TWO | BITCH OF THE BARREL

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k a z

  A STRONG FIST collided with the wooden desk, and the entire room shook as splinters crumbled to the floor. The fuming aura was nagging at skin and bones, papers, and chairs. The air was sickly humid and breathing felt to be a challenge of its own, in the concealed office, far in the depths of Ketterdam's Barrel. "I don't owe you anything!" a strong voice spat. The man had leaned forward slightly as his hand met the desk. Nonetheless, Kaz stayed calm. Kaz always stayed calm. There seemed not to be a single ounce of doubt in his body that would bring him to choke on his words.

  Covered in a black hat, mantle, and gloves, his weight stemmed on his cane, a gloved fist casually clasped around the crow's head. For mere moments he stood in utter silence, while the man in front of him snorted to himself. Kaz let the words sink in before he spoke, "I never said you did. I was asking, Haskell." But Per Haskell, leader of the Dregs, did not back. "I know exactly what you are doing, boy. Do not try to fool me." What had he been doing? Kaz did not know himself – what idea had intruded Per Haskell's mind. He could have been doing many things. He could have developed a plan to rip Haskell off and flee with the money. He could have been working for someone else, been hired to assassinate the man. He could have been entirely busted, having lost his lot fortune during a game of poker, and now longing for a hot chocolate and a croissant. Neither those corresponded to the truth.

  Kaz took a confident step forward, "I don't care what you do as long as I get my twenty percent. That's what you said, isn't it? And now I'm asking you—"

  "I already said no, Brekker. Don't waste my time. Go and make money somewhere. I didn't hire you for nothing." Haskell waved a dismissive hand as he tore his sight away. His hands reached for a stack of papers to his left, some wrinkled, others smooth as satin, and he seemed to not have expected for Kaz to stay. When Haskell raised his neck, having felt the daggering stare of the thief, he was met by a smile. A smile not to be described as happy or cheerful, more as threatening, and cold. Haskell had to swallow hard before he managed to win back the courage that had been so present only moments ago. Kaz watched in amusement because as hard as Haskell tried to mask it, Kaz noticed. Kaz noticed every detail, as invisible as it may seem. "Brekker," the man breathed, "I don't have the money—"

  "Liar," Kaz broke him off, the smile faded. Instead, a bare countenance found its way onto his face. Though his dark eyes seemed to lighten up as if a fire had been lit right in his iris, "I know about your savings in Shu Han, I know about your deposits in Ravka, and I know about your partaking on the Fjerdan market. Do not try to lie to me, Haskell. It won't do you any good."

  Haskell shifted pale and instantly so. It cost him every bit of strength to not let fear choke him as he spoke back to the boy, "Are you threatening me, Brekker?"

  Haskell knew the boy to be as cunning as one can get. And that with a snip of his finger, a life could be ruined. Per feared it would be his. Although he was supposed to be the cunning one, the leader of the Dregs, Kaz's boss.

  "Actually, I was not. But since my knowledge of your fortune seems like a threat to you, this just got a lot more interesting." It was back – the smile. Haskell avoided Kaz's gaze, hand stroking the fine stubbles on his chin as he caved. "How much do you need?"

  "500.000 Kruge," Kaz answered sharply, making Haskell's eyes snap towards him. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and he seemed to be pondering for a moment but Kaz's presence only, rid him of his decision-making ability, "Deal."

  Haskell wrote a check for 500.000 Kruge, no more, no less, and handed it to Kaz. His eyes narrowed in the brown orbs belonging to his most precious investment when, in a dangerous tone with a touch of played talent to leadership, he uttered, "And Brekker, if you lose that money—" he broke off, "You know what will happen."

Elora Van Eck | Kaz BrekkerWhere stories live. Discover now