Devilish Debt (The Debt Tales #3)

Chapter 1

Zero

Most people dream of dining with royalty.

Me?

I dread it.

Why?

‘Cause unlike the fairy tale shit you read about as a kid or see in movies, they’re not friendly.

They’re fucking ruthless.

And I’d know.

This isn’t the first one I’ve met.

Though, it is the first one to kidnap me.

Maybe this means I’m truly moving up in the food chain.

Or is that down?

Is trapping me big game hunter shit or more of a Cub Scout badge of honor sitch?

Prince Thaddeus Weslington of Hoalkey – an island country slightly smaller than Australia with some of the most beautiful beaches in the world – casually gestures his warm tan, open palm to the empty seat across from him. “Sit.”

Doesn’t seem in my best interest to deny the demand.

Could be because the same asshole who cornered me when I stepped out of my penthouse elevator to zip tie my hands, cover my head with a black bag, and throw me into what I imagine was the trunk of an SUV is giving off do it or die vibes.

Don’t care for those.

A lot like I don’t care for being here.

I may not be a pack animal – like at all – but I’d rather be in a pack right now than one on one with a hungry fucking predator that’s sizing up my lissome frame like I’m the next piece of meat he’s gonna slobber over.

He doesn’t wait for me to slink into the cream-colored plush seat to continue speaking, his English-like accent simultaneously sexy and scary, “You are quite a difficult man to locate, Mr. Fiorenzo.” The forkful of bloody steak soars towards his thin lips. “Even for me.”

“Apparently not difficult enough,” I mumble under my breath prior to glancing over my zebra striped shirt covered shoulder to further drink in the white tablecloth filled dining space that’s currently only occupied by him and his security team.

There’s one of me, and six of them.

Lurking.

Circling.

Like African wild dogs just waiting for me to run so they can chase.

Outpace.

Exhaust and eventually devour me.

Yeah, that’s not exactly the type of devouring I had in mind for my Wednesday night.

I was hoping to do a little non-gender specific feeding.

Particularly in the bathroom of my favorite club, The Kastle.

“Oh, do not pout, Fiorenzo,” insists the rectangular head shaped male, redirecting my attention to his smirking. “We have sources in similar circles.”

That’s not nearly as fucking comforting as he thinks it is.

Leaning defeatedly back into the chair occurs at the same time I grump, “Why am I here, Weslington?”

“Please,” he feigns politeness, “call me Thaddeus.”

“I’d rather call an Uber.”

Another smug smile is attached to a small fork waggle. “I was warned you had quite a sense of humor.”

“At least you were warned of something.” Folding my light sand toned fingers together occurs on my own phony grin. “Can’t say the same.”

Seriously.

I had no fucking clue this asshole wanted to see me.

Or even knew who the fuck I was.

Yeah, my reputation precedes me and shit, but like…you wanna talk?

Try texting me, my guy.

Thaddeus stabs another hunk of meat on his plate and announces, “I have a job for you.”

“I’m not looking for work.”

“Pardon,” haughtily chuckles the prince as he meets my gaze, “let me rephrase, Fiorenzo.” The expression instantly shifts to one that’s arctic cold. “You are going to do a job for me.”

See.

This is the shit I’m talking about.

The shit Disney doesn’t show unless you’re the “villain”.

Which all of those so-called princes really are.

Check ‘em out in the original formats.

They’re cruel, horny monsters.

Full stop.

End of Snap.

Cut the Tok.

Post stealing an annoyed glance out of the floor to ceiling windows currently showcasing Spike Village’s downtown skyline, I less than happily huff. “And why’s that?”

“Because you owe me debt.”

“I don’t owe you shit.”

“I would beg to differ.”

“You can beg, borrow, or barter, my guy, but it doesn’t change shit.”

“You hacked into my country’s national criminal database through a backdoor you installed – via an Interpol program – to extract sensitive information for a client of yours who then proceeded to use said information during what had become quite a hostile negotiation.”

Yeah.

That was me.

I was young and dumb and did sloppy shit like any other fifteen-year-old.

But I’m not gonna cop to it.

Besides, that was over a decade ago.

Eleven years to be exact.

Whatever “charges” he wants to try to bring me in on – assuming he could even fucking prove them – are past their statute of limitations in this country.

And I know that for a fact.

Beni’ of having an attorney in your back pocket even if you really wish you had him in your front.

Or on your front.

Or on his knees.

Or you on yours.

Again.

Not picky.

I would hit save on any and all of those.

“Hacking is most certainly an illegal offense, Fiorenzo.”

“Debatable.”

“Keeping your name from being brought up in certain circles is a feat worthy of payment.”

“Overkill.”

“You only believe that because you are convinced that holding you accountable for the aforementioned cybercrime is impossible due to it being past its prosecution date.” He prepares to slide the bite into his mouth. “Am I correct in my assumption?”

The most he receives is a blink.

“Unfortunately, you are incorrect in yours.”

There’s no stopping my brow from furrowing.

Thaddeus slowly chews the chunk, forcing me to simply stew in the stirred-up discomfort.

He’s fucking with me.

He has to be.

Garcia – Victor Garcia the previously talked about lawyer that’s also my best friend and the older man I have been not so secretly in love with basically since we met – wouldn’t lie to me.

He’d lied for me.

But not to me.

Not on purpose.

Once Thaddeus has swallowed, he carefully places his fork down, retrieves his cloth napkin, and menacingly pats dry the lingering droplets of blood. “Terrorism does not have a statute of limitations, I am afraid.”

“I’m not a terrorist!”

“The information you provided aided in what – by your country’s definition – could easily be labeled as domestic terrorism, Mr. Fiorenzo.

That is what we call guilty by association.

” His pompous grin is accompanied by him leaning back and crossing one black dress pants leg over the other.

“However, I have other options, if that one was to fall short. For instance, I could have you extradited for your little stunt to my country – threatening it’ll be considered an international incident if they do not – where we would happily try you for foreign espionage, a crime in which we – unlike this country – do not have a statute for.

” He carelessly tosses the piece of used fabric onto the table.

“Or I could make certain law enforcement agencies aware of your known crimes warranting them to open an investigation into you, which would turn you into a significant liability for a certain syndicate who I have heard – through very loose lips, of course – keeps you on a permanent retainer.”

It’s impossible not to tug nervously at my collar.

“I would hate to do any of those of tedious things, Mr. Fiorenzo, when a much easier repayment option – for the both of us – is available.”

“Which is?”

“I need you to retrieve something of high significance for me.”

“Steal.”

“Retrieve.”

“Fancy steal.”

“Recover.”

“Steal from someone else.”

“That would be reclaim.”

“And this would be…?”

“As I have clearly – and repeatedly – stated, you will be retrieving something that is currently lost.”

“Something or someone?”

“Something.”

“Like an object?”

“Precisely.”

“Why?” Inching to the edge of my chair precedes me pushing the subject a bit further. “Why do you need me to find this lost thing?”

“Because it is quite lost, and I have it on good authority you can find anything you have been tasked to, particularly in a very, very timely nature.”

Note to self: figure out exactly who volunteered me for this little cyber safari adventure.

“What do you need me to find?”

“That will be revealed once you formally accept my proposition.”

“Fine.” Folding my hands together on the table occurs next. “Why do you need it found so fucking quickly?”

“So that I can become the next crowned king of Hoalkey.”