“Like I said,” I whisper, breath hitching as he glowers down at me. “I will never agree to this.”
Even though everything in me trembles with fear, I don’t back down. I hold his eyes with just as much fervor, and after a long, terrifying moment, he releases me. As quickly as his anger was triggered, it diffuses. He goes back to his place at the head of the table and resumes his meal as though nothing happened.
“I have a job this week that will take me out of town.”
I watch him, confused. “So?”
“So, you will be free here. With supervision, of course.” His eyes flick up to me thoughtfully, then back to his food. “You can settle in.”
“I won’t be—”
“Whether you agree with this or not, it is your life now. You might as well make yourself at home. I’ll be back at the end of the week.”
I almost ask where he’s going. Instead I bite my tongue. If he leaves, that’s one less person watching me.
If he leaves, I’ll have a shot at escape.
“Bring me back a souvenir,” I say bitingly, and without another word, I leave the room and head upstairs—already plotting my escape.
4
Malcom
Irelease a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, and lower the pistol. The hit was an easy one—a man who had an illicit affair with his brother’s wife.
The domestic hits always feel dirtier than the criminal ones, but I don’t turn down any jobs. That’s how I’ve built an empire from dust. That’s how my name—not my real one, of course—became a household one.
I pour myself a glass of whiskey and sit in one of the fine leather chairs propped around the man’s parlor. His place is nice. Seaside, with a view. Far enough no one would hear a gunshot, but I screwed on a silencer anyway.Clean. That’s what Sampson always calls me. And I’ve worked hard to live up to that reputation.
The dead man’s body is bent at an undignified angle. I clocked him dead-on, because he asked to see my face before he died. There was no recognition in his eyes, of course. No one knows me. I am a ghost.
I drink, turning my gaze toward the window. It’s nearly dawn, and the hills are illuminated in faint gradations, the sea visible between them. A slice of obsidian.
For a moment I wonder about this man, and this house of his, and this life he was living before I ended it for hard cash and a bulletproof reputation. Did he love it here? Was he happy?
Was the woman worth it?
The front door bangs open.
I’m on my feet in an instant, moving brisk and silent toward the entryway, pistol raised—
“Hello, brother.”
I turn neatly, not lowering my gun when I find my brother Clarence at the end of the barrel. He looks like me, but rougher. He’s taller, bulkier, and his beard is dusted with white. There are lines under his eyes and around his mouth. His irises are a stormy gray where mine are green—but I feel like when I look at him, I’m seeing my future.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I bite out, kicking the front door closed. “Someone could have seen you.”
“Relax, Malcom. Jesus. Always so worked up about something.” Clarence moves through the kitchen, grabbing a handful of grapes off the dining room table. He disappears behind the dividing wall, and I don’t move until he reappears in the parlor. “Oof. Right between the eyes.” With a gloved finger, he tips up the dead man’s chin.
An inexplicable black rage spreads through me. “What thefuckare you doing here?”
Clarence smiles, popping another grape in his mouth and flopping into the chair. He picks up the whiskey I poured and throws it back in one easy slug. “Damn. Good stuff.” He studies the glass, then me. Smiles. “You know this isn’t going to work out the way you think it is, right, baby brother?”
I grit my teeth and force myself to lower the gun, sinking into a chair across from Clarence. “You’re wrong.”
“When Dad died and Sampson took us in, he all but called me his son.”
I try to look calm. Sampson Gladwell—the beloved and lethal head of the Scottish mafia—went way back with mine and Clarence’s father. But when Dad and Sampson’s son were killed in the same shootout, suddenly the line of succession was blown open. It’s been five years, and ever since, Clarence has been angling for the position. It’s true he was once Sampson’s indisputable pick—but times have changed.
