“Really, Luca?” an annoyed voice rang from my side, slaughtering my buzz. I slowly turned to see the scowl of my lieutenant. Tristan Marsh. His arms crossed, with that stupid flashy gold watch decorating his wrist. Wasn’t sure if I hated that more or less than the dumb sunglasses over his eyes. We were in the middle of a dark room for the Immortal’s sake. Then there was that corny-ass-red dragon tattoo on a shaved side of his head. “I mean, I knew you were unreliable. But really, cheating? At our own venue?”

“Damn, I aint done a thing. Leave me be.” I said as I tried to turn away.

“Don’t lie. I see right through it. You’re not even supposed to be gambling. Did you forget that we’re here as security?” He jerked a finger towards my part of the wall. “That is where you’re supposed to be. Not cheating in the middle of our gambling den.”

“What, that scrawny fuck rat me out?”

Those blank sunglasses gave nothing away, but his scowl did. “Three-fourths of what you won.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Hand over three-fourths of your winnings. Then you go and do your job. I’m sick of having to manage such a useless, unreliable, waste of space.” Tristan straightened and checked his watch. “Least you can do is pay for wasting my time. Unless you want a beating, you will obey.”

I fidgeted, doing some quick mental math. This game paid eight to one. Meaning, I’d won four hundred chips. If I paid this dick-hole, he’d take three hundred, which frankly was way too immortals-damned much. Three hundred chips meant a month or two Ma didn’t have to worry about paying for food. Might even be able to get Alex some new clothes, not just my hand-me-downs, like usual.

“Naw. I won. I’m keeping it.”

“Really? You want to play this game again, Luca? You realize the only reason I’ve kept you around is to take punches in the place of more useful people in the squad. Your Soul Ability is unreliable trash.” Tristan glanced at his watch again. What, did he have something better to do? Stare at degenerates betting away their life savings? Please. “Pay me, then return to your job. That is an order, not a suggestion.”

“Number seven, eighteen, and twenty-four! Winners have ten minutes to get their chips! Else it goes to the house!” The bookie screamed, followed by cheers from the winners and groans from the losers around the rat roulette table.

I hesitated after the announcement. Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Just because you’re my lieutenant, don’t mean you’re entitled to my shit. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to get my chips. Then, I promise I’ll get back to the job. No more gambling tonight.” I threw that last bit in to get him off my case. Besides, I’d gotten my fix. I walked off, not waiting for his snarky response. The Brass Kings were a motorcycle gang of delinquents, not a daycare. If I wanted a bit of fun, I’d damn well take it.

“Fine, have it your way,” he clicked his tongue and turned. Walking away like he had a stick shoved up his ass.

Took a bit of a backbone to get what you wanted in this gang. Or anywhere in this city, people stole what they wanted if you let them. Walking over the weak was the way of the world, all the Sects in the Rising Sun Coalition did the same damn thing. They paved their paths to power on the backs of mortals. The world didn’t give care, so why should I?

The broker handed over my prize, a pouch filled with that sweet money. I eagerly pulled the drawstring open, licking my lips and examining the glowing spirit chips inside. Chipped spirits cores infused with a little bit of the spirit beast’s soul. They held an inherent value to cultivators since in a pinch a cultivator could pull from them for just a bit of extra juice.

Though, using them in that way is uncommon as hell. Especially among those like me—their actual value as currency far outstripped the temporary refresher of power they provided. I needed every bit I got my hands on.

I divided it in my mind. I’d give three-fourths to Ma. That meant a hundred to me. The fifty I’d bet had been the last of my stash, but it’d paid off and doubled. I shoved the chips into my jacket.

Fuck yes.

A grin split my face, and I meandered back to my spot. Took a glance at the lowlifes hunching over some dice. I ashed my cigarette and took joy in the taste of the tobacco and clove scratching my throat. It was a good day. Before I knew it my hand was tapping against my side to match the euro-rock blasted by the speakers. Hell, if every night was like this, I’d be real happy. Most nights we just messed around and patrolled on Tristan’s orders. Checking in on ‘partners,’ which usually ended with Tristan telling me to stay outside and watch the bikes.

Fickle Fate’s unreliability drove my lieutenant out of his mind. For a man that liked to plan every piece on a board, my little bit of chaos was inexcusable.

So he made me play guard. Boring.

The scrawny boy looked away again from me, and I frowned, stalking closer. I had an inkling who’d ratted me out. I tapped his shoulder and puffed up my chest. “Really? Ya a fucking snitch?”

“H-huh?” he said, refusing to meet my eyes.

I tossed my cigarette and stomped on it. Didn’t feel like burning this place down, but even if the kid screwed me over, it’d be rude to blow smoke in his face. With this new distance, it was clear he was young. Not even a little bit of muscle. Just how the hell did he get into the Brass Kings? Even I could mop the ground with him, but hey, guess that was the Seventh Division. Useless castoffs. I leveled with him, hunching to meet his height.

“Listen, man, that wasn’t cool. I was just trying to have some fun, alright? Now my boss is going to ride my ass for who knows how long.” I spread my hands out. He still didn’t look at me, and I was trying to have an immortals-damned heart-to-heart here.

“I-I really don’t know what you mean. A-are you talking about that spark? It just caught my eye. That’s all.” His voice faltered.

Maybe he didn’t say anything. Tristan had been annoyingly observant since I’d joined his squad, so wasn’t much of a stretch.

“Aw, fine. It’s fine anyway. You’re part of the Seventh Division, right? Surprised they even have ya all backing this den, since the other captains don’t trust ya for jack-shit.” I bet this kid didn’t even have a Soul-Seed. Only about a third of people did. Even if that rate ran a little higher in the gangs, if that was from the stress or danger, or if just attracted the type, couldn’t say.

Some mortals joined a gang to have a shot of triggering a Soul Seed. Though, that was a dumb idea. Sects made sure to hide away the secrets of breaking bottlenecks into the higher cultivations levels. Then, there was that fact that no one would help them, since training your Soul Seed was incredibly personal. Soft-skinned rich kids or dumb internet experts regularly pushed themselves too far and fucked up. The truth was that there was no way to predict if you were even capable of triggering one.

“I-I… It’s fine. Our lieutenant takes care of us. One day, I-I’ll be like my brother…” the soft spoken-kid muttered, eyes on his feet. Hate it as much as I did, it still tugged on my heart. He reminded me a bit of Alex, just a dumb little kid. The hell was he doing in the Brass Kings?

“Ya know, it’s dangerous to be in this gang, yeah? Just the other week my squad got in a brawl, and someone took a knife to the gut. Don’t want that, do ya? What’s your name, kid?”

“A-a knife—!?” he took a gulp, meeting my eyes for the first time. “Suzaki. I-I well belong here. I’m needed. I just need to get stronger.” There was a bit of steel, hidden behind that wool. Huh. I gave him a smile.

I moved to pat his shoulder, but a hand shot out and locked my wrist in mid-air. Cold nails dug into my skin. Suzaki’s eyes bulged as he backed into the wall behind him. “Drag him outside,” Tristan said with an even voice. More hands nabbed me, but I didn’t fight back. That’d be an even bigger mistake.