PROLOGUE
GIDEON
Death has never bothered me. It’s inevitable. A slice of nature. One of two guarantees in life. We’re born, and we die. They say it’s getting from point A to point B that sucks. Living that proves difficult. Well, for most.
I, for one, live pretty fucking well.
The man wedged under my loafer worms, dislodging an old ball of gum from the cement. “P-please.” Unfortunately for him, he’s about to careen headfirst into point B.
He might be dying, but I feel no pity for this man after what he did.
Whoever left him here did me a favor. He’s practically gift-wrapped.
“Can’t hear you.” I slide a pair of leather gloves up my hands. “Try harder.”
He splutters beneath me, chasing his next breath like it’s running from him. I don’t usually toy with my victims. This is a courtesy I offer as his friend.
As he nears death, it’s my duty to remind him how low he’s fallen. That he, and he alone, is responsible for his current state. If there’s a next life, I’m certain he’ll remember this moment and proceed accordingly.
I sigh, bending forward to readjust my grasp on him. “Don’t speak.”
Through a lone window on the compound’s roof, a ray of moonlight streaks across the abandoned warehouse. It offers a sliver of illumination in the stark black space. Just enough to expose pale skin and glassy eyes as the body beneath me trembles with a wet cough.
The pathetic wheeze echoes off the metal walls, slicing through the silence. A chill races up my neck. This, too, is an unfortunate byproduct of my familiarity with this man. Because I’m expected to calm him. Because I won’t do a good job. And because when I see his soul off to its next destination, I know it will be Hell. Well, that’s not certain. If I were the devil, which has often been speculated, I’d slam the gates shut on him.
“I-I…”
“Everything will be okay.” I pat his ruddy cheek, checking the Rolex on the same hand. This has gone on long enough.
Fresh crimson bubbles out of his mouth, calling me out on my lie. A distinct metallic scent punctuates the revelation. His death is a foregone conclusion. It’s only a matter of time.
His lids flutter shut. “I—” It’s all he can get out before his voice cracks. His eyes pop open, and a shadow of hesitation darts from them to me.
Roman.
His name is Roman, and he isn’t a faceless man.
I know him. I know his obsession with smash burgers and chili cheese fries. I know that he once lost half his savings on a ridiculous World Cup bet. That he followed up that loss with the utter destruction of his virginity by his bookie, of all people. A washed-up, chain-smoking former model. We share a past as colorful as a crayon box.
This singular brief moment of unease is all I gift him. His death will not be the first I witness. Or the last. Consider it a career hazard. The fruits of my life choices.
I am not a good man.
And I will never pretend to be.
The blood loss rips all focus from his gaze, leaving behind two lifeless, glazed-over orbs. Somewhere, within those dull spheres, there’s an internal battle waging. But pain robs him of whatever he wants to say. His throat bobs with a swallow.
I watch blood trickle from his wound. “If there’s something you must say, your window is closing.”
The wax-like pallor and sweat beaded on his brow betray his pain. His mouth opens and shuts several times, seeking strength to release words.
“M-my.” He coughs, spilling blood past his lips.
Sighing, I prop him up. It would be inconvenient if he choked to death before spitting out his deathbed confession. I suppose it’s the least I can do. Allow the man his final words.
Sudden determination, as hot and radiant as the sun, burns through him. “My sister.”
His what?
That’s a first. Of all the possibilities, that’s the absolute last thing I expected him to say. For starters, I didn’t even know he had a sister. If he could hide a sibling from me, what else did Roman hide?
The man isn’t trustworthy. Drug addicts never are. The cardinal rule of a drug dealer…Never test your own product. Evidently, Roman missed class the day they taught that lesson. The man enjoyed partying more than he enjoyed breathing.
Which is what brought us here.
Roman Lennox.
Bloody.
Dying.
And confessing to shit I should have known about years ago.
I lose my patience and, with it, all semblance of humanity. “Talk. Now.”
This cretin’s lies mount higher and higher by the minute. Just how many ways did he betray me? And how did I miss each and every one? It’s not like I’m a bad businessman. I’m a goddamn good one. Unrivaled.
I don’t miss shit.
Except this time, you missed an entire person.
Fuck. That.
Roman’s weak fist latches on to my dress shirt, leaving a fresh stain. “S-she’s younger. I-I let her down…they’ll come for her.”
The effects of this little speech are immediate. His lips turn blue. I don’t even think he sees me. Not through those glassy eyes.
If only you were honest. You wouldn’t be on a first-class trip to Hell.
“M…my…s-sss…”
Consider my curiosity piqued. What about his sister? The secrecy shrouding her intrigues me. Why will they come for her?
Actually, better question…
“Who?”
His eyes shut. At this point, he’s almost limp in my hands.
My jaw tightens.
“What did you do, Roman?” I shake him. Fucking hell. Useless in life and in death, it seems. “Don’t you dare die on me.”
Yes, dying is inevitable, especially his death. But the fucking oaf is not allowed to pass until I get the information I need. Why would someone want to kill his sister? And how do they know of her when I didn’t?
When his eyes remain shut, I press two fingers to his artery. More blood flows over my hand. He has enough holes in him to sink the Titanic. And still, there’s a pulse. Faint but present.
The look he delivers me once his eyes open—dazed and utterly confused—is one I’m familiar with. After all, in its usual state, his body has more drugs in it than a pharmacy.
Roman looks like he’s already dead. Like his soul has left his body, and if I inquire about the afterlife, I can trust whatever answer he gives me. Well, as much as I can trust anything that leaves Roman Lennox’s mouth.
Case in point: the existence of his supposed sister.
For all I know, he’s sending me on a wild goose chase. One last fuck you before he croaks. Or maybe he’s turned a leaf. Odd timing, but who knows? We might all be redeemable in the face of death.
Doubtful.
I fist his shirt. “What did you do?”
Goddammit. He’s fading again. I’m not sure how much time he has left.
I shake him, slapping him awake. “Speak.”
His hand barely manages to latch on to mine. “Promise me…”
My eyes narrow. “Promise you what?”
At first, he doesn’t answer. His eyes are still closed. I’m about to check his pulse again when his faint breathing tickles my ears.
His throat bobs, his hold on me tightening. “Promise me you’ll protect my sister.”