Chapter 1
ERRYN
Ten years later
To be a woman in a world not designed for the fairer sex, you needed to have the sharper teeth, a quicker mind, and the biggest metaphorical dick to swing around. And sweetheart, I’m fucking hung.
I clawed my way to my throne. It’s taken blood and sacrifices to keep it, and now I rule the United Kingdom’s faction of the Triarchy: a global underground corporation that doesn’t play by the deeply flawed rules of law.
In a world of monsters, we have the deadliest on our payroll. The Triarchy finds the threats, eliminates them, and then salts the earth in our wake.
We are damn good at what we do.
Of the three factions currently in the field, London has the largest roster, and I am the only Chair to have ever been promoted from agent after my predecessor was retired.
I inherited this faction in disarray, the entire corporation limping through some poorly handled contracts that nearly brought it to ruin.
The Head—the silent Triarchy benefactor whose identity is withheld even from us—took a leap of faith with my promotion.
It was heavily contested, and I have worked myself to the bone to lift this corporation up to its former glory every day since.
London, Paris, and Rome are the three pillars of the Triarchy, with a fourth possible faction set to be initiated in Washington once the Head has decided on a Chair who can lead it through its infancy. I turned down the position last week—a decision I was still questioning.
A cursory knock on my office door preempted Ben, my assistant, slipping through the door with my lunch in one hand as he read something on his phone, concern etched into every line of his face.
“Tell me,” I said, waving him to set the food down.
“I’ve forwarded a chain of emails that need your attention, and one from the Head in response,” he murmured, his fingers flying across his screen as my laptop chimed with incoming emails.
“There has been a security breach in Paris. The Head has initiated the safehouse protocol, effective immediately.”
I frowned, clicking open the chain of emails Ben had forwarded and scanned down the short email. “This seems like a slight overreaction to a data breach,” I murmured. “The protocol was designed to keep the safety of the corporation as a whole, not for a faction’s internal fuck up.”
“Next email,” Ben said, and I clicked across.
“The security breach included the security codes to the Boucher estate. The Chair’s personal residence in Paris was hit at 0530hrs, and it was intercepted by one of his agents.
Unfortunately, those responsible were terminated on sight, but they were found with equipment aimed at retrieval and containment. It was an abduction attempt.”
“Clearly,” I muttered, my eyes flying over the debrief from Boucher’s agent.
It had been shut down impressively fast, from the initial security alert to Boucher’s removal to a safehouse and the attackers being put down was seventeen minutes.
The report, complete with fingerprinting, photos, and encoded movements, had followed within the hour, and I glanced at the name of the agent, taking note. Artemis.
“The Head wants you and Maxim to follow protocol, immediately. I’m not sure if there is something we are not being told, or if this is just a precaution, but the orders were very clear.”
“Send the children to their bunker,” I seethed. “If this is an organized movement, they are both a liability. I made the damn protocol in case of this exact issue for them, not me. By the time I have my kit moved to the safehouse, I could have the situation under control.”
“Right,” Ben said on an exhale. “What should I tell the Head?”
“I didn’t hire a fool, Benjamin.”
“No—yes. I mean, of course. I will take care of it.”
I ignored him, closing my laptop and switching to my dual monitors to begin checking our systems. I didn’t drag this corporation out of the gutter just to have two incompetent Chairs fuck it back into the dirt.
Ben hovered anxiously, and I waved him off.
“Go negotiate me out of the princess panic room while I dig into this.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Loxley.”
“Pardon, ma’am?”
“Lox-ley,” I repeated, biting back my irritation at having to remind him yet again of my dislike at being addressed by anything other than my name.
It seemed to be his default to turn into a super sub whenever he was anxious, and while it made him incredibly well-suited to his job, I had an irrational dislike of that term.
Ben nodded, looking like he was having some sort of internal crisis. God, his mother must have been fun at parties.
“Say it.” I waited for him with a raised brow as he shifted in his perfectly polished shoes.
“Yes…Loxley.”
“Good boy,” I murmured, already turning my attention back to the screens. “I’d rather not have to remind you again.”
Pouring myself a gin, I began hunting through our systems, becoming more and more uncomfortable with what I found as the hours ticked by.
The entire database was outdated and needed an overhaul.
I couldn’t even tell where exactly the breach had come from, or the extent, and logging into Maxim’s database only served to infuriate me more.
It was in fucking shambles, and I should have had an eye on this already.
A notification popped up and I opened the email chain Ben had just forwarded, scanning through the overly polite, yet subtly acidic negotiations between Ben and Marie, who, interestingly, had held her position as the Head’s assistant for longer than most. My lip curled in distaste when it culminated in the Head’s insistence that I have a guard assigned to my person until the threat was contained if I was intent on not following the protocol.
It was followed up by an email from Ben informing me that he would prioritize acquiring said guard before the day was through.
Hitting his number on my cell, it had barely rung before he picked up, sounding breathless.
“It’s the best I could negotiate for,” he panted, and I grimaced at the breathy huffs against the receiver.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “And I have eyes, I saw the emails. If I must have a damn guard, I want a female.”
“Female. Got it,” he said. “And I’m picking up the suit you ordered. The taxi was held up in traffic, so it was faster to walk. I will be back in twenty.”
“Just one.”
“One what?” Ben asked. “Suit? I know, I have the rec—”
“Guard,” I clarified. “I don’t want a gaggle of agents in my business.” There was a prolonged silence.
“The Head stated it was to be twenty-four-hour surveillance, m—Loxley,” he said eventually. “Even with twelve-hour shifts, two would be the minimum I could roster—”
“One,” I said. “And leave the roster to me.”
I hung up, picking up my forgotten lunch and peering into the container. The salad had wilted under a now soggy-looking piece of crumbed chicken, and I discarded it into the bin, getting up to pour myself another gin instead.
A fucking guard. Not only at work but in my god damned home as well.
It was ridiculous, and my skin crawled at the thought of having to share my space with anyone for a prolonged period of time.
Firing off messages to my housekeeper and chef to prepare the lower guest room and arrange for a second mouth to feed for an indeterminate amount of time, I returned to my work, quickly losing myself in the ever-growing list of things that needed my attention.
It was maybe an hour later when a knock on my door preempted a tall, bearded man I vaguely recognized as one of my senior agents entering, with Ben hard on his heels and looking like he was about to faint.
“Can I help you?” I asked, raising a brow.
“Cage, ma’am,” the agent said. I was instructed to report to you immediately.”
I blinked at him, then at Ben. The man looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, telling me everything I needed to know.
“Right. You are dismissed, Cage. Your services will not be required.”
“My orders come from your superior, ma’am,” Cage said, his face impassive. “You cannot dismiss me. I am to shadow you until the threat has been neutralized.”
Ben was looking paler by the minute, a sheen of sweat beading across his lip as his eyes darted from me to Cage, and back again.
“Overruled?” I asked, my voice dropping an octave as I glared at them both.
I rose, rounding my desk until I was standing nose to nose with him, sliding my Glock from its holster at my thigh as I did.
Credit where it’s due, he didn’t even flinch as I pressed the muzzle to his crotch and clicked off the safety.
“The Head may own the Triarchy, but I own you, Cage. If you ever want to receive another contract in this corporation, get out of my fucking office,” I murmured, looking him dead in the eye. “I won’t repeat myself a third time.”
A muscle twitched next to his eye, though he remained composed as he took a step back, inclined his head once to me, and left as silently as he had arrived.
I tapped the muzzle of my gun against my thigh as I dragged my gaze to Ben.
“He was already on his way,” he said quickly.
I hummed softly, still eyeing him.
“Cage is one of our most decorated,” Ben pressed, then stopped as my brow rose a fraction. Glancing down at his tablet, he scrolled through a list. “Level one…” He trailed off as he ran down the list. “Lancaster is currently in the field, but I can have her reassig—”
“No,” I said, ignoring his curious look at the shortness of my tone and taking the device from him. I scanned the names, mentally checking off a few I had already assigned to other positions, then pausing at another that rang a distant bell.
“Rossi.” I tossed it back. “She will do.”
Ben winced.
“Helena Rossi? Can I suggest…anyone else? Literally anyone else.”
“She was the one I recruited from the Kincaid job, was she not?” I asked, already losing interest. I was irritated, slightly concerned over the urgency the Head was putting on this breach, my hip was beginning to ache in its low, persistent way as the old bullet wound made its presence known, and I just wanted him to leave so I could chase some aspirin with a gin and sit down.
“She is.” He sighed. “She also has eighteen strikes for grievous misconduct, and no one will work with her.” He clicked something on the tablet. “And she’s currently under review for a nineteenth.”
“I see her temperament hasn’t improved,” I said dryly, turning my attention to my laptop and bringing up her file with a few clicks.
Her profile flashed up on screen, my eyes lingering on her photo for a moment as I reached deep into my memory to the day we first met.
She still looked much the same as the twenty-two-year-old woman I had met nearly ten years ago, and I was momentarily envious of how those years hadn’t touched her olive skin as they had mine.
Her eyes were still the startling shade of green that had captivated me back then, though the mass of dark ringlets was now pulled back into a tight braid.
I clicked on her history, loading a cascade of red-lined boxes onto my screen.
Each was a disciplinary strike linked to a fine deducted from her wages, the amount increasing with each offense.
Money was the only effective method we had found to keep the morally grey in line.
Helena’s most recent fine topped ￡25,000.
“Grievous bodily harm on a colleague,” I read aloud, noting that most of the strikes were for the same charge. “The woman is working just to pay her strikes at this point.”
“She cut off Martinez’s trigger finger over a disagreement.
It was reattached, but he is still in rehab.
And counseling,” Ben added. “She hasn’t defaulted on a job yet, despite her…
antisocial behavior. She was given level one clearance as a workaround to enable her to work solo.
” He shook his head. “I can reassign Gomez or Williams—”
“Rossi will do,” I said firmly, my mind already set much to the obvious distress of my harassed-looking assistant.
I should really give the man a raise soon.
I had been particularly irritable since a romantic predicament I found myself in fell apart months ago.
I had noticed the way Ben stayed on the nights I worked late, always on hand in case I required anything of him.
I made a mental note to send a notice to payroll before the next cycle as I dismissed him with a wave of my gun to the door.
“Tell her to report to my office at 1500hrs.”