Kurt knocked twice on the heavy wooden door, then waited, listening to the muffled sounds of the Foxhole beyond.
The door swung open, and he had to tilt his head back to get a good look at the woman standing in the doorway.
She was massive, easily six-foot-eight, built like a warrior goddess. Her green hair fell in thick waves past her shoulders, half wild and untad, the other braided.
She wore what could only be described as an Amazonian battle outfit, comprising of leather straps crisscrossing her chest, a short skirt slit high on both sides, and boots that ca up to her knees.
Her arms were roped with muscle and she looked at Kurt with sharp, assessing eyes, like she was trying to decide if she should let him in or throw him back into the hallway like trash, then stepped back without a word, making room for the woman seated behind the desk.
Madam Ilda.
She was stunning in a way that made Kurt forget how to breathe for half a second. Chocolate skin, and in her late forties, she wore a gold dress that hugged every curve like it had been painted on.
She sat with one leg crossed over the other, a long pipe held delicately in her hand and smoke curling lazily around her face.
Her natural hair was styled in elaborate twists and braids that cascaded over one side of her head, covering her left eye, giving her an air of mystery and control.
She exhaled a slow stream of smoke and studied Kurt with the kind of gaze that stripped a man down to his bones.
"You knocked twice," Ilda said in a smooth tone. "Soft. A little anxious. You can tell a lot about a person by how they knock."
Kurt’s eyes moved briefly to the Amazonian woman still standing at attention beside Ilda, then back to her. "And what does mine say?"
Ilda took another pull from her pipe, her lips curving into a faint knowing smile. "Arrogant. Cocky."
Her eyes traveled down his body slowly, then back up. She paused, smoke slipping from her lips before adding, "And desperate."
Kurt grinned, leaning against the doorfra. "Two out of three isn’t bad. But desperate? That’s a bit harsh. I prefer ’highly motivated.’"
Ilda’s smile widened, and she gestured to the chair across from her desk. "Sit."
Kurt stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and dropped into the chair. He stared at her pipe, the smoke and licked his lips. "May I?" He gestured towards it.
Ilda raised an eyebrow, then grinned. "Of course." She held out the pipe right in front of his face like she was feeding it to him and Kurt placed his lips gently around its mouthpiece.
In a slow inhale, he drew in its contents, and the smoke hit his lungs like silk. It was smooth, rich, with a faint sweetness that made his head buzz pleasantly.
It had been days since he’d had a proper smoke, and this was leagues better than the cheap shit he’d been scrounging.
"Bloody hell," Kurt muttered, exhaling. "That’s the good stuff."
"Only the best," Ilda said, drawing the pipe slowly from his lips and putting it back in hers. "Now. You were about to introduce yourself."
"Kurt Manchester," Kurt said, settling back in the chair. "Pleasure to et you, Ilda."
Ilda’s smile turned knowing. "I know who you are, Kurt Manchester. Although word was you got yourself killed... in an F-rank dungeon, no less. I guess the rumors were wrong."
Kurt shrugged. "Yeah, well. I’m a tough, proper bastard to put down. Death and I have an understanding."
Ilda’s eyes glead with amusent. "I can see that." She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the desk, and the movent made her dress shift in ways that were impossible to ignore. "I know why you’re here. But tell ... who led you to my office?"
Kurt squinted like he was trying to rember, then snapped his fingers. "Ah... Sam. The excitable one. About yay high, talks like she’s afraid silence might kill her."
He shrugged lazily. "She said you were the woman to see. And she said it with such conviction, I figured, why not? What’s the worst that could happen?"
Ilda’s expression shifted, just slightly, and she turned to the Amazonian woman. "Lagatha. Fetch Samantha for ."
Lagatha nodded and left without a word, each step her boot made, heavy against the floor.
Kurt watched her go, then turned back to Ilda. "Lagatha, huh? Bet she’s crushed more skulls between her thighs than I’ve had birthdays."
Ilda chuckled. "Only the ones who deserves it."
Kurt grinned. "I’ll keep that in mind."
They sat in comfortable silence for a mont, the air between them thick with sothing unspoken.
Ilda took another pull from her pipe, her eyes never leaving Kurt’s, and he found himself leaning forward without thinking.
"So," Kurt said as his voice dropped. "You run this place?"
"I own this place," Ilda corrected.
"I can see that," Kurt said. "You’ve got good taste. The decor, the girls, the pipe." He gestured vaguely. "Very classy."
Ilda’s smiled slowly, and Kurt could tell how dangerous this woman was. "Flattery, Mr. Manchester?"
"Only stating the obvious, sweetheart," Kurt murmured. "But if you’d rather take it as butterin’ you up, be my guest."
The door opened, and Sam stepped inside, her expression sowhere between panic and fury. She glared at Kurt, then swallowed hard and turned to Ilda.
"Mama Ilda," Sam said quietly.
Ilda’s sharp and assessing gaze shifted to her. "Samantha. Did you bring this man to my office?"
Sam hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, Mama."
"And why would you do that?" Ilda asked.
Sam glanced at Kurt, then back at Ilda. "He... saved . From so creeps in the F-district. I owed him."
Ilda’s eyes narrowed, studying Sam for a long mont. Then she nodded slowly. "I see."
She turned back to Kurt, now looking more curious as her eyes locked onto his. "Lagatha. Samantha. Wait outside."
Lagatha moved imdiately, and Sam followed, shooting Kurt one last glare before the door closed behind them.
Now it was just Kurt and Ilda again. But this ti, the air felt heavier.
Ilda stood, her movents deliberately slowed down, and walked around the desk. She perched on the edge, one leg crossed over the other, and looked down at Kurt.
"You must be dumb," she said. "Coming here, asking questions about Ironside. That’s dangerous."
"Danger and I go way back, love. We’re practically on a first-na basis," Kurt said, then his expression turned serious. "But I can’t co back empty handed. I need information, and you’re the only one who can give it to ."
Ilda studied him, then offered him the pipe again. Kurt took it, drew in another breath, and handed it back.
The smoke made his head light, pleasantly fuzzy, and he could feel the tension in his shoulders easing.
"I could give you what you want," Ilda said seductively without trying, her default voice so intoxicating, Kurt had to steady his breathing. "But I don’t do favors for free."
"I didn’t think you did," Kurt responded.
Ilda leaned closer, lifting up his chin with a finger, perfectly manicured and tipped with deep red lacquer and jewel, just enough to remind him who controlled the room as the scent of her perfu wrapped around him.
"You’re charming, Mr. Manchester. And I haven’t been chard in a very long ti."
Kurt grinned. "Careful now... you give an inch, I’ll take the whole bloody mile."
For a mont, it felt like sothing was going to happen. But then she straightened, and the mont passed.
"One of my girls was taken," Ilda said, and the switch from pleasure to business was evident by the tone of her voice.
"The little bastard got rejected," Ilda said, and her expression darkened. "She told him she wasn’t interested, and I don’t force my girls to do anything they don’t want to do. No ans no in my house. That’s the rule here."
Kurt nodded. "Good rule."
"Well, the little shit didn’t like being told no," Ilda continued. "So he waited until she was outside the Foxhole and took her. Dragged her back to his mansion in the D-district."
Kurt’s expression darkened. "What kind of bastard?"
"The kind who used to live in the A-district," Ilda said. "And moved down to D where he could do as he pleased," she sighed and continued, "It’s not uncommon. Rich n moving to lower districts where they can live like gods and no one asks questions."
Kurt took a long breath, already feeling the weight of what she was about to ask.
"Bring her back," Ilda said. "And I’ll tell you everything I know about Ironside. Locations, schedules... his loot houses."
Kurt leaned back in the chair, his fingers drumming on the armrest. "Just out of curiosity, what happens if I say no?"
Ilda’s smile turned cold. "Then you leave empty-handed. And I make sure every door in the E-rank district closes in your face."
Kurt smirked. "Not much of a choice, is there?"
"No," Ilda said. "It’s not."
She stood and walked back around the desk, her hips swaying with every step. "Take Samantha with you. She’ll lead you to the bastard’s ho."
Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Great, now you want to babysit as well?"
"She’s twenty-one, she can take care of herself. Kid’s too smart for her own good." Ilda said with a warm smile that quickly turned to sothing else after hearing Kurt’s next question.
"And let’s just say per chance, she doesn’t make it back?" Kurt asked.
Ilda’s smile was terrifying. "Then I’ll chop your balls off and feed them to you. Slowly."
Kurt let out a low whistle and sighed. "Very vivid picture you’ve painted there."
Ilda opened the door, stepping aside as Lagatha and Sam slipped back inside. Her gaze fell on Sam, and for a mont, her expression softened.
"Go with him," Ilda said. "Bring Mary back. And stay safe."
Sam nodded, her face pale. "Yes, Mama."
Ilda turned back to Kurt. "Don’t disappoint , Mr. Manchester."
Kurt stood, adjusted his coat, nodded to Lagatha, and motioned for Sam to follow.
They stepped out into the hallway, Sam trailing behind him. Kurt rubbed his face. "Right. Rescue a kidnapped girl, don’t get Sam here killed, and don’t lose my bollocks. Easy."
Behind them, the heavy door clicked shut.
Through the wood, voices carried in a low and urgent tone.
"Did you tell him Light-Killer Baran may be on the bastard’s payroll?" Lagatha asked.
"’May’ is the operative word there, Lagatha. And for his sake..." Ilda’s voice dropped. "...let’s hope he’s not just a pretty face."
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