They watched her drive away until the red taillights were swallowed up by the night. Then, Damion smacked Bram in the chest with the back of his hand and gestured to the car.

"She's right, you know," Damion said. "No such thing as easy money. Time to earn your keep, Mickey."

Bram followed Damion around the back of the shed to the car, the back door of which Damion yanked open.

"Take the harlot," Damion said in a voice half above a whisper. "I'll take the brats."

"What the fuck?" Bram muttered and stooped to look inside the car.

Half-sitting, half-lying inside the car were four well-dressed, sleeping people: a man immediately identifiable as an omega by his outfit and three small children no older than six. "What is this?" Bram looked at Damion with a deep frown.

"Shut up," Damion spat, but his usual steely eyes were shifting wildly. "Grab the damn harlot already. He's too big for me to lift. And you breathe a word of this, boss'll have your balls." He smiled suddenly. "This is the big time, Bram. We're in it now."

Bram noted two things. Damion had used his name, and he'd probably chosen him specifically to help him with this when asked to bring muscle. It was a back-handed compliment: he was loyal enough to be brought up the ranks with a more situated member, but dirty enough for this sort of work.

Bram turned back to the people and tried not to look at them as he gathered the omega in his arms and pulled him from the car.

"Good man," Damion sighed. "Bring them inside the shack. Quick now."

The door to the shack was propped shut, but opened easily when Bram nudged it with his foot. Inside there wasn't much. A couch was the main feature and it was dirty and rotting like the rest of the place. Still, it was better than putting the omega in silks on the floor, so Bram gently put him there, before returning to the car for the youngest child so Damion wouldn't man-handle her. The boys, he begrudgingly allowed to be picked up like sacks of flour —under Damion's arms— and walked into the shack.

Bram quickly put the girl on her mother's lap, then took the boys and placed them on either side of their mother.

"You're not painting their portrait," Damion said. "Get rid of them. Then go to the inn on the north of town. Ask for a single room for two and Roman wine. You'll get your payment and new clothes."

"If I'm covered in blood when I walk in won't people be suspicious?" Bram asked.

Damion gave him a horrified look before answering. "You're not going to butcher them, you monster!" he whisper-spat. "Just break their necks and tear up the loose floorboards. Bury them under the floor. Someone will come and build over the bodies later. Wash off in the pond. You'll be dry by the time you reach the inn and you can take a proper bath there. When you get back to Paris…" Damion smiled, "we meet the boss."

Bram nodded curtly. Damion clapped him on the arm.

"You can call a carriage at the inn. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, for the start of our new life." Damion smiled widely. He looked particularly Italian when he smiled, which was probably why he was so often scowling. He was handsome when he smiled. Bram wanted to punch him and bury him under the floor of the shack.

But soon he was gone. Damion took the car the family had been brought in and left Bram alone with his work.