Drowning in Darkness (The Ruthless Creatures #3)

James

ONE

Not all monsters roam in darkness.

Some people come to revel in the agony; others come because they are chasing a cathartic release.

I am here for neither. I deserve everything Daisy dishes out and more so.

It’s taken time to find a woman willing to deliver what I need.

Pain is the only thing loud enough to drown out the noise.

I’m aware that there’s something amiss with me.

Strike that. There’s more wrong with me than right, but no amount of therapy is going to fix it.

Maybe once I’ve destroyed the organization I helped create, and the worst of humanity is imprisoned alongside me, I can finally rest.

Absolution does not apply to men like me. There is no forgiveness in my future. The sins I have committed are too many and too vast. But I’m trying to right the wrongs of my past before I am consumed by the weight of guilt ravaging my soul.

“You good?” Daisy asks. She squeezes my shoulder as I shrug on my jeans and hiss at the sting her whip left.

“For now. Thank you,” I utter while pulling on my black shirt and buttoning it up.

She sighs and prepares to give me her wisdom once more.

She must believe that if she persists with the same spiel, she’ll get through to me.

“It’s normal to get aftercare,” she tries, leaning against the black wood-paneled wall.

She’s changed from her leathers into a pair of skinny jeans and a white shirt.

The soft cotton and faded denim are a stark contrast to the woman who held a whip ten minutes ago.

“I don’t want it,” I reply as I shove my feet into my boots.

She shakes her head and folds her arms. “If you let me in, I might be able to help.”

I lean down and kiss her forehead. “You are giving me everything I need, Daisy.”

“If that were true, then you’d take pleasure in the act, and that’s not the case.”

I’m not here for pleasure. That part of me died long ago. “I don’t pay you for life advice.”

She snorts and pushes her hand against my chest as I snatch my wallet, phone, and keys from the dish next to the still pristine made bed with satin sheets.

We never use it. I’m sure it gets ample use from her other clients.

Daisy is in high demand with her practiced warmth and bright smiles, skilled at making men believe they’re worth saving.

It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted anyone. That’s a lie. There’s one exception, but I’d be a dead man for daring to even look at her.

“I’ll call you,” I say over my shoulder before opening the door and striding through the high-end sex club.

Sounds of twisted sin echo around me. Most here choose private rooms. Tastes range from gentle and sweet to dirty and perverse.

But one thing I’m sure of: every person who works here does so out of choice.

They are their own boss, paying the owner for a room and the tight security needed to protect them.

I nod at Gareth, one of the brothers who run the place. He raises a brow. “Didn’t realize you were here tonight, Jake.”

Jake, James, Jay... a multitude of names for each part of my life. I hate all of them.

“Last minute,” I answer. It’s true, but after weeks of little sleep, this is what I needed to do to get past it. It won’t last. The silence will disappear, and then I’ll be back to being surrounded by my demons.

The chilly Washington night air bites at the heat trapped beneath my clothes as I stride across the well-lit parking lot to my black Mercedes E-Class, great for all terrains. A familiar figure steps from the shadows beside my car, their red hair catching beneath the parking lot lights.

I raise a brow. “Agent Sinclair. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I might not be tagged, but Camryn Sinclair could track smoke through a hurricane. She’s efficient, loyal, dedicated, and has a strong sense of right and wrong, making her my perfect handler.

“Let’s go for a drive,” she says, flashing those pretty green eyes at me and straightening the peacoat covering her ever-present suit. I half believe she sleeps in those clothes, ready for action with a snap of her fingers.

I click the key fob, and we climb inside my car.

I pull onto the midnight streets of Washington, waiting for whatever the FBI is about to drop in my lap.

I’m a vital inside man, sitting at the head of an organisation rotten to its foundations.

Every piece we cut away reveals three more underneath.

Men with money, power, and enough influence to bury evidence beneath legal tape for decades.

Jonathan’s death proved that they’ll sacrifice pawns before they risk exposing the real monsters.

“Have fun?” she asks.

I glance at her and then back at the road. “Not the kind you’re thinking of.”

She hums in the back of her throat. “I don’t. I’m trying to understand.”

Ah, the delights of having an FBI profiler attached to my ass. “If you figure it out, let me know.”

“You could try therapy again.”

“Nope.” What’s the point when I have to temper what I say?

She turns up the heat and watches the empty streets roll past.

“Did you just come for a drive, or are you going to spit it out?” I ask. I’m tired and need to bed down while I can before the pain lessens.

“I believe Christopher is hunting for a new one to take.”

My lip curls. He’s at the top of my list after pursuing my sister across the country.

He put his greasy fingers on her, and that alone means his days are numbered.

But my hands have been tied by the FBI. I am out in this world to serve them, to deliver all the evil to their door at their discretion.

No one has figured out that their leader is tangled with the authorities.

If they did, it would be a death sentence. That’s where I’m heading, anyway.

“What do you need from me?”

“I’m sending you the latest list of his usual hunting grounds, and I need you to examine it and tell me if anything else should be included.”

“Sure, but that could have been handled over the phone, Agent Sinclair.”

“Camryn,” she corrects. “I think we’re past formalities after a year.”

“Plus, it helps your cover.”

She points to a parking lot at a closed gas station.

I pull in and put the brake on as she pulls out a manila folder from her coat.

She flips it open, drawing my gaze to the horror I force myself to face.

I don’t get to look away, not when I’ve been a part of the world that has gifted these people with the belief they are untouchable.

There’s a girl crumpled inside a dumpster, surrounded by black bags and garbage.

Cast aside like trash, a waste of a life, a future cut short for the pleasure of a man who needs to meet his maker.

I recognize Christopher’s handiwork from the bruises around her throat to her half-shaved head of dark hair.

I swallow the lump in my throat. That could have been my sister, Eleanor.

“Harriet Ivy Green,” she whispers with a shake of her head.

Camryn’s strength and weakness is her empathy.

She carries every victim home with her. Alone with her demons, she lets them settle beneath her skin until justice is the only thing keeping her upright.

“She went missing seven months ago while backpacking across Europe. Her last passport entry was France. Then she vanished.” She drums her bitten fingernails on the photo.

“It wasn’t unusual for her not to check in for a month at a time, so when her parents raised the alarm, the trail was already cold. ”

“Typical pattern for anyone in the ring,” I agree.

Christopher enjoys taking strong, vibrant women in their prime and breaking them down until their entire world becomes him and the pain he inflicts.

He also enjoys taking risks with girls who would be missed.

It makes him feel powerful, but it also makes him unpredictable.

Harriet Ivy Green is the perfect victim for him—out of touch enough for him to be secure in the knowledge he’d get away with it, but still dancing close to the edge of danger. “When did you find her?”

“Two weeks ago,” she grumbles. “She wasn’t flagged at first. There are four and a half thousand unidentified bodies found in our country every year, and it takes time for the authorities to identify the parameters I’m looking for.”

I grind my teeth. It’s a travesty that in a world where we can send people to the moon, we haven’t figured out how to stop these horrific crimes.

Even worse is that people are delivered to a mortuary slab, and no one has a clue who they are.

It’s a small relief to work beside someone as determined to destroy these people as I am.

Someone who still believes justice matters.

Working with Camryn feels like penance, but this work never ends.

Men like me don’t get clean exits, and I’ve made my peace with it.

“I’ll make contact and arrange a meet,” I decide.

She snaps the folder closed and leans her head against the seat.

Agent Camryn Sinclair is a beautiful yet intimidating woman, but I suspect most give her a wide berth to preserve their superiority.

She has few opportunities to meet people outside of her workplace, and that’s where the patriarchy is still thriving.

“I want this asshole next,” she murmurs.

“I agree.”

“But every time I make noises about him, one of two things happens.”

“Going to share with the class?”

Her eyes flick open, and she levels me with a glare. “Either a more urgent target is thrown in front of me, or someone up high declares we don’t have enough on him.”

We’re aware the ring has people in positions of power, both in government and in law enforcement. It’s like the deadliest game of chess. Very few folks in the FBI know about my double-cross for this reason.

“We’ll either nail him, or I’ll end him.” I swipe a hand through my hair.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

My lips twitch. That’s Camryn’s biggest endorsement.

She’s coming to terms with the fact that justice doesn’t always come through a conviction. Sometimes, evil must be eradicated for the good of society. We have to stop Christopher before he destroys another girl, and we both know it.