No Saint for His Rival

1. Helen

CHAPTER ONE

My day at the office started when I brought a coffee to my mother at her morning meeting and ended with murder in the parking garage. Not ideal, but not unusual. More of a nuisance than anything.

The red bottoms of my heels clicked on the concrete as I approached a guard named Cargill (probably), leaning against the back of a truck. A line of red dripped from his broken nose over his lips and splattered on the floor. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, but he managed a nod at my approach.

“Update,” I demanded.

He coughed and several red droplets shot from his mouth. A grimace pulled at my lips, and I took a step back. My two ever-present guards stepped around me to take in the gruesome scene on the other side of the truck. The pungent odor of freshly spilled blood hit my nose.

“Apologies,” Cargill groaned, pressing a hand to the leaking gunshot wound on his side. Crimson ribbons wept through his fingers. “There were three of them.”

“And how many of ours did we lose?”

“Two. Smith and Johnson,” he answered.

My guards had their heads bent together, quietly discussing the state of the parking garage and the five bodies spread haphazardly about. Blood coated the concrete walls and several spaced apart vehicles like a brutal Jackson Pollock.

“Shame,” I sighed. “Did you call the cleaners?”

Cargill nodded, sweat pouring from his bald head. He stumbled further down the back of the truck until he sank to the floor. I crouched with him, careful not to get my shoes in the pool of his blood spreading across the ground. They were simply too expensive to risk.

“And have you called my mother yet?” At that, he winced, and I didn’t blame him. Mother would be a nightmare when she saw the scene. “I take that as a no, then. Alright,” I said, standing, “we have a lot of work to do.”

“Wait, Ms. Montgomery.” Cargill struggled to stay upright as he lost another gush of blood.

“Please, stop moving and wait for the team to arrive. That’s an order, Cargill.”

“The men who attacked us, you should know?—”

One of my guards waved a hand for my attention.

Banjo’s pale skin and gray flecked hair made him appear more like a ghoul than a man under the harsh lights.

The permanent downward curve of his lips, narrowed eyes, and tight jaw gave him a menacing appearance.

Luckily, none of our enemies saw how his eyes positively sparkled for pink bubblegum ice cream.

“What do you mean?” I ignored him for the moment.

“They—” the near silent crack of a bullet splitting the air cut him off. Cargill’s eyes stayed wide as his body slumped over.

My heart kicked up the back of my throat as I slammed myself behind the truck. On the other side, grunts and scuffling echoed. I peered through a back window, catching flashes of my guards swiftly handling the problem.

Had one of the assailants still been alive and shot my employee?

How rude.

As the renewed scuffle went silent, I pushed myself off the dusty grey truck and brushed the filth from my black silk blouse. My top cost more than some people earned in a month. A grimace stayed on my face as I turned around the truck to examine the full scene.

Gizmo, my other guard, was mid-wipe of his dagger after yanking it from a body at the edge of the pile of limbs. Three black-clad figures were riddled with holes and leaking everywhere. The human body contained far too many bodily fluids. Cleaning this up would be a nightmare.

“One was still alive?” I asked. Banjo and Gizmo nodded in tandem. “Well, Cargill is dead now.”

Gizmo pointed from the newest dead man to me.

“Was he aiming for me?” I rolled my eyes. “The audacity.” With a huff, I circled the grisly scene, careful not to step on a blasted off finger. The parking garage security team, Smith and Johnson, made a mess of the assailants before the attack ended with all parties dead. Or nearly dead.

“Who do you think it was—” I started before noticing the black masks partially obscured by blood and the attackers’ hoods. They weren’t ratty ski-masks, but well-made and matching. Now that was unusual.

The elevator doors dinged, and several voices filled the parking garage. A group of white-clad workers filed in, nodding at me as I stepped aside to give them room. The last of them, a scrawny young man, whispered behind his face guard, “Your mother is on her way.”

“Lovely.” My shoulders dropped. “Thank you for the warning.”

One cleaner sighed when they noticed Cargill among the losses. Regardless, they got to work picking up random lost digits and mopping up the sea of blood. Not willing to risk my outfit, I took several steps back.

Mother arrived moments later, a storm of a woman carrying half the world on her shoulders.

She stood tall with her honey-brunette hair in a neat chignon and an impeccable emerald-green dress on her petite frame.

Her entourage of guards followed her across the garage in a cacophony of thumping boots.

“Darling,” she placed a hand on my arm. Her red manicured nails stood out against my black sleeve as much as the blood stood out on the walls surrounding us.

“Hello, Mother,” I greeted.

Her calculating gaze swept over the scene. She scowled.

“It looks like a bad Jackson Pollock.”

“That’s what I thought!” My hands waved at the bodies.

A secret smile curved her red-painted lips. She tipped her head to the side and vented a disappointed breath. “An attack is one thing. An attack when you, your father, and I are still on site is another entirely. It’s garish and unconscionable. Do we know who they were?”

“No. I think Cargill had something to say but?—”

“Where’s Cargill now?” she asked, looking around.

I pointed at the cleaner rolling up a body into a black tarp. Mother pursed her lips, stressing the lines around her eyes.

“A survivor shot him before he could tell me anything. Gizmo and Banjo neutralized them.” Mother looked over at my guards as I spoke. “The masks are odd.”

“Yes, that’s not something I’ve seen before.”

Mother angled toward the elevator as the doors swung open again. Another group stepped out; this time led by my father in a sharp charcoal gray suit. His emerald tie matched Mother’s dress.

“Que s’est-il passé maintenant?” his baritone voice boomed through the parking garage. His guards, alongside my mother’s, took point at all the exits of the underground parking garage. That late at night, most of our employees had already retired for the day.

“That’s what Helen and I were discussing, love,” Mother answered. She gave him her cheek for a swift kiss, wrinkling her nose at the tickle from his mustache but smiling warmly at him all the same. “We don’t know who they are or what they want. They’ve made a dreadful mess of the garage.”

“Papa, they’re wearing masks. Do we know of a group dressing up like knockoff horror film villains?” I asked.

He swiped a hand over his mouth, gripping his chin in thought. Then he shrugged, with a darkening scowl sweeping over his expression. “Non. Mais je vais vous dire de qui je pense que c’est?—”

“Non. Non. Non. Papa, no, not this again?—”

“—Ce devait être la famille Graham,” he said with finality. Mother blinked patiently at him.

The wet squelching of the cleaners taking care of the bodies grew loud. Tarps rustled, the workers grunted, limp arms severed from torsos flopped uselessly to the side.

“It’s been years since we’ve had any issues with the Graham family, love,” Mother assured, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Surely these masked assailants belong to another family.”

“Non! They’ve been on our ass or lurking in our shadows for years now. This is a blatant move against us. We must seek retribution!”

Leave it to the Frenchman, I thought. Luckily, he missed the exasperated roll of my eyes.

“The Graham family,” I scoffed, irritated at the suggestion. I dropped my head into my hands, plagued by memories attached to that name—memories of childhood bullying, rivalry, and stolen moments in the dark.

I’d rather focus on the grotesquerie left in the wake of the attack than my father’s theories about a competing crime family. Even as I squashed my memories into oblivion, I knew I wouldn’t get so lucky as to escape them.

An attack made on our family brought all our rivals into the spotlight as potential contenders for the blame. The abnormal nature of the masks didn’t dissuade my father’s suspicion. He continued with a long tirade in French about recent rumors. Mother and I only half listened as we shared a glance.

“We’ll call a council meeting.” It wasn’t a suggestion. Charlotte Montgomery led our businesses and our family in all decisions. My mother’s words stood as law.

My face blanched and my blood turned cold in my veins. I wouldn’t escape memories of him if forced to see his family. But as an adult now, I liked to imagine I had the patience and grace to deal with the bastard instead of shoving my thousand-dollar heel up his?—

“Masked men attacking our public place of business is a potential risk for the other families. I’ll make the call.” Mother spoke with finality, almost hissing through her teeth. “We will discover who was responsible, and they won’t get away with this.”

A shiver went down my spine.

Father nodded and looped their arms together. I remained frozen in place, blankly staring at the blood as it was mopped off the concrete. Mother gave her last orders to the cleaner crew handling the bodies. Somewhere in my mind, I noted a cleaner handing Father one of the masks.

My stomach sank lower as Mother pressed a careful kiss to my cheek. She noticed my blank expression, and a crease of concern pinched her brows. One delicate finger brushed a curl of my hair, an identical match to hers, behind my ear.

“You did good coming down here first thing, Helen. I’m proud of you for taking charge.”

“Thank you,” I replied robotically. Internally, I cringed and forced a smile onto my face. “Whoever is responsible won’t get away with this. I just don’t think it was the Grahams.”

“I’m surprised you don’t agree with your father. You had a rough time with?—”

“Where’s Arthur?” I interrupted. “Someone needs to inform him of the attack.”

Her keen, narrowed gaze and slight purse of her lips conveyed saw through my diversion but would leave the matter alone. For now.

“Your brother is likely nose deep in a mountain of snow. You’ll tell him of today’s incident, won’t you?” Mother posed it as a question, but it was decidedly not one.

“Of course, Mother.”

“There’s a good darling.” She patted my cheek.

“Ce devait être les Graham. Des salopards de merde,” Father continued ranting about our fiercest rivals, much to Mother’s increasing chagrin. Though she was right; it was a surprise I didn’t agree with him. His grudge might run deeper than mine.

My stomach sank deeper as my parents returned to the elevator, followed by their personal guards.

I wanted to rewind time back to before I received the call about attackers sneaking into the parking garage.

Before I had to leave my comfortable office and deal with the hassle.

Before Father had an opportunity to bring up our rivals and before my sordid history with one of them in particular flared in my mind.

Maybe if the attacker who shot Cargill hadn’t missed, I wouldn’t be facing a council meeting in the coming week. That almost seemed like a more pleasing outcome. Yes, I’d much rather be shot somewhere unsavory than face the Graham family again.

Especially him. Ten years wasn’t long enough for my taste. I could have gone another ten, or twenty, even thirty, without thinking of that arrogant, insufferable asshole again.

The claws of a headache dug into my skull, and I rubbed my temples.

Running through a list of known organizations in my recent memory came up blank. None of the established crime families had a mask gimmick that I knew of.

I sent a guard to find my brother in whatever club he was haunting for the night.

If I saw him face to face, I’d run the risk of a full-blown migraine.

Bad enough someone half-dead tried to shoot me.

I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time, but I wasn’t in the mood for it as late in the day as it was.

Once the cleaners removed the bodies and erased the evidence of an attack, Banjo and Gizmo scanned the garage for anything that might have been overlooked.

The hour of watching left me ample time to think—and think, I didn’t want to do.

More than anything, I needed to get the rising memories out of my head and the smell of death off my skin.

After dismissing the cleaners, I finally slid into the backseat of my ride. “Putain de merde! Of course, Papa just had to mention the Grahams. Now I’m going to have to see that pompous asshole again! It’s been ten years!”

Gizmo drove in silence. Banjo merely nodded from the passenger seat. They rarely spoke, but I knew my loyal guards always listened intently. I wouldn’t have kept them around otherwise.

“Did anyone find Arthur?” If I didn’t redirect my frustration to save my sanity, I would lose it.

Banjo handed me a phone showing pictures of my brother being escorted from a local nightclub. His hair was mussed, his outfit rumpled, and his eyes appeared dazed. I crossed my arms in a huff. Fucking coke-sniffing idiot wouldn’t be so lucky if more of those masked attackers showed up.

It wasn’t a coincidence that masked assailants showed up at the Montgomery family business. Three men in ski-masks might have passed as a failed robbery elsewhere. But not with those tailor-made masks, not at our business, and not when one of them tried to shoot me and missed.

Poor Cargill.

I’d have to keep that tidbit of information from Mother for now. She would raise hell if it seemed like our family, and not our business, was being targeted. A knot of unease formed in my gut. Recent stirrings among the crime families didn’t bode well.

If those masked invaders hadn’t been stopped before their attack truly began, what would have been the outcome? Were they there to send a message or hunt our family down? Those thoughts made my empty stomach lurch.

Late night city lights danced against the dark windows. I pressed my forehead to the frigid glass, seeking a shock of cold to ground my racing mind back in the moment.

First things first, I needed to assign a watch over Arthur so my idiot brother didn’t stumble into being murdered. Then I needed to get home, take a long, hot shower, and drink so much wine that I, once again, erased those brown eyes.