His eyes weren’t on me at all. In fact, they were somewhere behind me. It wasn’t that, though, that freaked me out—it was the cold look in them. The icy fire grew as he glared at someone, but when I moved to look back, he stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t,” he warned quietly.
“W-what?” Looking up at him, I spotted a tiny little sliver of a scar coming out of the neckline of his dress shirt, slightly curved. For some reason, I focused on that scar. Curious and also a little afraid. How many more did he have? Where did he get them?
“Take my advice, kid,” he said. “Don’t let one loss kill you. Life is all about fight and vengeance.”
“Vengeance?” I repeated the word with a little hint of confusion. What did he mean by that? Once again, I tried to turn to look over my shoulder and see what it was he was glaring at, but he stopped me.
“Yes,” he replied, this time grabbing hold of my chin and turning my face forward forcefully. A loud car honked in the distance, making me jump as the man’s eyes returned to mine. “Everyone’s lost someone. The best way to move on is to make sure that whoever took them from you pays.”
“But … I’m too young,” I said.
His lips twitched again and his head bobbed up and down in agreement. “Yes.” His voice rumbled deeper. “But I’m not.”
Before I could ask what he meant, someone behind me shouted and his arms closed around me, dragging me into his chest and then down onto the cold ground as a gun went off anda bullet whizzed over our heads. More shouting. Screaming. A woman yelling. My dad … my dad yelling and cursing. Then the man holding me disappeared. Another gunshot rang in my ears, so loud and so close that I had to cover them with my own hands as tears streamed down my cheeks.
Firm hands lifted me up and the man’s face reappeared in front of me. “Hold on, kid.” I didn’t know why he was asking me to hold on, but for some reason, I didn’t question it. I latched on, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as he started running. I was too big to be carried by an adult, but he acted as if it was nothing, with one hand under my legs and the other around my back.
The weight of the man pressed into my much smaller body and with it, the fresh scent of soap and spicy cologne. My nose wrinkled. It was too much, too strong, and too close. As he shifted, something from his chest touched me and I froze. I knew it for what it was, the outline was too distinctive for me not to recognize it; it was the same gun I’d seen before. Now, though, the weight of such a weapon didn’t scare me. It made me feel safe, just like the arms around me.
Pulling away, I looked into the man’s face and asked for the one thing I thought I didn’t want anymore. I asked for the truth. “Did you kill them?” I asked. “Did you kill the person who murdered my mom?”
The man’s steps slowed to a stop and when I took a look around, I realized we were back in the cemetery parking lot and there were loads of other men in black suits carrying guns. “Not yet,” he said. “But I will.”
Somehow, that one promise was the best condolence I could’ve ever asked for.
Chapter 1
Gaven
7 years later …
Expensive sports cars were a luxury I didn't usually allow myself to enjoy. Though I could readily afford anything and everything that I wanted, the Aston Martin purring beneath me was far too ostentatious for my line of work. It commanded attention—something I only used as a method of distraction. It wasn't necessary, however, to remain inconspicuous when my business was to be conducted face-to-face. So, for the moment, I enjoyed the feeling of the rumbling engine as the speedometer reached a hundred miles per hour and then ticked past that.
I tightened my fingers around the taut leather of the steering wheel and wove the speeding vehicle in and around all obstacles in my path. Packed city streets gave way to trees and green landscapes, all blurring past the windows as I pushed the little car faster.
It wasn’t long until I rolled up to a country estate that could rival a military compound in size. The two men standing vigilant in front of the tall iron fence turned to meet my gaze throughthe windshield of the car. Smirking at them, I waited as another guard leaned out.
“Name?” he barked, eyeing me with suspicion and distaste.
“Gaven,” I drawled, lowering my sunglasses to look the man over, “Belmonte.”
There was an obvious brutality already settled into the guard’s youthful face. A long scar marred the side of his cheek, from his chin to the corner of his eyebrow. It wasn’t surprising. Any man in this business who was lucky to make it past thirty likely felt much older than that.
At the thought of getting older in this career, I started to wonder if retiring was in the cards for me. It had nothing to do with the money; I had more than enough, that was for sure. But I was depraved enough to enjoy the work that I did—thrived on it—so I doubted I’d be stopping any time soon. Not unless something more interesting came along.
The guard blinked at my name and quickly leaned back into the guardhouse, his fingers flying over the keyboard of his computer. “I apologize, I didn’t recognize you. Welcome, Mr. Belmonte,” he said after a moment.
“I’ll let it slide this time,” I said calmly. “Though, I suggest you amend your tone in the future.”
The buzzing sound of the gate opening drew my attention. “Of course, sir,” the guard replied quickly. “Mr. Price is awaiting your arrival at the mansion.”
“Thank you.”
The security guard gave me a quick once over, his lips thinning before he nodded respectfully. Leaving the window down, I slid my sunglasses back on and pressed gently on the gas, letting the car roll forward, past the gates. The only noisethat filled the interior of the vehicle as I drove farther up the drive was the soft breeze mixing with the rumble of the engine.
It only took a few minutes to reach the top of the courtyard circle drive, and I threw the car into park before climbing out. The face of the mansion was elegant. Each nuance of the extravagant stone was lavish and the lawn was groomed to immaculate perfection. Anyone looking on from the outside would assume a wealthy family resided here, and they wouldn’t have been wrong. A wealthy family did live here—one of the wealthiest in the United States but also one of the deadliest.
The ornate wood and glass doors opened as I approached. Two more guards walked out to hold them open for me. Noting their presence but ignoring their stone-cold expressions, I stepped into the entryway toward the older man waiting within. I’d been here a time or two in the past, but Raff had obviously done some renovations since my last visit. It was wider now, showcasing an impressive circular staircase leading to the second floor. My steps echoed off the shiny marble flooring that had once been a rich hardwood the last time I’d been a guest at the Price estate—almost seven years ago now.
