CHAPTER EIGHT
SAINT
The memory of that night still haunts me like a ghost.
He lingers in the fragment of my imagination. I still remember the dizzying trail of his scent. Citrus and jasmine. He smells divine. And I’m not a fool not to believe that my personal assistant and the man I met at Red Horn Club a week ago aren’t the same person.
Same height. Same eyes. Same build.
I never saw his face behind the mask.
I didn’t need to.
It’s the air of confidence he carries. Not just that, but the way he reads the room. The way he holds himself. His brilliance. I was utterly blown away when he entered my office yesterday to submit his report.
This was just supposed to be a way for me to relieve myself. To feed my sickness.
But something about this young man drives me crazy.
And those eyes are the prettiest brown eyes I have ever seen my whole life.
There’s something about them that pulls me in but also terrifies me.
All I can think of is him. In the office, where he’s just one call away from me. In the privacy of my own fucking home where he’s too far for me to reach.
I should have checked in at Red Horn Club at least twice last week, but I didn’t.
I couldn’t bring myself to leave my home and return to that room. And I don’t know why.
I cannot let this sickness overcome me. I only give it doses of a cure to keep it locked behind bars.
I have to shut it down even though it wants someone.
Nothing matters more than my family. Not my emotions or desires. Not my needs.
I’m standing close to the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, wineglass in hand.
The city hums beneath the white and gold lights of the heavy night traffic whilst pedestrians tread on the sidewalks, some on their way home after a long day at work, others stalking places where they shouldn’t be at.
My apartment reeks of intense silence.
A part of me wants to pick up my phone and dial Madame’s number to ask her to send Mason into the suite, but I don’t let the thoughts turn into action.
I know who I am.
The things I want.
And I can’t let myself need something that could destroy everything I have worked for.
I finish my wine and stalk back into the dimly lit living room to pour myself another drink, yet Mason still lingers in my mind.
The more I try to push him away, the more he persists.
I have to remind myself that this is only a contract.
And there’s nothing happening between us. I won’t let it. We are just having sex. I call him whenever I want, and I take what I want from him. That’s it. That’s all it’ll ever be.
My phone rings in the living room, and I walk toward the buzzing sound, picking it up from the leather couch. “Hello.” I say, and my brother’s voice crackles through the speaker.
“You need to come by the warehouse at the docks.”
“Is there a problem?” I ask and gulp down my wine. I hurry upstairs, taking the winding staircase to change into something different.
“Just get here, Saint.” He says before he hangs up.
I send my driver a text when I’m done and head down to the underground parking lot.
He’s leaning against the hood of the vehicle when I appear through the elevator.
He moves to the car door and holds it open for me.
I get in, and he circles the back to the driver’s seat, turning on the engine. “Where to, sir?”
“The docks.”
“Alright, sir.” He steps on the gas and follows the driveway into the busy city.
The thought of Mason muffles the hum of the engine and the distant traffic. I have never let my guard down, and I won’t. No matter how appealing it might be.
“Sir, we are here.” My valet, Bernard, looks at me from the rearview mirror. I nod only once and get off. The air’s heavy with brine and diesel, and something faintly rotten underneath. I stalk toward the entrance of the warehouse, where my immediate younger brother waits for me.
Virgil stands there, tall, big, and mighty, long locs of hair cascading down his shoulders, a vicious smirk on his lips as his gaze meets mine. White bandages wrap around his chest, with a dent of red staining close to the shoulder blade.
“What happened to you?”
“I got stabbed, but that’s not important.” Virgil King has been trained to be the enforcer of the family. The ruthless executioner. He had learned how to protect what belongs to our family from a very young age. “I have two pieces of bad news.” He grunts and turns toward the entrance.
“Tell me.” My face steels with something dark.
Virgil sighs and looks at me, hands in pocket. “Some degenerates tried to burn down one of our business fronts last night. Cross caught them on camera. A bunch of teenagers. We know their faces, but we haven’t apprehended them yet.”
“What’s taking so long?” My jaw locks, and my face goes still.
“We are working on it, brother.” He explains.
“What’s the other news?” I grunt.
“One of our shipments got ambushed before it left the docks.”
“And the culprits?” My jaw clenches hard. Whoever taught it was wise to walk into my territory and strategize an attack made the wrong move. And they’d bear the consequences of their stupid actions.
“We don’t know who they are, but the men on duty have some explaining to do.” He clears his throat. “We caught them speaking to some strangers two nights ago. The same people we found loitering at the warehouse through the cameras.”
“Is Father aware of this?”
“Not yet, brother.” Virgil states.
I need to put an end to this before he finds out. One wrong move. One mistake. And he deems me incompetent.
Six months ago, he called my brother and me into his office and revealed of a chronic illness that has eaten deep into him. Sooner or later, he would die. That means he has to choose one of his sons to take over his empire.
I’m the next King. The next successor.
I have labored for his throne. Given it my all. My best.
I cannot let these ungrateful bastards ruin everything. If my questions go unanswered, bones will break and heads will roll.
“Father misses you.” Virgil’s words pull me out of my thoughts.
“He drove me away.”
“I report to the man on weekends.” I tell Virgil without any care. What matters is that I run Seven Stone Finance to perfection.
The last time I saw him we got into a heated argument.
I had ruined my chances of getting married to the daughter of one of the most powerful kingpins in the country.
Aside from that, my hatred for my old man had grown over the years.
It only took him a moment to ruin my life.
He’s homophobic. He’s done terrible things even to his own flesh and blood.
Even to the woman whom he’d vowed to love until his death.
If he finds out the truth about what I do in Red Horn, he will deem me worthless for an inheritance. Everything I have bled for will go to shit.
That’s why I keep my dealings a secret, why I pay for exclusivity at the club. Why I take what I want. No feelings or emotions attached whatsoever.
“But…”
“Can we not talk about him and focus on this?” I cut him off.
“Right.”
My bodyguards take their places in front of the building. The door that leads into the freight container lifts, opening into the dim space. Industrial lamps hang on both sides of the wall. Steel beams arch overhead, and chains dangle from the top, making a clicking sound at every vibration.
In the center of the container, large chains hold two men to straight-backed metal chairs, their mouths gagged and their bodies bleeding from being flogged with electric wires. When they see me approaching, they struggle against the chair, screaming and begging.
These are the men who work for me. Fucking crackheads. All they had was one fucking job.
Steer clear of everything that belongs to me.
Stay loyal to me.
Dedicate their lives to me.
If they can’t fall in line like the rest of the foot soldiers that work for my family’s organization. Perhaps it’s time for me to paint the walls of this container with their blood.
“Here they are.” He says and walks around the two men, removing their gags.
Virgil must have been bargaining with them in his own way.
What can I say, the fucker lives for the thrill of torture.
He started training with the help of my late uncle when he turned ten, knew the real deal about the family’s business after his fifteenth birthday, and had his first kill at sixteen.
Virgil is the worst apple in the bushel.
The air shifts around me as I stand in front of the two men. They are not making a single sound, but they are begging. I see it in their eyes. All they need to do is answer my questions.
“Names?” I demand.
“Oliver.” the man on my right says.
“Bex.” The other man splutters.
“We found footage of these two meeting up somewhere when they were supposed to be on duty at the docks. That was two days ago.” Virgil’s words skim out of him, bright and careless.
A growl rumbles in my chest as I cross my arms, watching the two men squirm.
Fucking pathetic. “Cargo was supposed to leave yesterday. An hour before midnight. Just before the same men they were speaking with raided the harbor. Got away with a box of our products.” Each word carries a playful edge, even though his tone’s gilded with white-hot rage.
“Is this traceable to the attack on our warehouse or any of our rivals?” I stare so deeply at the two bound men, and they shift as if my look burns.
“I’m not sure, but Cross will give us some answers soon.” Virgil’s lips twitch, a flash of amusement that looks more like a warning.
Bloodied footprints litter the ground beneath me as I move toward the stainless-steel tray on wheels holding tools that gleam under the dim light.
Wire cutters, blunt-force hammers, scalpels, zip ties, a bucket of ice water, a blowtorch, and syringes filled with clear liquid. I pick up the blowtorch and return to the two men.
Something primal stirs in the silence, turning the air heavy, expectant, and hungry. All I need is the truth. If they try to run in circles, I will make them bleed so they can understand exactly who they have crossed.