“Sir?”

Uilleam was buttoning the front of his suit jacket when Dominic appeared behind him. Though it had been on the schedule for days now, and he had a knack for remembering times and dates, he still asked, “Is the jet ready?”

“The pilot is on standby, awaiting instruction, sir.”

Passing one last fleeting glance to the delicate box that sat on his desk, a place it would never be moved from if he could help it, Uilleam exited his office.

One of the luxuries his money afforded him, besides the multiple acres of land, was the private airstrip, one of the few things at the Runehart estate he utilized often. There were days, like today, when he was doing nothing more than walking the grounds, and seeing the ghost of what had been a wondrous place when he was a boy, that he missed coming here.

Once he was on the plane, he gave short instructions to the man that was getting paid a hefty sum to transport him from Wales to Hollywood, California. Had he still been in New York observing Celt’s assignment from a distance, the flight wouldn’t have taken nearly as long, but he took the spare time anyway to think over his next move.

How many names had made it both on and off his list in the last year alone?

Nine?

Twelve?

But no matter the number, he found he was closer than he had been to the one he sought.

Already he had learned the name of Elias, one of the few closest to whoever was waging a war against him. It wouldn’t take him much longer to work his way to the top of the food chain—it was just a matter of time.

But it was all contingent on him not making a single mistake.

The people he went after had to be moved in a certain way, carefully orchestrated so as not to draw too much attention to what he was doing. One wrong move and that would send the others into hiding. He couldn’t have that.

It was all about the game, even the way it was fixed.

And that, if nothing else, was a talent Uilleam excelled in.

He was a fixer.

The fixer—for anyone that was willing to pay his price.

Sometimes that payment came in the form of an object, maybe a place, even people, though the purpose they held was not what most assumed it to be.

An army.

Every man needed an army.

But as good as he had once been at making others’ problems disappear, he found he was far better at manipulating events so that he was the one both causing and fixing the problem.

After all, he would hold all the cards.

Many hours later, a black Rolls Royce awaited him at the end of the runway, its driver standing erect in front of it, waiting for the moment Uilleam was in sight before relaying his directions.

Uilleam was used to them, having heard the set of rules on a previous occasion, so he tuned the man’s words out, watching the passing city lights through the rear windows.

By the time they were rolling down the familiar street, the driver was just finishing with, “The Mistress asks that you respect the rules of her home, or suffer her displeasure.”

There was a certain waver to the man’s voice that spoke of his fear for the woman that signed his paychecks. Perhaps he had once been on the receiving end of Carmen’s sadism.

“Understood.”

If there was one thing Carmen Santiago was notorious for, it was her easily peaked temper. She had a tendency to lash out before listening to reason, and while there had been a time when he would have refused her brand of work, his current plan, the endgame, needed her involvement.

They were all pawns. The mercenaries, and the people he sent them after.

They just didn’t know it yet.

The Arian Sea Club Carmen owned came into view. Housed inside a building erected in the 1800s, it still held some of its old world charm, timeless in a city that was becoming far too modern.

Even the events that took place within its walls were timeless.

There had always been a need for whores.

As the car rolled to a stop, the door was opened for Uilleam by an attendant, the man not daring eye contact. Making his way to the door, adjusting his bowtie as he went, he glanced down the vacant street, thinking he’d seen movement, but there was nothing.

The doorman didn’t ask for a name, instead wrapping knobby fingers around the heavy brass handle and opening the door.

Warm candlelight flickered in the darkened entryway, glinting off polished marble and gilded features. The decor spoke of old money and elegance, but he was not moved by such simple details.

Uilleam wasn’t there to share in the opulence of the atmosphere. No, he had come for the woman in the back parlor room, a long thin cigarette in her manicured hand, sweetly smelling tobacco scenting the air.

Despite the casual air of the space where men and women who had enough influence to have been offered an invitation to one of Carmen’s gatherings, she was dressed formally in a gown of jewel green satin that clung to curves by the best plastic surgeon money could buy. Her hair was in elaborate curls, falling in waves around her shoulders, as dark as an oil spill.

Alluring and dangerous … like a black widow spider.

As her gaze slid in his direction, tracking his approach, a smile of satisfaction and amusement grew. “I didn’t expect you to come. What had you told me the last time we crossed paths? That my husband was beneath your notice, and that I was beneath his?”

No, Cesar Rivera was still very much beneath his notice. Once he had thought him capable, but that was until the man crossed him on a deal. While he was not above trades for flesh at one time or another, he had made a deal like that once before. He had ceased his part in helping the transactions along, making sure that anyone who thought to use his services knew his feelings on the matter.

It hadn’t taken long before Cesar’s business took a turn, but instead of folding entirely, somehow he had managed to bounce back, far quicker than Uilleam would have thought possible … at least until he learned of their involvement with Elias.

How easy it was to find secrets with only a name.

Cesar peddled in flesh, sampling his wares far too often, and Uilleam knew the man couldn’t possibly be in negotiations with Elias. It was too easy for him to make mistakes.

But Carmen …

He had underestimated the woman.

“Cesar is now beneath your notice as well, no?” Uilleam asked as he took a seat opposite her. “Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

Carmen’s answering smile was demure, but Uilleam saw it for what it was. In their world, it was what was left unsaid that mattered the most.

“Why are you really here?” Carmen asked, setting her empty martini glass on the table. “I doubt it was to exchange pleasantries.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

One perfectly arched brow shot up as she leaned in, intrigued. “I’m listening.”

“Cesar has been running your club for almost a decade now, unrivaled since I took care of that nasty business you had with the Vega Cartel.”

Carmen’s reaction was carefully controlled, her gaze drifting down to her lap at the mere mention of the organization that tried to kill her.

That was a consequence of doing business with men like Uilleam. While he was able to solve problems one might not have otherwise been able to resolve, that still left them open to attack because Uilleam then knew their weakness.

And he was far worse of an enemy to have than any Cartel.

“I’m sure we have expressed our gratitude in regards to that,” Carmen said coolly.

“Indeed. But I’ve been curious. Cesar has failed to move his business further since I fixed the problem. One would think he would have progressed farther than he has, and yet here we are.”

Carmen flipped her hair over her shoulder. “My husband’s business is his own.”

“Is it?” Uilleam asked with a smirk. “Come now, Carmen. You should know by now that nothing escapes my notice.”

He made it a point to know as much about anyone he crossed paths with as possible. It was just good business practice.

She was quite skilled with her deception considering Cesar was no more the wiser of what she was up to, but it would have taken far more than a few hushed conversations to keep Uilleam’s attention away.

“You’ve been thinking about pushing your husband out of the business,” Uilleam said as he watched the ice dance around his glass. “A daunting task for someone like you, but not impossible for someone like me.”

“Not impossible, you say? With everything that you’ve done over the last couple of years, I can see why you think so, but how can I be sure you can do what I need?”

That was the opening he needed. “And what, exactly, is it that you need? I’m sure I can find a solution—for a price, of course.”

Carmen wasn’t a stupid woman. She hadn’t made her way up to the top by making reckless decisions, so Uilleam knew that she wouldn’t just outright say what they both knew she wanted.

“Perhaps I do want things my husband doesn’t, but you’re asking me to betray him and—”

“Am I?” Uilleam asked, canting his head to the side. “I’m merely offering you a service—one I’ve offered many, including Cesar.”

“You’ve never fixed anything for Cesar,” Carmen said in a rush, her accent growing thicker as she considered his words.

He almost smiled.

It didn’t matter whether he had or had not, not when the truth no longer mattered. Doubt was a powerful thing, and those that inspired them in others always believed someone else was out to get them as well.

Carmen stared at him a moment. “If you fail …”

“When have I ever?”

“I’ve heard things,” Carmen said as she sat back, appraising him with a critical eye as she dragged a crimson painted fingernail across the tablecloth. “A woman, sí?”

In his thirty-two years of living, Uilleam had learned quite well how to hide his reaction to stimuli, especially when it came from those that meant to bait him.

His father had taught him well in that regard.

But, he was not perfect by any means, and while his reaction was not one that made her aware of it, he still knew.

More than that, he was surprised the glass hadn’t shattered from the grip he had on it. “And yet, here I sit. Others cannot say the same, can they? But that’s immaterial. The real question is whether or not you’re willing to pay my price.”

“Can you guarantee my position as the head of this organization?” Carmen asked, more than happy to toss her husband to the side if it meant she could advance to a place of favor.

Smiling slightly, Uilleam said, “They’ll kneel at your feet.”

“Then name your price.”

“Your partnership with the Contreras Cartel, end it.”

Her eyes widened, the fresh drink someone had brought her nearly to her lips as she digested his words. “You can’t possibly—”

Cutting her off with a shake of his head, Uilleam said, “That is my price.”

Truthfully, Uilleam couldn’t care less who she chose to do business with, but the man she associated with did. The Contreras Cartel had a contract with Elias, one that ensured them they would have first pick of whatever girls were brought in.

Just another piece he was ready to move—a pawn he was ready to knock over.

But, Uilleam did always request payment in the form of something that wasn’t easily given. Money could be produced at any moment from the clients he kept in his ledger, but that wasn’t enough.

There could be no reward without sacrifice.

“But don’t worry,” Uilleam added for her benefit. “While there shouldn’t be an issue, I’ll send one of my mercenaries to guard you for the duration.”

She perked up at the idea. Word had spread far and wide of the elite team he had under contract, both fear and respect felt for them.

Except, he wouldn’t tell Carmen that it wasn’t a man that was coming to work for her, but a woman simply because she abhorred women in general. She was as bad as any man, treating them as nothing more than fickle creatures that were beneath her notice.

Despite her rather public image of fighting for women’s rights and victims of sex trafficking, Carmen Santiago was one of the most notorious madams in the world.

But her mask was always kept in place.

He also wouldn’t mention that the mercenary he would be sending had once been a part of this place, drowning in the horrors of what happened under its roof.

Had it only been seven years since he had been to this place and found her lying naked on a bed, ready to service him because Cesar had demanded it?

She had only been sixteen, or maybe seventeen, at the time.

A lot had changed in that span of time.

“I’ll see it done,” Carmen said. “But I expect this mercenary of yours to be here the minute Cesar’s heart stops beating.”

“You have my word.” Finishing the last of his drink, Uilleam set the glass on the table. “I’ll be going.”

“Why in such a hurry? I’m sure one of my girls would be glad to satisfy your needs.”

“I’m a man of little time,” Uilleam said, taking her hand in his and briefly pressing his lips to the back of it.

Besides, when his brother learned of what he had just proposed, he would have an entirely new problem on his hands.

---

“This is beautiful,” she said in breathless awe, her fingers ghosting over the canvas as opposed to touching it outright, as though she weren’t worthy of laying her hands on it.

Of all the works in his home, he wondered why she had chosen this one to fawn over, to look at with such rapt eyes that he knew she genuinely felt moved by it. It was curious seeing someone else appreciate something that he loathed entirely.

At the very least, it made him give it a second look.

“Does it have a name?” she asked, glancing back at him with doe-like eyes, waiting for his response.

“L’amant Flétrie,” he responded, pronouncing it again, more slowly the second time as she tried to mimic what he was saying. “This one belonged to my mother.”

He didn’t know why he shared that information with her—it wasn’t like it was particularly vital. Usually, he was careful not to reveal anything about himself or his family in the company of others, but with her … he wanted to share.

For the first time, he wanted someone else to know him…

And what a fool he had been, Uilleam thought with some bitterness as he stared across the distance at a painting that held both good and awful memories. He could still remember so clearly the way she had fawned over it, engrossed by the image depicted in the paint, but then he could also remember his mother’s love of it, almost to an obsessive degree.

Resting on the mantel above the hearth, The Withered Lover looked darker, more foreboding in the glowing light of the fire raging beneath it.

Though he had contracted the job to get the painting back in his possession, he hadn’t given much thought to what he would do with it now that he had it. Once, fleetingly, he had thought to hang it back in its proper place, in the same place his mother had displayed it, but during a fit of rage, he had burned his former home to the ground.

For what memories he couldn’t block out, he destroyed.

Looking at it now, and the memories it invoked, he felt that familiar urge to destroy something, to rid it from his sight and be done with it forever. He could have left it to whomever the buyer was, but that wasn’t the way his compulsion worked.

Uilleam had to know that the things that haunted him were gone for good, not just in the hands of another.

That was why this game of his wouldn’t be over until there were no pieces left.

And this painting, this god-awful fucking painting was a part of it.

He could still remember when he was a boy, how happy his mother had been when she received it as a token of his father’s love for her. It didn’t matter that there was a certain somberness to the work, his mother had merely seen another expensive bauble and gladly accepted it.

But her appreciation for it had withered as she became the woman depicted.

Taking a swig of his scotch, Uilleam tapped his finger against the glass, the ring adorning his middle finger making a sharp sound as it came in contact with it. Only a few more seconds of contemplation passed before he was setting his drink down and getting to his feet.

From one second to the next, he was across the room, plucking the painting from its place and tossing it, frame and all, into the fire.

Kneeling before it, he watched as the flames licked at the edges, the center of the canvas already changing to an inky black as it burned through. While it may have been consumed by the fire around it, it wasn’t destroyed completely.

Not yet.

But there was one thing Uilleam had as he went back and reclaimed his seat.

He had time to watch it burn.

---

As Uilleam exited his car, heading into a building that looked rather unassuming from the outside, the minute he stepped foot out of the elevator, the tangy scent of blood assaulted his senses.

People had the tendency to forget just how far a person was willing to go for someone they loved. Reason went out the window when dealing with matters of the heart, and even Uilleam had felt that overwhelming emotion when he was fighting for someone he had no business fighting for.

But that was better left to the past where it belonged.

Celt, on the other hand …

The Irish mercenary was in a precarious position, one where if he made even the slightest of mistakes, the girl he had fallen in love with would die.

Uilleam was used to death, had felt its cold, unforgiving hand more than once as people he had cared for were stolen from him.

Now, death was just another part of his world.

If he had no use for a person, they didn’t matter to him. And while the girl the Irish mercenary seemed to fancy was quite skilled at forgery, he had no use for one at the moment, so whether she lived or died because someone had their knickers in a twist over a simple deception … well that really wasn’t his problem.

It wasn’t until he had learned the name of the person wanting Celt’s lover dead did Uilleam take an interest in it all.

Elora Colliette.

Uilleam despised the woman, and not just because she had decided to work with his mysterious enemy, whoever it was. It was because he found her annoying. She tried to play a game she had no business in, and she was starting to irk his nerves.

This last event, her making such a bold play against him was just the final straw.

She just hadn’t known it yet.

But he didn’t doubt, as he stood in her office, her eyes rapt on him as her fearful gaze wondered when the next bullet would come, she understood the gravity of her mistake.

But she only let that fear control her momentarily before it was replaced with anger. “I should have known,” she spat at him the moment Celt and the girl were no longer in the room.

Tilting his head to the side, a sly smile played on Uilleam’s lips as he regarded her. “Known what, exactly?”

“This,” she said with a sharp slash of her hand in the air at the bodies that lay around them. “I knew you were bold, but this? I never would have thought you would go this far. And for what? A meaningless painting.”

He found it amusing that she thought it meaningless now that he had her exactly where he wanted her. She seemed to have forgotten that it was she who had killed three people in her quest to acquire it.

And despite his private feelings for the painting itself, Uilleam made sure to correct her. “If you doubted my abilities before, I hope I’ve rectified that.”

“What do you want?” she asked, folding her hands in front of her. “It was never about the painting, was it? You already have that. You set all of this up to back me into a corner, undoubtedly.”

Perhaps she wasn’t as clueless as he had first pegged her. She was correct in her assumption that it had never been about the painting for him, so there was no point in revealing as much.

“Three years ago, you had an affair with a man by the name of Malcolm Turner.”

Her brow knit in confusion as she cast her mind back. “The investment banker? I can’t see how he will be of any use to you considering he’s dead.”

That wasn’t news to Uilleam. It also wasn’t news that she was the one behind the man’s death. Of course, Malcolm hadn’t been innocent during his fifty-six years of living. Laundering money for people he really shouldn’t have been in business with and paying off a number of young girls to keep their mouths shut about the depraved things he had made them do. So, he hadn’t cared much when Elora poisoned the man and inherited everything.

“I knew he would die the minute he crawled between your legs, but I know you, Elora. And I know that you took more from him than just his fortune, particularly, his files.”

Her jaw clenched, her gaze darting around the room as she considered lying. Because he was in the mood, he allowed her the chance to shift through the thoughts in that diabolical brain of hers.

Uilleam had already warned her once, the consequences of making a move against him. And that was all anyone ever got, that one warning.

Like he said, everyone knew what it meant once they were no longer useful to him.

“Let’s say I do have the files,” she said after clearing her throat with a delicate cough. “What do you expect to find in them? I highly doubt it will still prove useful after this long.”

“My reasons are my own. As far as what I want, I want every single piece of information, both printed and digital, you have pertaining to the late Mr. Turner.”

It was clear she wanted to deny his request, but with another look around the room at the destruction he had caused, she rethought her silent denial.

“I’ll have them sent to you. My help is a bit …” She toed the leg of one of the burly men dead at her feet … “indisposed at the moment.”

Ah, just so. “You have seven hours, Elora. Seven. Should you not deliver in a timely fashion, I will rip away everything you hold dear, and even what you don’t.”

He would destroy her life.

And that was one of his better traits.

His message given, Uilleam turned to leave.

But Elora, more than a little flustered and embarrassed to having been outsmarted by him, didn’t take too kindly to that. “Is it true what they’re saying about you?” she called after him.

“I choose not to indulge in idle gossip, Elora. I suggest you do the same,” he said, even though he knew it would fall on deaf ears.

She thrived on rumors.

“He talked, you know,” Elora went on, oblivious to his growing agitation. “Before you learned he betrayed you. He told others how she ran from you. And why.”

She crossed the floor to him, slipping into her temptress role that usually garnered things in her favor. “Not everyone likes learning they’re sleeping with the devil.”

A soft laugh fell from her lips when she realized she was getting to him, but the sound cut off sharply as he grabbed her by the neck and dragged her closer, not moved by the way her nails dug into his skin.

Squeezing tighter, he said, “I once knew a man that mistook a king for a pawn, Elora. Don’t make the same mistake. Do what I’ve asked, then run far, far away, because the next time I see you, I won’t be nearly as pleasant.”

Releasing her, he ignored the tears in her eyes as she crumpled to the floor, a hand to her throat as she sucked in gulps of air. Leaving her, he strolled back out of the building without a backward glance.

Then came up short at the Aston Martin Vulcan idling at the curb.

He knew this car just as well as he knew the man behind the wheel, and even before the door was opened, Uilleam smiled.

“Hello, brother.”