Chapter 1
Mason
A yellow manila folder is thrown down on the desk in front of me with a thump. “Your target for tonight” are Sal’s only words as he turns and walks out the door.
Normally, I have a little more preparation, but it looks like tonight I am going in blind. I love a good challenge.
Running my fingers over the front of the folder, I curl my thumb underneath and flip it open. Jasper Stephens’s photo stares at me. He owes Murwood over two hundred grand, but he’s always missing payments. He is the main drug runner for the organisation, the guy that everyone goes to for their blow. At the end of every month, he pays us what we are owed, and he keeps any profit. Not every organisation would do it this way, but this is how you keep your runners happy — until they decide to keep it all to themselves; then they end up with me on their ass.
I glance down at the pages spread out in front of me, my eyes scanning over the details. There is just one more piece to fill the puzzle: where is tonight’s playground so I can let the monster run free? My finger follows the words until I land on the… “Damn it.”
It just had to be the Claymore Gala. I inhale sharply and release an annoyed sigh. I don’t want to deal with all the fake glamour bullshit.
I close the folder, tuck it under my arm, and scoop my keys off the desk. I head outside towards my car: a sexy, jet black ‘65 Mustang.
Time to get this done . The leather seat creaks as I slide into the driver’s side, throwing the folder on the passenger seat. I turn the key in the ignition and feel my baby roar to life.
I speed out of the gates and down the road; it’s dark outside already. Thanks for the late notice, Sal . I’m already late to a party I haven’t been invited to. The story of my life growing up: nobody ever seemed to want me around.
My mother was living the high life when I was young, so she always had a nanny looking after me, never even spending much time in my nursery when I was a baby. Even then, she would only hold me occasionally to keep up appearances with the rest of the mafia families. It’s one of the many reasons that I have nothing to do with her anymore. She lost the privilege of being my mother when she abandoned me after my father died.
He used to be the boss of the organisation, before he was shot by his right-hand man, Stephan. One of the only men he trusted with his life, which is kind of ironic. He had hoped that by taking out my father, he would be able to move up the ranks and be the boss but that’s not how it works around here. We may be ruthless criminals, but we are a giant family — you intentionally hurt one of us, and you have to be prepared to pay the price. Especially when you take out the big man in his own office.
As soon as my father’s funeral ended, my mother ordered the hit on Stephan, taking him out of the game before naming Salvatore De Luca the new boss.
My mother never really cared for the Underbelly lifestyle; she only stayed because she loved the money, so when my father died and she cashed in, she wanted me to run from the only life I knew, to leave Murwood with her. What she didn’t expect was for Sal to take me under his wing and for me to refuse to follow her. Growing up, I idolised Sal; I worshipped the ground he walked on.
Why would I want to leave with this woman when being part of the organisation was the only connection I had to my father? Murwood was the closest thing to a family I have ever known. I wanted to learn the Murwood way: learn about how my father ran Murwood and eventually step into the shoes Sal was currently keeping warm.
I remember sitting in my father’s old office, my mother yelling at Sal to make me leave with her. Sal just stared at her calmly from my father’s chair before shrugging his shoulders and dismissing her.
That was the last time I saw her. The next day, she left for good, and he continued teaching me the ways of the organisation — my father’s legacy.
Sal was the next best choice to rule at the time my father died. He was the strongest and most reputable man there was in the Underbelly, but that was twenty years ago. I have been Sal’s second for a year. When he needs someone taken out, he calls me. When he needs a cleanup sorted, he calls me. I have contacts for everyone in this organisation, and even ones outside of ours. He trusts me with everything because I never let anyone get in my way.
* * *
I walk into the venue, my eyes watching the sea of people. Couples dance on the dance floor, others stand at the bar. Tables sit with even spacing around the perimeter. Floor-to-ceiling windows with sheer, white curtains line the walls. One of the windows must be open because a curtain flows out slightly, like a waterfall cascading down. The sound of everyone chattering is a dull roar; there would have to be at least two hundred people here. The room is spacious enough, but it still feels like everyone is standing on top of me. The gala tonight is just one huge pissing competition of who has the most money.
I catch a glimpse of Cyber over the other side and I nod in his direction. He is here to get the feelers out on what it is all for. There is no reason for him to be with me the whole time. He is just our intel; the brains of the organisation, and the one way we can get a bug inside this venue without being detected.
Closing my eyes, I take a breath to centre myself once again, and, when I reopen them, I immediately spot my target looking just as sleazy as his photos. His suit looks cheap, the jacket too big, pants too baggy. Nothing like the tailored suits the other men are wearing. His jacket is undone, and his shirt is only half tucked in. His beard is disheveled, poorly hiding the gaunt features of his face. He is scrawny, except for the beer gut peeking through his suit jacket.
His eyes dart around like someone is about to jump out at him. He isn’t wrong — I am the danger he can sense and this fucker is going down tonight.
I step up to the bar, order a shot of whiskey, and make my way towards the exit. I watch as his eyes move around the room, and while he is looking in the opposite direction, I down the shot of whiskey and smash the glass against the wall. A few heads turn in my direction, looking for the source of the sound, but then turn back to their conversations. The only person to really react is Jasper. His head snaps around towards the source of the sound and he looks directly at me.
The moment I have his attention, I flick my head towards the doorway, a way of instructing him to follow me.
The moment I am out in the car park, I wait a little further away from the door for him to catch up to me. As soon as he steps out from behind the doors, I aim my Glock at the wall next to him and fire.
His eyes go wide and he stares at where the bullet has hit, but I can’t kill him there – no. I need to pull him further into the undercover parking bays and away from any prying eyes.
He looks at me again, a hint of rage crossing his features, and I do the only thing I know to move him away from the safety of the gala: I leg it.
My black dress shoes slap against the concrete, the sound echoing through the building. I am not aiming for subtlety; I need him to think he has the advantage.
For someone who is wasted, he can still move fairly quickly when he runs, but when I pick up the pace, I easily gain some distance from him.
He has been drinking throughout this event, so fooling him should have been a cake walk, but this guy is giving me a run for my money. Thankfully, his senses are going to be a little off and I am good at what I do. My feet continue to slap on the ground. His file told me he is cunning, so I have to make sure that he considers me a stupid guy just trying to get a quick high. The look he gave me when I shot at him tells me he is figuring out exactly who I am.
I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. Only one person would be calling me at this time – the boss, probably checking how everything is going. I swear to fucking God it’s like this guy has a sixth sense for when I am in the middle of something; he is clearly getting impatient that this job is taking longer than he’d like. That call is going to have to wait because he will kill me if I answer while I’m on the job.
I pause and snatch my gun from its holster. I pull back the slide on the top of my 9mm Glock 17. My brows furrow and a growl leaves my throat. “Fuck.” Jammed.
I slam the butt of the gun against my palm. I checked this hunk of metal this morning. It might seem stupid, but I am a little sentimental about this gun. This has been my choice of weapon since the beginning of my career working with Murwood; not once have I had any issues with it, unless Sal had — I shake that thought out of my head, surely not .
A shot is fired, but the idiot has sent it in the wrong direction. Hiding behind one of the many pillars in the dim underground car park, I hit the release button on the Glock, ejecting the magazine with a metallic click as it falls into my open palm. I throw the jammed Glock behind a tire of the nearest car before I pull my backup out of the holster and make a mental note to come back for it when this is over. There is no way I am leaving the only keepsake of my father that I have left.
My heart is racing as I hear Jasper stumbling around. I close my eyes for a brief moment to focus. I can feel the monster taking hold, the killer I am trained to be. I won’t miss this shot; I have never missed a target in my whole career of taking them down. Alright monster, time to come out and play.
Another shot is fired behind me, ricocheting off the concrete right next to my ear. Oh shit! He has spotted me. I must’ve gotten his attention when I released the mag from my gun. I mentally berate myself for the stupid move.
A nearby car alarm sounds and a stray bullet breaks through the window, sending glass flying everywhere. Looking down at the white dress shirt I have on, I see it has been splattered with blood. I am not in any pain and I can’t sense anything out of the ordinary, so it must not be my blood… But, then again, there is no one else nearby.
I assess my current state again and, sure enough, there is a small tear in the sleeve of my shirt and a scratch on the skin that has been exposed underneath. Okay, so maybe the blood is mine, but what did I catch myself on? Surely he didn’t catch me — I’d have felt it if he did.
My vision starts to close in; it feels like the lights around me are being switched off. I can see the objects surrounding me, but it is just the shape I see — no details. I need to catch my breath and calm down, or I am going to be the one leaving here in a body bag. The adrenaline and anxiety of this job can get overwhelming, but I can’t afford to have an episode now.
I take a few moments to breathe and calm my heart rate. I can hear my target’s footsteps moving in the opposite direction once again. In one swift motion, I rise to my feet, raise my gun and point it directly at the back of his head. “Oi, asshole!” I growl.
He spins around on his heels, and I am finally able to see him clearly. His eyes are bloodshot, a sway in his stance. He is wasted., I can see it in the way he is staring at me, trying to make sense of who is in front of him. No wonder he isn’t shooting straight; he is probably seeing more than one of me standing here.
I chuckle to myself. The monster inside chomps at the bit. Jasper staggers towards where I’m standing, or where one of me is standing; when he is a metre away, I pull the trigger. The shot hits him right between the eyes, and I watch with a satisfied smirk as he drops to the ground like a sack of shit.
Good riddance , I think, as I assess the dimly-lit area — things are a mess. Glass is scattered on the ground, blood is sprayed up the walls, half of the lights have blown, and a singular fluorescent is flickering on and off. The light is making an ominous crackling sound, like it is about to die as well. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I call in the clean-up crew.
I collect my jammed Glock from under the car near the pillar that I had been crouched behind only moments before. I have the back of my shirt lifted, ready to put my Glock in its rightful place, before realising that spot is already occupied. Muscle memory can be a pain in my ass.
A siren blares in the distance. I freeze and hold my breath, but thankfully, the sound of the sirens is fading away. I let out a sigh of relief.
Safe for the moment.
The adrenaline is wearing off as I walk towards my car, and my vision is growing darker by the second; if I don’t get my ass into gear I am going to pass out right here. If this blackout takes hold, it will be the third episode in six months.
I hear tires screeching on the smooth concrete as the crew rounds the corner, their headlights shining directly in my face. The engine cuts off as it stops in front of m,e and I’m vaguely aware of the muffled sound of a car door opening. “Hey, whoa, Viper,” a voice says as a hand reaches out and grips my shoulder.
I try to put words together, but they come out as a mumble as I am being lowered to the ground.
“You’re looking a little pale there, bud,” the voice says again. “Here, sniff this.”
A cold glass bottle presses into my hand, and he moves my hand and the jar to my face. “Get this into ya,” he says through a smile.
I am instantly hit with a strong smell of ammonia. Smelling salts . The fuckers gave me smelling salts. The sudden burning in my nose is enough to make me gag and, whilst I hate the sensation rising up my throat, the potency of it doesn’t take long to have an effect and I am quickly alert.
“Thatta boy. How you feeling now, Viper?”
I glance up to the voice that is talking to me. Lennox. These days, he is the lead of the cleanup crew and the only other person I will accept orders from who isn’t Sal. He is my go-to guy for cleanups. He takes no shit from anyone, including myself. “Better now, if not for the smell burning my nose hairs off, thanks, man.”
He holds out his hand and pulls me off the cold ground. “You good to take it from here?” I ask, glancing in his direction. He nods.
I nod, jutting my chin towards the cleanup crew as they unpack everything they need to stage the underground car park to look like someone has gone on a rampage, and I walk away from them without another word. They know what they are doing and how to do it; I don’t need to be here hovering over their every move. I just need to know that old mate’s body has been put in a body bag.
As I round the corner to where I parked my car, I am thankful it didn’t get caught up in the shootout. At least something worked out right — I love this car. It’s not just any ‘65 Mustang; my baby is jet black with chrome accents, the interior is all black leather and, when needed, I can put my foot flat on the floor and go from zero to one hundred in four seconds. No one ever sees me coming — or going.
With a car as dark as a clear, midnight sky, if I am ever in a predicament at night, I can just flick off the lights, and I effectively disappear. There was a time or two when I was younger, where the cops were on my ass — I was just a stupid ass kid who thought he was above the law. When Sal heard about what happened and how I managed to escape, he gave me a pretty good talking to, telling me in no uncertain terms that I needed to ‘Wake the fuck up to yourself’ before disappearing into his office to clean up the mess I had created.
This was his turning point. After that, any time I asked him a question, I would be greeted with a mumbled response or a wave of his hand as he dismissed me. He stopped showing me the fatherly love he once had, and suddenly, I couldn’t do anything right.
Since then, he has progressively become angrier.
There were a few more incidents after that, but I quickly became better at keeping a low profile on the roads. I wasn’t that stupid kid anymore. I was only focused on one thing back then and that was how many naked girls I could get in the backseat of my car. I wanted my freedom and independence, and Sal had threatened to take my car off me, so I agreed, took the hard slap up the side of the head as a warning, and moved on.
I am barely a metre away from my car now and instinctively unlock it as I move in closer to open the door. I climb in, and my hands instantly grip the black leather steering wheel. I let out a deep, frustrated sigh, closing my eyes for a brief moment and pinching the bridge of my nose. I am going to need a stiff drink to collect myself before checking in with the boss, and I know just the place to go.
Before I start the engine, I pull my phone out of my pocket. Five missed calls from Sal. Ugh! I better call him back. Just as I’m about to hit the call button, my screen lights up with Sal’s stern profile. Accepting the call, I put the phone to my ear. “Where the fuck are you? And why haven’t you answered any of my goddamn fucking calls?”
Thankfully, he can’t see me roll my eyes; I can almost see the saliva spraying from his mouth as he spews his impatience. “You would have had my neck if I had answered my phone while I was stalking a target,” I bite back.
He growls in response. I don’t get more than that from him, and there is no point in trying to convince him — he wouldn’t listen to me anyway.
“Jasper is no longer a problem for us.” I keep it brief.
“Good, I’ll see you soon.” His tone is dismissive.
“Don’t stay up, I’m hitting the bar first,” I retort, and I disconnect the call before he gets the chance to reply. I turn the key in the ignition and the ‘stang roars to life.
I need to get to the bar across town fast. My foot hits the floor and I accelerate out of the car park like a bat out of hell. I weave in and out of traffic, knowing exactly where I want– no, need to go — and it is the opposite direction of home.
I know speeding through traffic is not going to get me to my destination any faster, but the thrill helps clear my mind and take the edge off the brewing agitation, which seems to cause these blackouts. My skin has started to crawl and it is only a matter of time before one hits.
The blackouts only ever hit when my adrenaline is diminishing and the agitation increases. Thank God I have never blacked out before I have the chance to take down my target and get out. I need to get to Gravel and Grit before I lose all focus and injure innocents in the process. I know I shouldn’t be driving, but how else am I going to get out of these places and not get caught? I’ll just have the doc check me out when I get back home, especially after the episode earlier. If it wasn’t for Lennox, I’d still be lying there on the ground.
Horns honk around me as I pass cars with ease. The street lights illuminate my car for a brief second before I am back in darkness again.
Gravel and Grit is a run-down bar on the outskirts of the southwest side of town, aptly named because you have to travel down a dirt road to get to it. It smells of cheap beer and sweat, and the stench of sex always lingers in the back. I prefer coming here, even though it is a shit hole, they only see the name – the persona I have built. All I do is sit in a booth at the back and drink my cheap bourbon. It is a good place for me to pick up a woman, fuck her senseless in the bathroom stalls, and leave straight after without caring if she comes or not. I get what I want.
I pull up out the front, the neon sign flashing on and off. This place never gets any better, but it also never gets any worse.
As I cut the engine, I watch as someone staggers their way out of the bar. “Come on Viv, why ‘ave you gotta kick me out?” the man says, his words slurred.
“Because, Gary, you’re too drunk. Now go get into that taxi.” She points to the one just across the car park. “And get yourself home to bed.”
I swear this grown man throws a tantrum, but she holds her own with him.
Her petite frame does not match her attitude. She turns on her heel and sways through the doors and back inside. The large timber panels swing shut behind her. She looks like fun . My dick twitches and I groan in annoyance. I walk around to the boot of my car and open it up.
I pull off my white, blood-stained shirt and throw it in a bag. I’m not even going to try and wash it. It is going straight into the fire. Thankfully, I always carry spare clothing in my car for moments like these. Feeling around in the trunk, I find a fresh shirt that I pull on and button up. I roll the sleeves up to my elbows, the deer skull tattoo on my left forearm sits proud. Strands of my hair are falling in my face. If I let my hair out, it falls around my shoulders. I forget just how long it is as I run my fingers through it, untangling the ends before I pull it back and tie it into a messy top knot. My pants are black, so you can’t see any blood on them, and it is dark inside anyway.
Shutting the trunk, I pocket my keys and make my way up to the building. The gravel under my feet crunches as I take each step up to the big double doors. Chips of paint lie on the step, showing the weathered panels underneath. Not even a fresh coat of paint would bring these doors back to life. There is one street light illuminating half the car park, and there are about three cars parked. My eyes trail down to my gold watch. An hour to midnight. Just a few hours here, then I’ll head back home.
Pushing through the door, I make my way over to my normal booth: a dark corner in the back of the bar. There are two girls working tonight. One is the usual I see every time I come in here, but the other girl is new to me. The drunk had called her Viv. She either never works when I’m in here or she is new to the job and, judging by the way the old man spoke to her, it is the former.
I nod my head in the direction of the girl I know and she makes her way straight to the bar, placing her tray down and waiting for my drink. This is my time to zone out and just take my focus away from my life. I sit here and watch the people come in and out.
The occasional group walks in, most of them rowdy college boys just looking for a good time. I don’t pay them any mind. The waitress waiting for my drink walks over to the new group that came in, notepad in hand.
“Didn’t your mother tell you it is rude to stare?” a feminine voice says from behind me.
I grunt in response, not even turning around to see who it is. I don’t care. I just want to make sure those boys don’t try anything stupid. I’m not in the mood for stupid frat boys tonight. “Aren’t you the talkative one tonight?” the voice says again, this time a whisper in my ear.
I grimace slightly, turning my head. Her face is so close to mine I can see the light spray of freckles across her nose. The faint scent of mint comes from the gum she is chewing. The scent is intoxicating and memories of the past flood through my mind. “I got your drink, tough guy.”
She steps back and places the glass in front of me, half full with a copper liquid. It isn’t a deep, rich colour like the expensive bourbon most mobsters like to drink, but, quite frankly, the cheaper stuff goes down smoother, with just the right amount of burn. My gaze lifts back up to hers and she smiles. She fuckin’ smiles at me. This girl is pure sunshine and I hate how much I want her. She stretches out her hand. “My name is Viv, what’s yours?”
“Mason.”
I swear her eyes widen a little at my name. But that is the only response I am going to give.
My eyes trace up and down her body; her curves are more prominent now she is up close. I would have to use every fibre in my body not to take this girl out the back and have my way with her. Even her voice is angelic and I could listen to her talk all night. My eyes focus on her but I am drawn to the rowdy boys cheering over near the bar as a tray of drinks goes crashing to the ground.
The other girl picks up her tray and runs towards the bathrooms. What the fuck did they do. Viv’s head turns towards them. They look over to her as she walks in their direction. “Right boys,” she calls out over the noise they are making. “Which one of you cunts did that?”
Holy shit she’s got some balls. My dick twitches again. I shift my weight; now is not the time to be aroused by her. Taking a sip of my bourbon, I watch her fiery attitude staring down these idiots. I can already tell she can hold her own, so I just lean back in my seat and watch the show. One of them tries to grab her ass while another is distracting her.
A growl forms in my throat. I shift in my seat, wanting these idiots out myself, but then I see her hand pull backwards and fly forward, hitting him in the nose. Thatta girl , I grin and lean back against the wall.
Within a few minutes, they are gathering their things and she is escorting them out the door. I watch her hips sway as she follows them and pulls the doors closed behind them, even before the last of them can fully walk out the door. “Don’t come back here ever again!” she yells.
Turning and facing my direction, she winks at me with a little smile and makes her way back over to my booth. I raise a brow and my glass to her and take a sip, letting the burn run down my throat. As she gets closer, she presses her hip against the table.
“Not bad,” I say and she folds her arms across her chest.
“When you’ve grown up like I have, you learn to be a little tougher.” The corner of her mouth lifts into a smile.
She turns to face me fully, curiosity lighting up her expression as her hand reaches out to touch my face. “You’ve got a little som—” she begins, but my hand instinctively catches her wrist before she can touch my face. “Easy now, it’s okay. You’ve got something just under your eye.”
She moves her hand away from my face and picks up a napkin. Her hand makes its way back towards my cheek again and it feels like it is her bare hand touching my skin and not the napkin. Did she feel the same spark from her touch that I did? Probably not, but she did hesitate for a brief moment.
“Uh, here.” She holds out the napkin towards me.
My eyes move down to the napkin and there is a dark spot on it. Blood. Shit , I never cleaned off my face after what went down earlier. But when my eyes meet hers again, she doesn’t flinch. She smiles at me. This woman is as unfazed as I am and, honestly, I am even harder for her.
“Thanks. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and clean up.”
She nods and walks away from the table as I make my way out back to the bathroom. There is a jukebox next to the doors to the bathroom, Summer of ‘69 is playing as I walk past, occasionally skipping.
I need to see just how much blood is on my face. I walk as fast as I can down the hall, pushing open the door that reads ‘MEN’.
I look at myself in the mirror. Man I look like fuckin’ shit. There are still a few blood splatters that speckle across my face and cheeks; the red is a stark contrast with the ice blue colour of my irises. A black eye is forming under my left eye. I don’t even remember getting hit. The bags under my eyes are getting blacker and my eyes are heavy.
Splashing water on my face, I try to clean up a little. What excuse can I come up with out there that would make this seem less weird? A fight broke out in the parking lot, maybe? Maybe not, as that would be less believable given how quiet it is.
The cold water brings me back to reality. I need sleep.
Walking back out into the bar, I look for Viv. She isn’t on the floor serving, not sitting at the booth I had been at a moment ago, and she isn’t near the bar. I guess she’s clocked off for the night; she was probably spooked at the sight of me but put on a brave face.
But now she is playing on my mind like a broken record and I have to know everything there is to know about her. I have a feeling I am going to be frequenting Gravel and Grit a lot more now that I know she is here.