Lucifer's POV

The casino was alive with patrons splurging their rent money and the electronic chimes of slot machines. 

Lucifer strode through the room of temptation, his eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk searching for prey. The air was thick with tobacco smoke and the sweet scent of spilled cocktails. Quinton Simpson was somewhere in this den of vice, and Lucifer would find him.

After circling the floor for several minutes, Lucifer spotted Quinton sitting at the bar, his shoulders tense and his fingers drumming nervously against a glass of something dark.

Lucifer smirked. The more nervous the man was, the easier he'd be to break, which was tonight's goal.

"Hope you weren't waiting too long." He approached Quinton and slid onto the stool next to him. "Where's my drink?" Lucifer teased. "It's rude not to have ordered anything for your guest, don't you think?"

The older man turned to face Lucifer. His eyes were bloodshot, and his skin had a sickly pallor. "Look, I didn't come here to play games. Let's get on with this."

Using a burner phone earlier in the day, Lucifer had reached out to Quinton to set up a meeting to discuss their future in the city and where one another stood now that Andy had gone missing, according to reports.

Quinton only had a single request—meet in a public setting. Of course, he'd play it smart. Lucifer could've easily done to Quinton what he'd done to Andy, but he was trying to move differently this time. He was trying to be less impulsive.

How long would his patience last? They both were about to find out.

"Never rush me, Quinton. We're doing things my way from now on, so let's try this again." Lucifer extended a hand and flashed a bright, unwelcoming grin. "Lucifer Byrne—President of the Seventh Circle Riders."

"Already aware."

"Then you know I can either be your friend or your enemy. Which do you prefer?"

Quinton hesitated before shaking Lucifer's hand. "I got enough enemies. So, what's this all about? You didn't say much over the phone."

"I'm sure you already know what I want." Lucifer signaled the bartender for a drink and leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Rumor has it you've gotten yourself into quite a bit of trouble, Quinton. Gambling debts, visits to certain...kink clubs. The mayor wouldn't be too happy if your demons got exposed, now would he?"

"Nobody's perfect." Quinton swallowed hard, but he kept his expression neutral.

"On the contrary, I am." Lucifer took a sip of his whiskey, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. "My proposal for you is simple."

"I'm listening."

"With Andy missing, I need a man on the inside to keep me informed about what's going on with you pigs at the police department. You agree to be that man, and your secrets stay buried. Refuse..." He shrugged. "Well, I'm sure you can imagine the fallout."

The expected panic didn't seize Quinton. To Lucifer's surprise, the man let out a humorless chuckle.

"You're too late," Quinton said. "Mayor Sheppard knows everything. Did you really think he'd leave me in this position if he truly had a problem with my past?"

Lucifer's jaw clenched. "You're fucking bluffing."

"I'm not. In fact, he's the one who encouraged me to get help. He's a good friend. We go way back."

The confidence Lucifer had when he first walked in was suddenly nowhere to be found.

This wasn't how things were supposed to go. At all. Quinton should have been a trembling mess, willing to do anything to keep his pathetic life from unraveling completely. Instead, he sat there looking almost smug.

His earlier cowardice was nothing more than an act. He was never intimated by Lucifer or his threats. He had simply put on a show and waited for this exact moment to drop the bomb that would destroy Lucifer's plan to get him to submit.

"You finally see what you're really up against now, don't you?" Quinton's smirk was a slash of darkness.

Lucifer's mind raced as the pieces fell into place.

The mayor had already made several big plays on the game board. He continued to consolidate power by hand-picking his own people and putting them into positions of influence to help secure his grip on the city. He was always one step ahead, and Lucifer, the dumb motherfucker, took too long to see it.

"What's the matter, tough guy? Don't tell me you came in here without a backup plan." A slow, mocking grin spread across Quinton's face as he watched the realization dawn on Lucifer. He tsked, shaking his head. "Guess you're not as clever as you think you are."

Rage surged through Lucifer's veins. In one swift motion, he lunged forward, snatching Quinton by the collar and hauling him halfway across the bar.

"Watch your fucking mouth," he snarled, their faces inches apart. "This isn't a game, Simpson. You and Sheppard have no idea who you're dealing with, so be sure to watch your fucking backs from now."

Quinton's eyes widened, his bravado faltering for a split second before he schooled his features into a mask of calm. "Go ahead, kill me right here in front of everyone. See how well that works out for you, smartass."

Lucifer knew better than to cause a scene in a place like this, so he reluctantly released the prick.

"Get the fuck out of my sight before I burn this place down with you in it," Lucifer muttered.

"Right. I'll be sure to pass along your kind words to the mayor." Quinton turned and strode away, disappearing into the sea of drunk gamblers and neon lights.

Lucifer's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, the urge to chase after Quinton and beat him to a bloody pulp nearly overwhelming. But he knew the cocky bastard was right. He couldn't risk causing a scene, not when he was already on thin ice with the law.

Defeated, Lucifer signaled the bartender for another drink. As he waited, he mentally replayed the conversation with Quinton, trying to pinpoint where he'd gone wrong. He'd been so sure Quinton would be his key to infiltrating the police department, but now...

He was back to square one.

The vibration from his cell phone jolted him from his thoughts. Fishing it out of his pocket, he glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing when he saw Asher's name.

"What the hell do you want? I'm busy," he snapped, not in the mood for small talk.

"Prez, I-I think I lost Angelo." Asher's voice crackled through the speaker. "One minute he was here, and then the next he was gone."

"This had better be a bad fucking joke, Asher."

"I only had my eyes off him for a few minutes, I swear! He couldn't have gone far—"

Lucifer ended the call.

His grip on the glass tightened until fine cracks appeared. Before it could shatter into pieces, he tossed back the rest of his drink and then jogged toward the exit. His heart pounded in his ears, a sickening sense of dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

Angelo hadn't seemed like the type to run to the cops for help, even with his current predicament of being taken—okay, kidnapped—and held against his will. On the other hand, though, people do crazy shit when their fight-or-flight senses kick in.

Was Angelo that type?