Catalyst

CHAPTER TWO

I sold my soul only weeks after my father's death. It's fitting that one year later, I would be in an underground pool hall, requesting a meeting with the Devil.

The air is thick with cigarette smoke and the pungent smell of men's cologne. I'm clearly the minority with my fiery hair and fair skin-not to mention my boobs.

Wearing the shortest, tightest skirt I own, I weave past tables full of men with lingering eyes until I reach Victor, where he stands at the back of the pool hall. With his arms crossed over his chest and his hair slicked back with grease, he looks like the average criminal. Once again, I wonder how I got mixed up with his kind.

"Good job last night," Victor says, smirking.

My eyes narrow. "If you thought you could do better, you should have done it yourself."

"A crowbar and twine? Really?" He leans close. "Next time you break in somewhere, don't be so careless and leave evidence for the Enforcers to find."

A muscle in my jaw twitches. Apparently, he saw the news this morning, just like I did.

Victor sneers, the bling in his mouth on full display. I've never understood the desire to have gold and diamonds in your mouth, but whatever.

"How 'bout a game of pool? You win, and I'll get you that meeting."

My response is to grab the nearest cue stick and chalk the tip.

When I break the balls and two solids glide smoothly into the corner pockets, Victor nods his approval. When the next shot lands two more solids in the pockets-one in the far corner and one in the side-his jaw tightens. Victor doesn't know it, but my father taught me to play pool before I barely had the strength to break the balls.

Throughout the game, I keep an eye out for the Devil-the biggest crime lord on the Lower East Side of the city. I've often heard he owns this place, but he rarely makes an appearance. As a powerful man who has access to all kinds of information, he knows how to keep people loyal, using any means necessary. The two missing fingers on Victor's right hand are proof of that. Victor works for him and I work for Victor, so I guess that technically makes me an employee of the Devil. Even though I've never met him.

"So tell me, Sienna. Why do you keep hounding me about meeting the Devil?" Victor flashes me a gold-toothed smile as he leans over the pool table to take his turn. "Am I not good enough for you?" The cue ball shoots across the table, narrowly missing one of his stripes.

Slipping my hand in the pocket of my mini-skirt, I graze the glossy surface of the photo I've been carrying around with me for months. "I have my reasons," I say.

When it's my turn again, I lean over the pool table and eye the setup, confident I can hit the cue ball low enough to put a backspin on it and keep it from going into the pocket with the eight ball. Exhaling slowly, I relax my stiff fingers before I give a nudge with the cue stick. I sink the shot. When I turn, I confront the glaring dark eyes of Victor.

"Looks like I won." I smirk. "Now you give me the meeting you promised."

"How 'bout another game?"

"A deal's a deal." When Victor just stands there looking at me, I add, "Should I record the results on the house ledger?" I figure he probably doesn't want people to know he was beaten by a girl.

Victor's eyes narrow. "The Devil doesn't entertain uninvited guests. You should know that, Sienna." As he leans close, his foul breath rakes over my face. "Didn't your dad strike a deal with the Devil?"

After my father died of a massive heart attack, Mom and I heard rumors that he was part of an underground gambling ring while he was alive.

That he had "struck a deal with the Devil"-so to speak.