Chapter 7 · The Broker's Price

"Don't even think about it," Lilith whispered, the cold muzzle of the gun grinding right into my sternum. "One twitch, and I'll see if your soul leaks out of a chest hole as fast as it does through those cards."

I didn't move. I couldn't. My lungs felt like they were filled with wet cement, and my vision was swimming in jagged neon streaks. Jax was a heap of nothing on the floor behind me, his eyes wide and vacant, like a doll someone had forgotten to wind up.

"You're the Dealer," she said, her voice dropping an octave, suddenly curious. "I've spent three months tracking the ripple of a Void Deck in the Neon District. I thought it was a myth. Or a ghost."

"I'm just a guy trying not to die," I rasped. My throat tasted like copper and old regrets. "Now back off. You've got your target, you've got your show. Let me go."

Lilith chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that vibrated in the small space between us. She stepped closer, the scent of expensive ozone and something metallic—gun oil and blood—filling my nose. She didn't pull the trigger, but she didn't move the gun either.