Prologue
Donovan
The city’s lights at night dance off the speckles of raindrops dotting the window as the car moves through the downtown streets.
Louisiana is my home. Dark Grove is my city. It’s nights like tonight, with the rain and the false sense of a sleepy calm shrouding everything, when I feel most connected to her, driving around her loneliest hours when she’s not at her best. I’m going to take care of the things she doesn’t have the strength to deal with, and I’m going to make sure she knows who she belongs to.
I might have been handed an empire when my father died, but I’ve worked my ass off to make it mine. This city’s darkest corners and most shameful secrets belong to me.
I’m not driving tonight. Normally, I’d be the one behind the wheel because I hate being chauffeured around like a fucking rich bitch asshole. I also refuse to hide my face, which is something my second likes to protest when given the chance.
I look over at the man himself sitting behind the wheel.
Torrin raises a brow at me, but doesn’t take his eyes off the path in front of us.
I’m irritated and not in the mood to go deal with this bullshit.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to voice just that, but then I catch sight of the smirk playing on his lips.
“Stop pouting,” he says, causing me to glare at him.
“I’m not pouting,” I shoot back, the scowl feeling permanently etched into my face as I turn my attention to the windshield.
“Just because you’re playing right into his hand by going to him doesn’t mean you’re losing your power.”
My scowl deepens.
Sure feels that way. Not only that, but I’m just plain pissed the hell off thathe’smaking me do this.
“I should just kill him,” I say, meaning it, even knowing there would be grave consequences if I could manage to do it.
“The city would turn against you.” He pauses. “Well, half of the city. Me, personally? I’d like to see him rotting in the ground.”
“So you wouldn’t try to stop me if I attempted to kill him?” I ask with a smirk.
“I didn’t say I wanted him to be dead when he was buried.”
I roll my eyes. He’s a little fucked up, same as me. We fucking get each other.
Which is one of the many reasons why Torrin makes a good second. I trust him with my life.
“But you can’t kill him,” he reminds me, the smile sliding off his face. “Forget the fact that youcan’t, the city needs him. And as much as you hate to hear it, you need him too.”
“Do I?” I push back into the seat as I watch the blips of lights in an otherwise sleeping city go by.
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. He simply lets me stew with these feelings.
“We’re here,” he announces as if I can’t see the car is currently parked outside The Lacey, the eight-story brick hotel which houses my less-than-legal casino on the underground level.
“I can’t believe the fucker had the balls to show up here,” I mutter with full bite in my tone as I step out of the car. The rain comes down in big, fat drops, soaking the shoulders of my coat in no time. The mid-October weather isn’t exactly cold, but there is a slight chill in the air tonight.
Torrin is right by my side as I step up on the curb. One of the front door porters rushes over with an open umbrella. I shoot the kid a look as if to silently tell him I find this absolutely ridiculous. A little rain won’t kill me. Not that it matters since his gaze is fixed on the ground as he walks with us.
“Did you come up with a plan?” Torrin asks as the two suited doormen grab the huge brass handles and pull both of the thick glass doors open for us.
As we leave the umbrella-wielding porter behind, I send a quick nod to the doorman on the left, though he doesn’t dare look at me.
“Sure,” I tell Torrin with a shrug and a smirk, both of us stepping inside at the same time. “Don’t kill him.”
