The call came at 2 AM, three days after my encounter with Kai.
"Ruby Martinez?" The voice on the phone was smooth, cultured, with just a hint of an accent I couldn't place.
I sat up in bed, instantly alert. "Speaking."
"My name is Marcus Blackwood. I believe one of my associates extended an invitation for you to join our organization."
Marcus. The boss Kai had been summoned to see. I'd spent the last three days researching everything I could find about the Darkmoon organization, which wasn't much. Shell companies, legitimate businesses that barely scratched the surface of what they really did.
"That depends," I said. "What exactly is your organization?"
A low chuckle. "Direct. I appreciate that. We provide certain... services to clients who value discretion."
"What kind of services?"
"The kind best discussed in person. Are you available tonight?"
I checked the clock. 2:17 AM. "It's a little late for business meetings."
"Ms. Martinez, in my line of work, night is when business thrives. I'll send a car."
The line went dead before I could respond.
An hour later, a black sedan pulled up outside my apartment building. The driver didn't speak, just nodded when I got in the back seat. We drove through empty streets toward the financial district, eventually stopping in front of a sleek glass tower that looked like every other corporate building in the area.
But appearances were deceiving. The elevator we took went down instead of up, and the floor we arrived at definitely wasn't in any building directory.
The doors opened to reveal what could only be described as an underground palace. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and artwork that probably cost more than my annual salary. This wasn't some back-alley operation—this was serious money.
A woman in an elegant black dress greeted me. "Ms. Martinez? Mr. Blackwood is waiting for you in the Aurora Room."
She led me down a corridor lined with doors marked only by small brass plaques. I caught glimpses of rooms through open doorways—a casino, a bar that looked like something from the 1920s, and what appeared to be a trading floor with dozens of computer screens showing scrolling numbers.
We stopped at a door marked 'Aurora'. The woman knocked twice and waited.
"Enter."
The room beyond took my breath away. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed a view of the city that should have been impossible from underground—until I realized they were actually high-definition screens displaying a real-time feed. The furniture was expensive leather and dark wood, and the lighting was soft enough to hide secrets while bright enough to read faces.
Five men stood around the room's perimeter. All of them were armed, though they tried to hide it. Professional security, the kind that cost serious money.
And in the center of it all, behind a desk that looked like it had been carved from a single piece of ebony, sat Marcus Blackwood.
He was exactly what I'd expected and nothing like I'd imagined. Mid-forties, silver hair perfectly styled, wearing a suit that probably cost more than my car. But it was his eyes that caught my attention—pale blue, almost gray, and completely predatory.
"Ms. Martinez." He didn't stand, didn't offer to shake hands. Just studied me like I was a chess piece he was considering moving. "Please, sit."
The chair across from his desk was positioned perfectly in the light while his remained in shadow. Interrogation 101. I sat anyway, keeping my posture relaxed but ready.
"You caused quite a stir at the fighting ring the other night," he said.
"I won a fight. Isn't that what fighters are supposed to do?"
"You won in a very specific way. Patience, followed by overwhelming force. It suggests a particular kind of training."
I shrugged. "My dad taught me to think before I acted."
"And what did your father do for a living?"
The question seemed casual, but I could feel the weight behind it. Everyone in the room was listening, waiting for my answer.
"He was a mechanic. Taught me that sometimes you have to let an engine run rough before you can figure out what's really wrong with it."
Marcus smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Interesting philosophy. And what brings you to Los Angeles, Ms. Martinez?"
"Work dried up back home. Heard there were opportunities here for people with the right skills."
"What kind of skills?"
"The kind that aren't taught in school."
He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "I'm going to ask you a direct question, and I want a direct answer. Are you here to kill me?"
The room went dead silent. I could feel the guards tensing, hands moving closer to weapons. One wrong word and this conversation would end very badly.
But instead of fear, I felt something else. Amusement.
"If I was here to kill you," I said, meeting his gaze directly, "you'd already be dead."
The silence stretched for what felt like hours but was probably only seconds. Then Marcus threw back his head and laughed—a genuine sound of delight that seemed to surprise everyone in the room, including himself.
"Outstanding," he said, wiping his eyes. "Kai said you had balls, but that was better than I expected."
Kai. So he had talked to Marcus about me. I wondered what else he'd said.
"Does that mean I passed your test?"
"That depends. Are you willing to prove your loyalty to this organization?"
"What kind of proof are we talking about?"
Before Marcus could answer, the door behind me burst open. A young man rushed in, breathing hard like he'd been running.
"Mr. Blackwood, sir. We have a problem."
Marcus's expression went from amused to arctic in the space of a heartbeat. "What kind of problem, Tony?"
"It's about the warehouse operation. Someone's been feeding information to the cops. We think there's a leak."
Every guard in the room suddenly looked more alert. Hands moved to weapons, and I could feel the tension ratcheting up to dangerous levels.
"How certain are you?" Marcus asked, his voice deadly quiet.
"Pretty certain, sir. Detective Morrison knew about the shipment before we even unloaded it. Only five people knew those details."
Marcus stood slowly, and I realized he was bigger than he'd appeared sitting down. Not as tall as Kai, but broader, with the kind of presence that could fill a room.
"Five people," he repeated. "And one of them is in this room."
The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. I looked around at the guards, trying to read their faces. They all looked nervous now, which made sense if one of them was about to be exposed as a traitor.
"Sir," Tony continued, "we think we know who it is."
"Oh?" Marcus's voice was silk over steel. "And who might that be?"
"Well... see, the thing is..." Tony looked around the room, then his eyes landed on me. "The leak started right after she showed up."
Every guard in the room suddenly had their attention focused on me. Not reaching for weapons yet, but ready to. I kept my hands visible and my expression calm, even though my heart was hammering.
"Interesting timing," Marcus said, coming around his desk to stand in front of me. "What do you think, Ms. Martinez? Could there be any truth to Tony's suspicions?"
I looked up at him, noting the way he held himself, the calculating look in his eyes. This was a test. Maybe not the one he'd originally planned, but a test nonetheless.
"I think," I said slowly, "that if I was working with the cops, I'd be smart enough not to use my real name at an underground fighting ring."
"True. But perhaps you're not as smart as you think you are."
"Or perhaps someone else in this room has been playing both sides for a while, and my arrival just gave them a convenient scapegoat."
The words hung in the air like a challenge. Marcus studied my face, looking for tells, for any sign that I was lying.
"You know," he said finally, "there's a very simple way to settle this."
"Which is?"
"A loyalty test. Something that will prove once and for all where your allegiances lie."
There it was. The moment I'd been dreading and hoping for in equal measure. Whatever this test was, it would either get me deeper into the organization or get me killed. Possibly both.
"What kind of test?" I asked.
Marcus smiled, and this time it was all predator. "The permanent kind. The kind that leaves no doubt about who you really are."
He walked back behind his desk and opened a drawer. When his hand came back up, it was holding a gun. Not pointing it at me, just holding it casually, like we were discussing the weather.
"You see, Ms. Martinez, loyalty isn't something you can fake. It's something you prove through action. Through sacrifice."
The gun was a .45 caliber, I noticed. Big enough to put someone down permanently. My mouth went dry as I realized where this was heading.
"There's someone in the next room," Marcus continued. "Someone who has information that could hurt this organization. Your job is very simple—make sure they can never share that information."
Kill someone. He wanted me to kill someone to prove my loyalty.
My mind raced through possibilities. Could I fake it? Find a way to avoid actually committing murder? But something told me Marcus didn't become the head of a major criminal organization by being easy to fool.
"And if I refuse?" I asked.
"Then we'll know whose side you're really on."
The implication was clear. Refuse the test, and I'd be the one in the next room.
I stood up slowly, keeping my movements casual. "I assume you'll want to watch, to make sure I go through with it."
"Of course. Trust, but verify."
Marcus gestured toward a door I hadn't noticed before, hidden in the wood paneling of the far wall. Two guards moved to flank me as I walked toward it.
My hand was on the doorknob when Marcus spoke again.
"Oh, and Ms. Martinez? Just so we're clear—if you're thinking about turning that gun on anyone in this room, remember that five trained professionals have weapons pointed at your back."
I looked over my shoulder at him. "Understood."
I turned the handle and stepped into the next room, my heart pounding against my ribs. Whatever was waiting for me on the other side of that door would either make me a killer or get me killed.
But at least I'd finally be inside the organization.
If I survived the next five minutes.
End of Chapter 3