Chapter 5
Sinister
I stride through Aidan O’Brien’s compound, sweeping my gaze over the marble floors and along the art-covered walls.
People scramble out of my way when they notice the heavy scowl on my face, the terror in their eyes doing little to placate my inner monster.
It’s the anniversary of Wren’s death, and every year, I go into the woods to remember her and search for her remains.
She deserves a proper burial, even though I know the possibility of finding any trace of her after all this time is unlikely.
Having it interrupted by an urgent message from the IT department has turned my already sour mood into a homicidal one.
After pulling me out of the Aries River, Aidan took me home with him.
Once I’d recovered from the beating and near drowning, he put me to work.
At the time, I would have gnawed my own arm off for the man.
Not only did he rescue me, but he gave me a home, food, affection, and a purpose.
It was the first time since my parents’ deaths that someone other than Wren was kind to me, and I held on to it with every fiber of my being.
I would—and did—anything he asked of me.
As the years passed, he treated me like his own son. I received the finest education, learned martial arts, and how to use a variety of weapons. The regular exercise and three meals a day transformed the skinny teenager into a highly disciplined and honed man.
When I was sixteen, I executed my first kill. I no longer remember his name, but he had been one of Aidan’s men. He thought he could steal from the Irishman and no one would notice. Aidan wanted me to make an example of him, and so I did.
That day, The Carver was born.
On my eighteenth birthday, Aidan declared me his heir. Dissenters were quickly dispatched, and the blood-soaked floors of the compound served as a warning to anyone else who had an issue with it.
Guilt would plague most individuals when it comes to taking a life, but consciences are funny things.
My time with Richard changed me on a fundamental level.
Sinclair is well and truly gone and has been since he went into the river.
When I take a life, I feel nothing even closely resembling remorse. Every man I kill deserves to die.
That was the one stipulation I made the first time Aidan ordered me to kill. Only the guilty, and under no circumstances would I hurt a child. He’s never asked me to do otherwise, and I’ve never broken that vow.
I throw the basement door open and jog down the stairs, my boots echoing on the metal treads.
The members of the geek squad don’t bother looking up from their computers as I storm past. They’re like moles, rarely peeking their heads out of the underground, as evidenced by their red-rimmed eyes and pale skin.
If they ever remade Bram Stoker’s Dracula , they would nail the part through their looks alone.
Turning right, I duck into the service room, following the maze-like paths through walls of computers. Neon purple-and-blue lights flash and blink, looking like something out of a science fiction movie.
The door of the little office hiding at the back of the room might be closed, but I don’t bother knocking, and stride in like I own the place. Carlos, the head IT guy, flicks his gaze up at me before going back to work.
“You should learn to knock,” he mutters as his fingers fly over the keyboard.
“You should learn respect,” I counter.
Carlos lets loose a long-suffering sigh. He stretches his arms into the air, leans back in his chair, and gives me a once-over. “Could you look any more like a thug?” he asks, gesturing at me.
I glance down, my brow furrowing. Steel-capped boots, black jeans, black T-shirt, black sweater. All that’s missing is my overcoat, but Aidan prefers to keep the compound’s temperature at a sauna-like level, so I don’t wear it inside.
“What’s wrong with it?” I ask.
“Nothing. Forget I said anything.”
I scoff and throw myself into the highly uncomfortable chair facing his desk. “I doubt you texted me to chat about my wardrobe. What’s so urgent?”
“You know the saying, ‘don’t kill the messenger’?”
“Yes.”
“So don’t, okay? I’m not ready to end up in the bay yet. Still have shit to do.” My fists clench, making Carlos gulp. There are very few people I tolerate. Carlos is one of them, but I’m really not in the mood for bullshit today. “Okay, okay. Keep your shirt on, Sin.”
“Don’t call me that,” I say, anger threading my words. It’s what Wren used to call me—I won’t allow anyone else to.
Carlos glides his chair back, putting distance between us. “Sorry, Sinister. My apologies. I see it’s one of those days.”
A low growl rumbles in my chest, and his face pales. Fuck. “I apologize. It’s a bad day, Carlos. Just get on with it, okay?”
He eyes me warily but gives a nod. “You asked me to inform you if I noticed anyone searching for you online.”
“And?” It’s a regular occurrence. Some of Arcadia’s citizens want me dead. Others, like the girls on Eros Lane, see me as some kind of dark superhero. And the rest are just downright terrified. I would expect searches. But Carlos wouldn’t call me here for everyday, run-of-the-mill searches.
“Yesterday, there was a new flurry of searches on you coming from outside of Arcadia. That wouldn’t generally be concerning. After all, people talk, and the city isn’t a prison. Might’ve been someone curious after hearing stories. But this? This is something different.”
I sit straighter. “Different how?”
“They’re coming in on two fronts. Social media, news outlets, police files…they’re hitting everything, leaving no stone unturned. I don’t know who they are, but their encryption is next-level. And before you ask, no, I can’t track them.”
“What else?”
“They’re attempting to hack our servers.”
My fingers tap my knee. “Will they get in?”
When Carlos’s face loses all sense of humor, I know it’s serious. In all the years I’ve known him, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him look so blank. “Yes.”
“Yes?” I jump to my feet and lean my hands on his desk. “What do you mean, yes?”
“They’re good. Like, really good. You know I’m excellent at what I do, Sinister. It’s why Aidan hired me. I’m one of the best. But this?” He waves his hand toward the large window overlooking the server room. “This is beyond anything I can deal with.”
“Shut it down.”
“If I do?—”
“Can we recover?” I demand.
Carlos hesitates but nods. “There might be losses, though. I can’t accurately predict the outcome. But Sinister, Aidan—” I slice my hand through the air.
“I’ll deal with him. The important thing is keeping the business and Aidan’s assets safe.” I move toward the door before turning back. “Out of curiosity, were there any searches on Aidan? Or just me?”
“Just you.”
I hum and leave his office. As I walk back through the maze, the computer lights go dark, and the fans slow before cutting off. An eerie silence falls over the room, and the staff drift from their desks to stand at the doorways to their offices, watching me as I stride past them.
Who the fuck is searching for me? And why?
“Do what you need to do,” Aidan says weakly before racking coughs render him speechless.
My chest aches at the sight of the man I’ve come to see as a father figure.
He’ll only be seventy on his next birthday, and if it wasn’t for the cancer spreading throughout his body, I would have expected him to see many more years.
The one bonus of him having established me as his heir ten years ago—and having the reputation I do—means the transition of power should go smoothly after his passing.
However, I can’t ensure there won’t be another attempted coup, whether from internal or external forces, so I have resorted to bribery and threats to maintain secrecy regarding his medical condition.
Someday, I’ll weed out all the corruption plaguing Arcadia and return it to what it once was. But until then, I’ll do what I need to do.
I snatch the cup of ice water off the trolley sitting by his bed and cradle his head so he can sip from the straw. The nurse sitting in the corner watches me with wide eyes, but I ignore her. She has nothing to fear from me as long as she does her job and takes care of Aidan the way he deserves.
After straightening his blanket, I leave the depressing room and tamp down on my feelings. With the anniversary, the unknown hacking threat, and Aidan’s looming death, not keeping my emotions in check could be disastrous.
It’s too bad I’ve been unable to locate the other men responsible for Wren’s death. Spilling blood would go a long way toward soothing my mood. My hands curl into fists, and the corner of my mouth lifts. That’s precisely what I need.
Let’s go hunting.