Sweet Peril
Page 31
“This is the son of Mammon, Duke of Greed. Name’s Flynn Frazer. Twenty-six years old.”
He pulled out a picture of a youthful man with bright red hair, cut short, and a slightly crooked nose. I easily recognized him as the bouncer from the awful summit in New York City. Flynn had a wide mouth and an infectious grin. He appeared to be in a gym, standing next to a punching bag with some other guys. He wore shiny red shorts and a sleeveless white T-shirt. He was short in stature compared to the other guys, but he had a wiry-muscled build that boasted of strength. One of his teeth was an obvious shade whiter than the others.
“Does he have a fake tooth?” I asked.
“Probably,” my father answered. “He’s an MMA fighter. Mixed martial arts. He’s the current welterweight champion in Australia. Never lost a fight. You’ll get to see for yourself while you’re there.”
I chewed my lip. Fighting, even for sport, made me a little nervous.
“What’s welterweight?” I handed the picture across the table to Kope.
“The weight class between lightweight and middleweight. Around a hundred and seventy pounds. His sin manifests itself differently than you might think. His father’s a dragon when it comes to hoarding gold and jewels, but this kid doesn’t seem to care about those types of acquisitions. He’s greedy for attention and status, especially when it comes to his rank and reputation, whether it’s a win in the ring or building a rep with the ladies.”
“I think I know of him,” Kope said. “Was he the boy forced to entertain the Dukes with a fight?”
“Yep, that’s our guy. Here’s his story. The only time Flynn’s sin raises its head is when he does something competitive. His greed takes over, sort of like it’s his win and he has to have it. His father is a big boxing fan and wanted Flynn to try his hand at fighting when he was just fourteen. He learned quick, and Mammon bragged about him to all the Dukes. When Flynn was nineteen, Shax, Duke of Theft, bet Mammon that Flynn couldn’t beat his son, Erik. Erik was a twenty-one-year-old boxer in Atlantic City at the time.” He paused, sitting back and crossing his arms. I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“It’d been a long time since anything brutal happened to a Neph at the hands of the Dukes. Stuff like that used to happen all the time before the number of kids went down so drastically. Anyway. The annual summit was held in Australia that year, and they brought both boys to fight. Erik held his own for a long time, but once Flynn finally got the upper hand, he couldn’t stop himself.”
“He killed him,” I whispered. Dad raised his chin in confirmation.
“Last week was the anniversary of Erik’s death. I had a tail on Flynn, and he drove out to the rock quarry where they made him dump the body all those years ago.”
He pulled a second picture from the envelope.
Flynn sat near the edge of the quarry, seeming unconcerned by its steep, devastating drop of several hundred feet to the water below. His legs splayed open in front of him, and he cradled his face in his hands. The display of grief and remorse made me pull back from the picture, ill.
“He’s a little rough around the edges, Anna, but don’t be too scared of him. He should come around easier than the daughter of Sonellion.”
I sure hoped so.
“How is Z?” I asked. “Have any of your whisperers checked on her?”
“She’s hanging in there.”
Kope and I looked at each other. I wished all this planning didn’t have to take so long. Dad handed us tickets to Flynn’s fight, two backstage passes, our hotel information, and Flynn’s home address before kissing my forehead good-bye.
The last leg of the flight was uneventful except for one tiny skirmish. Kope and I were delirious with sleepiness. I tried to get him to take a drink of my latte, wanting to see him bounce off the cabin walls from a dose of caffeine. He batted away my lame attempts to bring my cup to his mouth, laughing. Then he very uncharacteristically poked my waist and I squeaked. The older gentleman in the row next to us stared with disapproval, and I backed away.
“Let us compromise,” Kope said. “You take a drink of my green tea and I will have a drink of your . . . sugared mud.”
“Deal!”
We switched drinks and I almost gagged at the bitter natural flavor. His nose crinkled in return.
“There’s no sugar in this!” I declared, just as he said, “That is too sweet!”
After a bit more laughing I settled down and tried to focus on my homework. It took a while, but I finished it then slept until we began descending. I was glad to see the city of Melbourne through the window when I awoke: a cluster of high-rises along the iridescent ocean. The water sparkled and winked up at us as we came in for landing.
The Australian summer was a welcome change from the chilliness I’d left behind in Georgia. At our snazzy hotel, the people were friendly, refusing tips. I smiled like an idiot at their awesome accents, although I guess technically I was the one with the accent.
When I checked in at the front desk, I was handed a small sealed box.
“This was delivered for you, miss.”
I thanked the concierge and tucked it into my pocket.
Kope and I rode the mirrored elevator to the fifth floor. We gave our spare room keys to each other in case of an emergency.
After agreeing on a time to meet, we went our separate ways. The first thing I noticed inside my room were the chocolates on the pillows of the enormous king-size bed.
He pulled out a picture of a youthful man with bright red hair, cut short, and a slightly crooked nose. I easily recognized him as the bouncer from the awful summit in New York City. Flynn had a wide mouth and an infectious grin. He appeared to be in a gym, standing next to a punching bag with some other guys. He wore shiny red shorts and a sleeveless white T-shirt. He was short in stature compared to the other guys, but he had a wiry-muscled build that boasted of strength. One of his teeth was an obvious shade whiter than the others.
“Does he have a fake tooth?” I asked.
“Probably,” my father answered. “He’s an MMA fighter. Mixed martial arts. He’s the current welterweight champion in Australia. Never lost a fight. You’ll get to see for yourself while you’re there.”
I chewed my lip. Fighting, even for sport, made me a little nervous.
“What’s welterweight?” I handed the picture across the table to Kope.
“The weight class between lightweight and middleweight. Around a hundred and seventy pounds. His sin manifests itself differently than you might think. His father’s a dragon when it comes to hoarding gold and jewels, but this kid doesn’t seem to care about those types of acquisitions. He’s greedy for attention and status, especially when it comes to his rank and reputation, whether it’s a win in the ring or building a rep with the ladies.”
“I think I know of him,” Kope said. “Was he the boy forced to entertain the Dukes with a fight?”
“Yep, that’s our guy. Here’s his story. The only time Flynn’s sin raises its head is when he does something competitive. His greed takes over, sort of like it’s his win and he has to have it. His father is a big boxing fan and wanted Flynn to try his hand at fighting when he was just fourteen. He learned quick, and Mammon bragged about him to all the Dukes. When Flynn was nineteen, Shax, Duke of Theft, bet Mammon that Flynn couldn’t beat his son, Erik. Erik was a twenty-one-year-old boxer in Atlantic City at the time.” He paused, sitting back and crossing his arms. I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“It’d been a long time since anything brutal happened to a Neph at the hands of the Dukes. Stuff like that used to happen all the time before the number of kids went down so drastically. Anyway. The annual summit was held in Australia that year, and they brought both boys to fight. Erik held his own for a long time, but once Flynn finally got the upper hand, he couldn’t stop himself.”
“He killed him,” I whispered. Dad raised his chin in confirmation.
“Last week was the anniversary of Erik’s death. I had a tail on Flynn, and he drove out to the rock quarry where they made him dump the body all those years ago.”
He pulled a second picture from the envelope.
Flynn sat near the edge of the quarry, seeming unconcerned by its steep, devastating drop of several hundred feet to the water below. His legs splayed open in front of him, and he cradled his face in his hands. The display of grief and remorse made me pull back from the picture, ill.
“He’s a little rough around the edges, Anna, but don’t be too scared of him. He should come around easier than the daughter of Sonellion.”
I sure hoped so.
“How is Z?” I asked. “Have any of your whisperers checked on her?”
“She’s hanging in there.”
Kope and I looked at each other. I wished all this planning didn’t have to take so long. Dad handed us tickets to Flynn’s fight, two backstage passes, our hotel information, and Flynn’s home address before kissing my forehead good-bye.
The last leg of the flight was uneventful except for one tiny skirmish. Kope and I were delirious with sleepiness. I tried to get him to take a drink of my latte, wanting to see him bounce off the cabin walls from a dose of caffeine. He batted away my lame attempts to bring my cup to his mouth, laughing. Then he very uncharacteristically poked my waist and I squeaked. The older gentleman in the row next to us stared with disapproval, and I backed away.
“Let us compromise,” Kope said. “You take a drink of my green tea and I will have a drink of your . . . sugared mud.”
“Deal!”
We switched drinks and I almost gagged at the bitter natural flavor. His nose crinkled in return.
“There’s no sugar in this!” I declared, just as he said, “That is too sweet!”
After a bit more laughing I settled down and tried to focus on my homework. It took a while, but I finished it then slept until we began descending. I was glad to see the city of Melbourne through the window when I awoke: a cluster of high-rises along the iridescent ocean. The water sparkled and winked up at us as we came in for landing.
The Australian summer was a welcome change from the chilliness I’d left behind in Georgia. At our snazzy hotel, the people were friendly, refusing tips. I smiled like an idiot at their awesome accents, although I guess technically I was the one with the accent.
When I checked in at the front desk, I was handed a small sealed box.
“This was delivered for you, miss.”
I thanked the concierge and tucked it into my pocket.
Kope and I rode the mirrored elevator to the fifth floor. We gave our spare room keys to each other in case of an emergency.
After agreeing on a time to meet, we went our separate ways. The first thing I noticed inside my room were the chocolates on the pillows of the enormous king-size bed.
