Double Cross (The Eighth Circle #1)

Chapter One

Exiting the artificial gloom of the club into the brilliant early morning sunlight, Verity winced and dug through her bag for her sunglasses as she picked up her pace, anxious to escape the malevolent, looming presence of the building behind her. It had been a brutal shift and her feet, wedged into the regulation stilettos, were killing her. All she wanted was to get back to her shitty flat, scald herself under the barely adequate supply of hot water and attempt to forget the whole crappy night.

She’d been working at the London branch of the Eighth Circle club for almost ten months which, given their rate of churn, made her one of the more senior members of the bar staff, despite her best efforts to avoid that fate. Seniority brought with it a level of visibility she was attempting to avoid and meant that when trouble kicked off, she was the one the rest of the staff whined to.

And there had been no end to the trouble last night. To begin with, the two newest members of staff had been abruptly summoned to attend the Top Table. Sacrificial lambs to be slaughtered on the gaudy altar of excess. Undeniably perky little lambs, she had to admit, who had positively welcomed the attention, but who would ultimately end up as yet more roadkill. She remembered their bright, glossed smiles and the excitement in their eyes.

She gave them a week, maybe two if they were lucky.

Their removal from the rota had meant the rest of the staff were stretched beyond breaking point trying to deal with the regular members. She’d also been informed they were introducing a new signature cocktail that no one knew how to make and which apparently required some obscure liqueur no one could find. In the end she’d cobbled together a fairly standard martini and zhuzhed it up with gold vodka and limoncello. The clientele had lapped it up and she’d almost started to enjoy herself when some entitled prick had jammed his hand so far up her skirt she could describe the watch he was wearing.

Not that he’d been wearing it for long, she thought with a smirk. When she’d forcibly removed his unwelcome hand, she’d taken the opportunity to relieve him of the elegant timepiece. He hadn’t even noticed, possibly distracted by the near-dislocation of this thumb. She was still rummaging through the depths of her bag, trying to locate her sunglasses, when her fingers brushed against the item in question and she glanced over her shoulder, surreptitiously checking for watching eyes before drawing it out into the sunlight.

Turning it over in her fingers a worried frown creased her brow. The smartest thing she could do would be to stuff it into the nearest bin. Something that rare and valuable would be very hard to shift, and impossible to explain if she were caught with it in her possession. But after a brief internal deliberation, greed won and she thrust it into her bra for safe keeping. Closing the bag with a snap she shook her head - what had she been thinking? Normally she was more careful, never taking anything that might be missed or tied back to an individual. But he’d pissed her off and she’d given in to the impulse to punish him.

Distracted by her uncharacteristic, rash behaviour and with tired, smoke-dried eyes still half closed against the unfamiliar light, she failed to notice the broad figure step out in front of her until she collided with the solid wall of his chest. Temporarily stunned, she lost her balance and one traitorous heel gave way, pitching her into an ungainly sprawl on the cobblestones.

Backlit by the rising sun she couldn’t see his features but the outline of his tall frame and imperious tilt to his head were enough to identify him as the last person on earth she wanted to run into that morning, either figuratively or literally. Mr Thomas Cross esquire. Proprietor and managing partner of the Eighth Circle London. Her boss.

Fuck.

He extended a hand and Verity was reluctantly about to take it when he slapped her fingers aside and she realised he wasn’t offering assistance, he was reaching for her bag. Horror sweeping through her she scrabbled to protect her illicit stash, clutching it to her chest and twisting away from him.

Appearing faintly amused by her attempts at evasion, he squatted down and ran a careful hand over her shoulder. Verity had to stifle an almost hysterical laugh, to any casual observer, it probably looked like he was offering comfort or assistance, but she knew better. A second later that gentle touch found the nerve cluster he was looking for and Verity bit back a scream as a wave of pure agony swept through her shoulder and down her right arm.

With an impatient grunt he snatched the bag from her now numb fingers, got to his feet and emptied the entire contents onto the pavement between them. There were her sunglasses, dammit, their lenses no doubt scratched from the fall. One highly polished toe scuffed through the detritus of glasses, defunct makeup and screwed up bank notes and he frowned.

A light breeze lifted one of the notes and Verity made an ungainly grab to protect her haul from being blown away. Taking advantage of the distraction he crouched down once more and thrust one large hand inside her shirt, efficiently groping her breasts until his fingers found the hunk of metal she’d been trying to conceal.

From somewhere in the distance, footsteps penetrated her stunned haze and Verity felt a wave of relief as she caught sight of a policeman turning the corner and heading towards them. Not giving the action conscious thought she grabbed the invasive fingers and screamed at the top of her lungs.

Cross stiffened, but made no attempt to remove his hand.

The uniformed officer swiftly approached them, his brows pulled into a frown as he took in the scene. Tilting his head he asked, “Is there a problem, Mr Cross?”

“No, no problem.” He extracted his hand, and Verity flinched as the skin-warmed metal scraped over her left nipple. “Just retrieving some lost property.”

“I see, sir.” The man’s tone was grim. “And did you wish to press charges for this… loss?”

Verity closed her eyes. Of course he had the police in his pocket, and probably on the payroll. She was stupid to think anyone was coming to her aid, even the authorities – sworn to protect and serve.

Her boss straightened and pulled at his cuffs. “I’d like to fully ascertain the events of the evening, before I decide on the next steps to take.”

Verity felt her mouth dry at the thought of what those next steps might entail.

The policeman gave a curt nod. “Very good, sir. I will wait for your call.”

“Thank you Wykes. And, as always, I appreciate your discretion in this matter.”

“Of course, Mr Cross. Say no more.”

Dismissed with a curt nod, Wykes retraced his footsteps. As Cross turned his head to watch the man leave, Verity found her eyes drawn to his forbidding profile. He was a study in straight lines and sharp angles, from the haughty tilt of his nose to the determined slash of his mouth. Despite the brutal severity of its construction, the perfect symmetry of his features meant she might almost consider his face beautiful, if it wasn’t for the barely concealed rage visible in the tight set of his jaw

Without warning he swung back in her direction and Verity flinched away from his blistering gaze. The fury she’d glimpsed before now swept over her in full force and she felt ice forming in her stomach. He looked like he was preparing to eviscerate her right here on the street. With a lurch she realised he probably could and no one would intervene to stop him. No one would say a word. They wouldn’t dare.

He wasn’t known as ‘Never Cross’ for nothing.

As she watched, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When they reopened, the rage had been tucked away, but she found his cool blue gaze more unnerving than the blaze of anger from before. Cross squatted in front of her and raised his hand in front of her face, the stolen watch dangling from one elegant finger. Expressionless, he addressed her directly for the first time.

“You silly girl,” was all he said.

Before she could summon excuse or denial, he grabbed her upper arm in a bruising grip and hauled her to her feet. Verity felt a brief pang of loss as she watched her hard earned money blowing down the street. She must have made almost three hundred quid last night. The new cocktails had proved both popular and strong, making the clientele more generous and even less wary than usual. A fact she’d been quick to take advantage of.

What a fucking waste, she thought as the notes dispersed on the early morning breeze.

That emotion was swiftly replaced by a wave of fear as Cross tightened his already painful hold on her arm and propelled her firmly back towards the main doors to the club. Fighting to stay on her feet and keep her heels under control, Verity stumbled up the steps. The entrance leered like an open mouth intent on swallowing her.

That image was enough to ignite last embers of resistance and she rotated her arm against his thumb to break his hold. Almost surprised to find herself free, she swiftly backed up a couple of paces, her heels snagging in the thick carpeting of the steps. There was no way she could run in these shoes, but as he stalked towards her she realised that she didn’t have time to take them off.

Frantic eyes searched the street, there were more people around now, but every single one was averting their gaze from the scene in front of them. She could scream, but she wasn’t sure anyone would notice or care. In one last ditch effort to escape, she spun, almost collided with a pillar and threw herself down the steps. Somehow, she stayed on her feet as her heels met the cobbles, but had no more than a few seconds to celebrate that victory before an arm reached over her shoulder and long fingers closed around her throat. With a disconcerting lack of effort Cross jerked her backwards, spun her off her feet and all but threw her up the steps.

Winded and halfway to hysterical, Verity struggled upright, one hand dragging her skirt down into some semblance of decency while she braced the other against a pillar for support. Her shoes were ruined. The left heel completely snapped off leaving the shoe dangling from her ankle by its strap. Out of better options she kicked it free and unbuckled its twin, raising it like a weapon as Cross advanced.

In a move so swift she barely had time to register it, he swept the stiletto aside and grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm so far up her back she felt her shoulder joint groan in protest.

Finally finding her voice, she whispered, “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere quiet, where you and I can have a little discussion about the difference between mine and thine,” he said, his perfect elocution rendering the quietly spoken words all the more chilling.

Resistance crumbling, Verity felt the building consume her, the doors swinging silently closed behind them, blotting out the sun.

This wasn’t going to end well.