Jasper Compton

Reid

Before he returned to his evening, Reid crossed to the family side of the apartment. The moment that he opened the door, the sound of Bizet’s Carmen had his raising his eyebrows and sliding a look at Vincent who still accompanied him.

Vincent shrugged slightly. “What preoccupies the king, preoccupies the queen,” he murmured.

Reid grumbled his response as he crossed the generously sized lounge room with it’s elegant kitchen, to the glass conservatory that rattled with the sound of the opera. As he entered, he ordered the stereo to silence, and in the stillness that fell, he could hear the trickle of water from the automated watering system, but above it, the snip of shears.

He followed that last sound around to where his mother was dead heading the roses.

She looked up as he approached. “You got my message.”

“I did,” he stooped and picked up a bloom that she’d deadheaded early, the bud at perfection. He breathed in the scent, before tucking it’s stem into his lapel. “What’s the problem? Dad simply wanted to remind me not to accidentally kill the Compton puppy. Not a problem, I’m sure. Not sure why that required pulling me home in the middle of a night out.”

“Alpha bluster,” she reproved the snick of her shears loud as she lopped the head off another rose that didn’t need to die. “You know. You just want me to do the work for you.”

Reid drew in a breath and released it slowly. “I bumped into Gregory Renmark at The Wicked Moon,” he volunteered.

Snip went the shears. “And?”

Reid knew that he was onto something. He edged around the potting tables until he could lean casually against one and watch her face. “He was rude.”

Snip.

“What the fuck is going on?” Reid asked her.

“The city has always rested fifty-fifty between the Comptons and the Morrisons. We have always respected the border,” she said. Snip, snip, snip, went the shears. “But in recent weeks there have been… intrusions. The Comptons are pushing beyond their borders. And there are some that have always worn Morrison colors and run with our pack, who now answer to Compton. Lines are blurring, and it is becoming difficult to distinguish friend from enemy.”

“Fuck,” Reid read into her words. That was how packs fell, weakened from the inside. “Alright. Understood.”

“Your father doesn’t want war,” she flicked her eyes to him, cautioning him not to start one.

“Understood,” he added grimly and pushed off the table to lean over and press a kiss to her cheek. “Don’t stay up too late, and don’t kill all the roses.”

In the elevator down to the foyer, Reid’s eyes met Vincent’s in the amber toned mirrors. “I want to know everything there is to know about Jasper Compton.”

“Mr Morrison,” Vincent said warily. “That could lead to pack war.”

“Not if it’s done right,” Reid replied. “Trust me Vincent. Not everything needs to end in violence. Jasper Compton is untouchable. That just means that we can’t kill him. There’s a lot that we can do without ending his life, isn’t there?”

Vincent reached out to hold the elevator doors opened as they pinged. “Mr Reid.”

“Get me what I need to take care of this problem for my father, and my pack,” Reid told him before striding across the glossy foyer and back into the breath stealing cold of the night.

He hailed a cab and slid into the back seat, watching his breath steam the window as the taxi took him back to The Wicked Moon. “Stay here,” he told the driver as he got out. “I won’t be long.”

He dove into the sweating, sexy darkness of the night club, wading through dancers, to where the lights reflected off the sequins of Marcella’s dress, catching her eyes, and gestured out of the club. The pack members knew the meaning behind that signal, and all rose, taking the champagne bottles with them as they joined him on the dancefloor.

They spilled out into the night, and Reid led the way to his taxi as other yellow cars pulled up into the ranks, summoned by the instinct that all cab drivers shared, or some silent cab driver signal.

“What’s up?” Marcella had a pretty, long haired, blonde human hanging on, the twink barely old enough to be drinking, his eyes wide and smile delighted to be included in the happenings of the clique of the city. His clothing was painfully cheap, but well chosen to accentuate his charms, and he smiled flirtatiously at Reid around Marcella as the taxi pulled away from the curb.

“The usual. The three Ps,” Reid replied evasively. There was no way to have that conversation with both the human taxi driver and the pretty young man in the back seat paying such attention to every word that left their lips. “Problems, politics, and penises.”

Marcella threw her head back in her laughter. “Well, darling, we have the last under control,” she gripped Reid’s thigh, her nails pinching into skin and muscle. “And we let the other things take care of themselves. Only old men care about that shit.”

“Mhm,” Reid disagreed, but didn’t want to get into it.

“Where are we going?” The young human wondered.

“A place where men beat their chests in displays of prowess, and the alcohol will bend your mind,” Marcella told him, releasing Reid’s thigh in order to hook the young man’s chin on the edge of the index fingernail. “We’ll show you things that you will never forget, pretty one,” she purred, her lips against his. “Just trust us to take care of you.”

“Marcella,” Reid said in disapproval. “I’m not taking responsibility for him.”

“He’s mine,” she replied. “Leave it be Reid.”

“Fuck,” Reid sighed the word. “Don’t do anything stupid.” He leaned forward, speaking through the plexi-glass divider to the driver. “Left ahead, onto the freeway, heading out of town.”

“That will be extra,” the driver said bravely, his eyes going to the rearview. “If I take you out of the city, I need to cover my return into the city.”

Reid laughed. “You’re not going home,” he told the driver. “You’re running a tab, until I get you to drive me home. Do you understand? Book your night out. Tonight, you’re my personal chauffeur.”

“I have to, ah,” the driver cleared his throat. “Know that you’re good for it, if you understand?”

“Don’t you know who he is?” Marcella laughed. “This is Reid Morrison, that you’ve got in your car, my friend. The Reid Morrison. Heir to the Morrison fortune. Believe me, he’s good for it.”

Reid slid his credit card through the slot as well as his ID and at the next streetlight, the driver reached back to the tray and his eyes flicked to the rear-view again, verifying the photo on the card. At the third streetlight, the driver swiped the card, before returning both card and ID through the slot.

“Okay?” Reid asked him.

The driver swallowed thickly and nodded. “Okay.”

Marcella raised their eyebrows at the human man whilst lifting her skirt to reveal her underwear and took a swig from the champagne bottle that she had brought out with her. As the young man slid down onto his knees in the cramped space of the rear seat, Marcella leaned back against Reid and passed him the champagne bottle.

“To being young and sexy as fuck,” she grinned, her free hand stroking through the young man’s hair as he freed her cock from her under wear and took her into his mouth. “Oh,” she sighed, her false eyelashes fluttering as she rested her head against Reid’s shoulder. “Mmm. He has a mouth on him, this young one.”

Reid’s mind moved ahead to their destination. He was in the mood to shed blood and to bleed, and he ignored the young human sucking Marcella to orgasm, and Marcella’s attempts to engage him into the exchange, his jaw set as he chewed on the conversation with both parents.

As they arrived at their destination, a dive bar with a barn to the rear in which the hand-to-hand fights took place between werewolves, he looked at Marcella as she tucked her cock away and pouted into the rear-view mirror to check her makeup.

“Jasper Compton is coming home.”

“And?” She asked and then her expression intensified, and she searched his face with her eyes. “Reid…”

“Don’t worry about it, Marcella. But use your contacts to find out everything you can. I need an in.”