Old No.7 | An Alastor x Reader Story

"We Need To Talk"

Lester kept silent as we drove down lamplit streets. Despite the late hour, sinners still roamed around. The air inside the car was tense, and when I glanced over, I saw Lester gripping onto the steering wheel as if holding on for dear life. 

He pulled up in front of a club most sinners couldn't even dream of entering. When my bodyguard began to unbuckle his seatbelt, I held out my hand and said, "Give me your piece and stay here. I need to do this alone."

Lester gave me a wary look before handing over his revolver. Tucking into the inside pocket of my jacket, I smiled wryly, "Don't worry, if shit hits the fan, you'll know. Hell, the entire Pentagram will know."

The doorman let me in wordlessly. Even with my most underground operation, I still had pull on the surface. I strode down a hall that smelled like cigar smoke and leather polish towards a private room reserved for the club's most exclusive guests. A guard at the door blocked my way for a moment before seeing exactly who I was and let me inside. 

Three men sat around a table, drinking top-shelf bourbon and talking shop. However, the conversation died down as soon as I entered the room. 

"Carl, Markus," I nodded to the owner of the club and the manager, "Good to see you again."

Then I turned to the guest they had been entertaining, my voice colder this time, "And you. We need to talk."