Suzanne, the other alpha, said as she turned around in her seat. Likely she'd seen the poke and was readying herself to grab Damion's hand should he get annoying. Bram made a mental note to thank her later.
"Nevermind it," Damion bit. "You'll see when we get there."
"Get where?" Suzanne bit back. "You dragged me to the car without telling me anything but that it was for a job. If Bram hadn't shown up to drive, I wouldn't have believed it was for a job. Now out with it."
"Hush and be patient," Damion said. "As long as Mickey can get us there, you'll know soon enough. In the meantime, I brought a bit of wine, if you're thirsty."
Suzanne frowned and seemed to think. She might have been black, but her family had been in France for longer than Damion's and Bram saw he had an occasional need to suck up to her.
"I'll have a cup," Suzanne relented. "It'll pass the time and warm us up. It's still chilly for April."
"Mn," Damion agreed. "How's your Mama? Still well?"
"Owner still wants her business, if that's what you mean," Suzanne muttered as she took the cup of wine Damion offered. "But he can't have it."
Bram heard Damion chuckle and then say very softly, "Good for her."
Still too new to know all the details, Bram understood only that Suzanne's family held some business territory that the owner of the factory they worked for wanted and couldn't —for some reason— get a hold of. What business that was, whether it was clean, why it couldn't be bought, or even why Suzanne didn't work for her family, were all things Bram didn't know. He drove in silence and half listened to Suzanne and Damion chit-chat for an hour and a half until they came to the little town of Mortcerf and Damion began giving him curt directions.
Finally, they came to a tiny shack left to rot with disuse, roof falling in on itself on one side, windows sheeted over with dust. Bram frowned and realized that the new feature of this particular shack was the car partially hidden behind it.
"What's this?" Suzanne asked as she started to get out of the car.
"Not you," Damion said. Then he smiled. "Keep the wine, Suzanne. Drive this car back to Paris. We'll be along behind you soon."
"You brought me all the way out here to drive a car back?"
"We need a driver," Damion shrugged. "Not many of us can drive a car. Come on, Suzanne, it's easy money."
Suzanne looked at Damion for a moment with a frown on her face. Bram watched her face in profile through the windshield. In that moment she looked beautiful in the dark. Serious, with high cheekbones and high, naturally arched eyebrows. Her eyes were black in the dark of the night and the corners of her full lips were turned down in a frown. Her black skin was so perfect it seemed to gleam in the moonlight. Bram could have sworn he was in love with her.
"No such thing as easy money," she said finally, but closed the passenger door and slid over into the driver's seat.
Comments (0)
See all