Free Raphael (The Immortal Youth Book 1) by Monica La Porta Page B

past brushes with the street gang had taught him to avoid their territory at all cost. To the point that, when he worked as a courier, he would circumnavigate the whole city to skirt Red headquarters. Even if that meant adding precious time to his route. Once, one of the gang’s thugs caught Raphael delivering around the corner from their place, and demanded he opened the parcel he was carrying in the back of his bicycle. When Raphael refused, the Red slapped him hard with his ringed hand. For days, he sported the gang sigil on his lower lip. But he hadn’t opened the package. Instead, he slipped away from under the shifter’s nose and completed his delivery in time.
    Now, he was walking straight into their lair. Life was full of irony.
    He had his speech ready, but rehearsed the words in his mind as he pushed on the pedal and ran faster toward EUR, the futuristic neighborhood that housed several modern buildings, and, unbeknownst to the mortals, also the Reds’.
    When he arrived at his destination, a four-story complex shaped like a sail with glass walls and an external staircase resembling a black mast, he had the first doubts about his plan. But he promptly squashed them, thinking of Luisa kept prisoner by the Reds.
    One shaking hand on the lion-shaped brass knocker, he breathed slowly for a few counts, then lowered the ring attached to the lion’s nose to the plaque. As expected, the thud emitted by the knocker reverberated inside the building.
    What Raphael didn’t expect was for the door to open right away, revealing a big werewolf wearing a chef apron over combat gear.
    “Yes?” the Red asked, looking down at him.
    With a rolling pin in his hands, and dusty-white handprints all over his black wife beater, the man looked comical. But one look at his bulging muscles, and Raphael’s urge to laugh died a sudden death. In fact, he remained speechless for a moment too long, and the shifter harrumphed and started closing the majestic door in Raphael’s face.
    “Wait! I’m here to pledge as a prospect.” Raphael wasn’t sure about the vocabulary, but hoped to pass at least as deferential.
    The wolf’s nostrils flared and gave him a second, more calculated look, then snorted. “Is this a joke, cub?”
    Straightening his back, Raphael made himself taller, pushed his hands down his rear jeans pockets, and gave the man a slow grin. “I’m a thief, I delivered for Faster Than Bite, and I slipped right under Reds’ noses more than once. Ask your brother with the tear tattoo on his right cheek.”
    “Is that so?” The Red’s face darkened at first, then he changed expression, and roared a forced laugh.
    “I’m here to pledge,” Raphael repeated.
    “I can’t believe this shit.” Undone by laughing too hard, Mr. Wifebeater brought his arm to his midsection. “Pup, you better scoot.” He wiped his eyes with a flour-dusted hand, spreading white powder over his face.
    “I’m fast and I can do the runs for you—”
    The Red pointed a finger at the Nimbus. “And you would do that on that piece of crap?”
    Raphael shifted and planted his boots wider, then folded his arms over his chest. “Ask Lazlo Torni how I’ve always delivered on time when I worked for him. Even when that Red was after me.”
    Mr. Wifebeater shook his head, tears still escaping his eyes as he gave in to more laughter. “Go home, kid.”
    Refusing to be dismissed, Raphael stood taller and raised his chin. “Try me.”
    The werewolf stepped closer to Raphael, and inflated his chest. “You’re funny, but playtime’s over. Go away or I’ll make you go away. Your choice.”
    “I won’t go unless you try me.” Raphael’s statement triggered another bout of hysterical laugh, and he gave the Red a cold stare.
    “You’re cute.” Mr. Wifebeater waved the rolling pin at Raphael. “Listen, if you don’t run I’ll try you all right.” He made to close the door, but Raphael put his boot in its trajectory and blocked it. “What