Liar & Champion (Super Serum Billionaires #3)

Prologue

Prophet

A year ago

The scent of tobacco still haunted the woodwork, generations of those who used the product they created, still leaving their imprint, as clear as the one they’d left on the descendants of a legacy growing heavier with each generation.

“They call you the Prophet,” she said, glancing up from her modern laptop. It sat on the solid desk in the place of ancient ledgers that filled the library, if you were curious about the family business in the seventeenth century.

“They call you the Crocodile. How much stock do you put in titles?” I said with a smile as warm as the sun, even if we were shielded in the dark office by heavy blinds.

Her icy blue eyes narrowed at me. She had more lines around her eyes every time I saw her. Age was taking its toll, her expanding domain taking all of her resources to maintain when her strength was wearing thin.

“Who calls me a crocodile?” she asked, without bothering to smile. The question was a command, but I ignored it for a moment, walking over to the window to open the blinds enough to let in some sunshine. There was too much darkness in the world not to lighten up when you possibly could.

“Your son.” I wasn’t looking at her to see her reaction, but I could hear her indrawn breath.

They might call me the prophet, but you didn’t speak casually to the Crocodile of the House of Beasts unless you wanted to be ripped limb from limb.

She might decide that the Prophet had spoken his last and have my tongue cut out, or she might listen.

The odds were in favor of the latter, but you never knew with someone like her.

“You’ve spoken to him recently?” She was listening, even if she did voice that as a command too, that I must tell her everything I knew.

Once I’d adjusted the blinds so the light would spill on the chair across the desk from her, I walked softly over the rich plush carpet to take my seat. “Dearest Aunt, of course I’ve spoken to Cousin Nix recently. He advised me which horse to place my bets on the last time I was in Las Vegas.”

She raised a thin brow, meticulously plucked and drawn on to show her regal indifference, but her eyes were brighter, more engaged. “Which horse was that?”

“Horse VanBuren, but he doesn’t go by a last name in those parts. Nix is getting drawn into his game.”

“VanBuren is clever, but he overreaches.”

I shrugged. Clever was a vast understatement when referring to the mental acuity of Las Vegas’s second finest brawler. “Nix is going to get himself involved in certain factions that he isn’t prepared to withstand.”

“And then I’ll force him to my will.”

I cocked my head. “You could, but knowing Nix as well as we both do, he won’t be forced. He won’t be manipulated. He won’t be made to do anything.”

She leaned forward, cold eyes glinting dangerously. “Then I’m supposed to do nothing?”

“If you were asking my opinion, I would leave the trap in a wide open field that he gets accustomed to traversing. Do you want him to be your son, to take his place, or do you want him to die in some back alley from a concussion? You can’t force him to be the son you want, but he has the capacity to be more than you ever dreamed, if you can allow him to see it with his own eyes and want it for his own reasons. ”

She studied me with pursed lips. “You’re too metaphysical for me to understand, Prophet. What trap do I want for my son?”

“Respectability.”

She leaned back and steepled her fingers, studying the massive chandelier above the desk. “And when my son’s enemies have him outmaneuvered?”

“Assist without asking anything in return.”

She nodded slightly. “To get him accustomed to the field, to working with my associates.”

“And then, after he feels secure, you gently remind him of your power.”

Her eyes flashed. “I’m not known for gentleness.”

“But you are capable of it. You are capable of anything. I never forget that. Yellow tape. Strangle him in it from the subtlest traffic ticket to health code violations. Use your Guild of Extraordinary to gently remind him that the freedom he enjoys is a gift that can be taken away.”

She was tapping her fingers, a soft padding sound that made my own heart want to speed up in response to her call to war. “And when he comes to confront me?”

“You propose a deal, a deal which you must make inviolable on your part. You can’t be tempted to break him once he is in your power, or he will break everything.”

She exhaled and looked away, frowning at the window, the bright greenery and life she found distracting. “And this deal?”

“Date a respectable woman from your alma mater for six months. That’s it. For his happiness, not yours.”

She turned a surprised look at me. “A woman?”

“A respectable woman from your school, AHU.”

She laughed, and the beauty of it was as terrifying as the rest of her. “He will refuse.”

“I doubt it. If he complies, you don’t attempt any coercion of him and his for the rest of his life. Your hands, permanently tied. How could he resist that offer?”

“Why would I agree to it?”

“Because you’re tired. He will make your House of Beasts roar like never before. If he decides that it’s necessary. If he has a reason to wage war.”

“And this respectable woman, his Helen of Troy?”

I held out my hand, letting the sunshine play over my fingers, warming them before I finished this gambit. “There are several options at the school that will do, including a few serum daughters. It will be interesting to see how he fares in that kind of fight.”

The greedy look in her eyes was accompanied by the licking of her thin lips. “It will indeed. It will indeed.” She smoothed her fingers over her laptop and raised her brow at me as I stood. “Are you off to do more prophesying?”

“Killing. I have a large roster that I hate hanging over my head. Only a few people call me prophet. The rest call me death.”

Her laughter followed me out of that slender sliver of sunshine and into the darkness.