Chapter 3
SILAS
“No—fuck!” Tony trembles, eyes darting to the ring of masks surrounding him. “I took Ava five years ago. They said I could keep her as long as she met her quota each month.”
My stomach rolls, but I have to keep my emotions in check. I need answers more than I need his death, at least for now.
“Who’s in charge of the circuit?” I repeat, teeth grinding. “I won’t ask again.”
“Ray organized services when I was active,” Tony pants, sweat breaking out across his brow. The pool of red around his mangled wounds expands with each beat of his heart. He’s lost too much blood. I should place tourniquets, prolong the questioning.
“Last I heard, Ray caught a case about a year ago. Has two more years before he’s out.”
Mavros shakes his head in barely restrained fury, the red bear symbolizing Wrath catching the light. I feel his ire as if it’s my own, disgusted by the fucked-up system that gives life sentences for drug dealers while rapists are out in months.
“Some new guy moved through the ranks—calls himself Lucifer.”
“Where?” Erik asks, his normally light voice ringing hollow.
“I—I don’t know,” Tony sputters. “But the West Coast circuit is split. California breaks at San Francisco, the north continuing on to Portland, but the south… the south connects to Vegas and out through New Mexico. They say Lucifer has a place in Sin City.”
Vegas. I’ve been worried Morana was wrestled out of the country, shipped halfway around the world, but maybe she was only a few hours away. This whole time.
“Who’s your point of contact?” I ask, being sure to keep my voice low now that he’s started talking. Tony doesn’t realize it yet, but he has a few minutes, tops, before he bleeds out.
“Look, man, you don’t want to get involved in this shit.” Tony shakes his head, fingers stained red as he tries to slow the bleeding from his knees. “These bitches aren’t worth it. Most of them were picked up on the kiddie stroll. They’ve only ever been whores.”
The sharp, metallic scent of a bullet being fired registers a moment after the click of my trigger sounds. Blood plumes from Tony’s shoulder, little more than a flesh wound, but it got my point across.
“Fuck!” he screams, hand gripping the torn leather of his jacket as his chest heaves. “Shane. Shane runs Baja up through San Francisco and over to Vegas. Another picks up from there. Lucifer has the circuits split into smaller regions. Says it’ll help with cops.”
I glance over to Erik, waiting to see what he thinks.
“Meeting time?” Erik asks, cocking his head. I can practically see his carefree smile back in place under the mask, but there’s no hiding the anger burning beneath his words.
“The first of the month,” Tony grits out. “And if I’m not there, he’ll make what you’re doing to me look like a fucking birthday party. Get me cleaned up and get me the fuck out of here.”
“That’s all I can think to ask.” Erik shrugs. “Guys? Did we miss anything?”
Not waiting for a response from the others, I raise the gun, training it on the spot between Tony’s eyes. My finger caresses the trigger, the familiar weight of the weapon confirming the state of my soul.
“See you in hell.”
The blast of the bullet is followed by a crisp ding. Tony crumples to the floor, his lifeless body smacking into the blood-slicked concrete as another ding sounds. I turn, glaring daggers at Erik as he lifts his mask and pulls out his phone.
“Erik,” I growl. “What the fuck are you doing? No phones at the warehouse.”
Noctis assures me he has this location wiped from all databases and cloaked from satellites, but I don’t take unnecessary risks. Especially not when I’m this fucking close to finishing it.
“What’s wrong Silas?” Erik smirks, his icy blue gaze brimming with mischief. Blonde hair reaches his shoulders, grazing the collar of his dark T-shirt. “Feeling a little envious I’m getting all the attention? It’s not my fault you smash and dash.”
I yank off my mask, gripping the course fabric in my hand as I scowl. The rest of my brothers do the same, knowing we’re done here.
Noctis withdraws his phone—the only permitted device in this location—and contacts the cleaners as the rest of the princes make their way to the showers. We’ll leave all contaminated clothing here, knowing our masks will be washed and pressed while the rest is disposed of.
“If I wanted anything more than sex, I could have it,” I snap, hating the way Erik’s lips quirk. It’s so fucking easy for him. Nothing is ever serious—not even death.
I could have a regular partner. Having options isn’t the problem.
It’s the emotions and entanglements attached to repeated hookups that I won’t do.
Love is a weakness. And if I did pretend, if I let a girl call me her boyfriend or whatever the fuck being in a relationship means, she would never really know me.
I’ve spent so many years becoming what was needed to survive, most days I don’t even know myself.
Erik laughs, thumbs darting across the screen. “Relax, Silas. It’s just your sister. Tempest expects us at the house by four.”
His carefree smile grates on my nerves. The truth is…
I am envious of him. Of his ability to build trust with another person.
I’m envious of all my brothers. Noctis for his ability to hack any computer program and make it his bitch.
Sloth may fit his soul’s personality with his quiet, assessing manner, but he’s quick to action when it’s called for.
Likewise, Mavros feeds on his wrath, while I’m controlled by mine. Dominic lets lust guide him, bouncing from partners without a care, but I grow colder with each woman I fuck. Their moans and whimpers of pleasure only highlight how detached I’ve become.
It’s the same with the others. They each flourish under the title of their sins, like the punishing Princes of Hell rising from below, while I wither and rot, consumed by mine.
Like a corpse being gnawed on by maggots.
Trapped in the confines of my own coffin while everyone else has already hoisted themselves out of the grave.
“The new girl is arriving today, right?” Dominic asks, reappearing at the edge of the room, freshly showered.
He tugs on a navy blue shirt and runs a hand over his cropped hair, kicking up the fresh scent of soap and leather.
Tattoos cover dark skin, winding along his arms and curving up the sides of his neck the way mine do.
His white smile flashes as he rubs his hands together with wicked anticipation. “I can’t wait to introduce myself.”
Erik snorts, glancing up from his phone. “As if she’ll be looking at anyone else when I’m in the room.”
“No fucking this up for Tempest,” I cut in. “She wants to make a friend.”
“She has us.” Erik shrugs, glancing at his phone again as another text sounds.
“And Sloane, that girl with dark hair and gorgeous fucking eyes,” Dominic purrs, licking his lips. “If only the two of them would give me a chance…”
Erik narrows his gaze for a moment before grinning.
“My point exactly. Tempest has more than enough friends. Besides, the new girl is one of those uptight religious girls from the sound of things. She probably wears a cross and bathes in holy water. I doubt she’ll last a week before I have her on her back. ”
“No fucking the new girl,” I growl, stalking toward the showers as a team of men in hazmat suits enters from the left.
In most situations, I wouldn’t give a fuck if they each took turns, but Tempest has been withdrawing.
The princes are known for our ruthlessness and efficiency in getting shit done, collateral damage be damned.
We accomplish what we set out to do and don’t give a fuck how bloody our hands become along the way.
Most are afraid to look at us, the tattoos covering our bodies acting like a warning of sorts.
Fear is necessary to win the game, but Tempest never wanted to be dealt a hand.
It’s true she’s made a few friends at school, but nobody she felt comfortable enough to hang out with more than a handful of times.
“Tempest is more important than getting your dick wet,” I say, tossing my blood-splattered shirt on the pile of clothes to burn as I head toward the showers. “Choose someone else.”
“Fine,” Erik whines as another ding sounds. “Tempest says she’s expecting us before dinner.”
Of course she is.
Ding.
“And we have to help the new girl move.”