Chapter 1
Tyler
The last two days had been nothing but a trip down a lonely road in a car named Guilt.
Damn if I could shake that feeling after delivering the package to that hotel room. The vision of the woman's naked feet stuck in my mind and the constant news reports about her murder and the suspected connection to Robert Howell, the Massachusetts Senator, hadn't helped.
What was worse, I knew more about the victim than I'd wanted.
She had been a hooker. No doubt, Greg Abernathy intended to paint Howell as a man who was afraid the truth about his extracurricular activities would come out to the press. And so far, that line had worked like a charm.
Howell had lost everything despite his denials of a connection to Misty Peaks - the deceased - and the murder itself. He didn't have a plausible alibi, though.
With the package tucked into the inside pocket of my leather jacket, I strolled down the sidewalk and ground my teeth. I'd picked up the habit of late. First, I'd lost Shelby, and now this. I was fine with 'acquisitions' that weren't exactly above board, but this? Framing an innocent man for murder, in order to further some personal agenda? It made me itch in all the wrong places. It made me feel like I'd bathed in a river of blood and dirt along with Abernathy.
What if Abernathy had killed Misty Peaks himself? No, he'd probably sent one of his cronies to do it. His son, Anthony, was certainly capable. Anthony had that pit bull look I associated with murderers.
"I can't do this anymore," I said out loud. The streets of Beacon Hill were silent this early in the morning. No one heard me. It didn't make the words any less true.
I'd been initiated into the Society without any real knowledge of what they did. And now, I was stuck. But not for long – I was going to get out as soon as possible. Trouble was, I didn't have a clue how to get out. These weren't the kind of people who'd let me leave without taking their pound of flesh - literally.
Which meant I had to have a plan. I'd gather info on Abernathy and the boy wonder, Anthony, then use that as leverage to get them to leave me alone. I could technically expose them, but not without exposing myself and losing Shelby for good. I'd never let go of my hope for our relationship.
I stopped in front of the door which led down to the Society's HQ and sucked in a breath. If I was going to find that info to leverage, then I had to start soon. The longer I stayed in their grip, the worse things would get. Who knew how many murders they'd commit to expand their reach?
I opened the door, hunched over, and hustled into the narrow staircase which led into the depths of hell.
It took me three flights of stairs to reach the door which led into the parlor. I turned the brass knob and stepped into the interior. The tables were empty apart from the one at the back of the room closest to the bar. Charles had taken up his spot there. George was nowhere in sight.
"Ty!" Charles lurched out of his seat and waved me over. "Come have a drink with me."
"The package dude here?" That was what I called the guy who took all my deliveries.
"Not for a couple hours. Come have a drink. You can drop off your delivery in his office afterward."
My pulse spiked. If I could get into the package dude's office I might find something of interest. "Sure," I said, "why not?"
Drunk Charles would be less likely to follow me than sober Charles. I fetched myself a glass of scotch from the bar - the expensive shit I'd never buy for myself - and sat down opposite him.
"Back from another job?" Charles slurped his drink and the ice cubes clinked against the side of the glass.
"You know it," I said. I didn't give him the details. He wouldn't ask for them and I didn't know how much he knew. The Society had a hierarchy like any other group. I had no idea how high up Charles was, but I wasn't willing to risk my 'relationship' with Abernathy.
"How are you enjoying your time here?" Charles asked.
"You say that like my time will come to an end," I replied. Maybe I was a little touchy about my new plan.
Charles chuckled. "Just a figure of speech. You fit in well. I know a lot of the others didn't think you would."
"Ha, like who? Never mind, man, I think I can guess."
"Abernathy's son," Charles replied. "But you already knew that. He's been talking shit about you since you arrived, man."
"What kind of shit?" It would pay to know what I was up against.
"Oh, the usual. That you're an outsider. That you'll end up selling us out or betraying us. That you don't make enough money to be a part of the Society. That you don't contribute in any way other than as a thief. And how can we trust a thief?" Charles grimaced - clearly, he didn't think much of Anthony either.
But Anthony Abernathy had hit on a few points there. I did plan on betraying them in my own way, but only to save myself and Shelby from trouble. I'd spiraled into this because I'd wanted her too much, and then I sank deeper after I'd lost her.
The Society had been my savior and my doom.
"Really pulled his punches." I took a sip of my drink. "How many of the others share his views?"
"Oh, I don't know what's said behind closed doors but everyone in the Society takes what Anthony says with a pinch of salt."
"Why's that?"
Charles looked into the darkened corners of the parlor and narrowed his eyes. He searched the shadows for a good two minutes, then focused on me again. All clear. "I'll tell you a little something about Anthony Abernathy. Strictly on the down low."
"I got you."
"Good," Charles said, and scanned the room again. He shrugged his shoulders. "Never know who's listening," he muttered. In a low voice, he continued, "Most of the members put up with Anthony because he's Greg's son. Greg has given the Society more than most members have in their lifetimes."
I didn't ask what he meant by that. I didn't want to know what else Greg Abernathy had given the Society - apart from his soul. That was obvious.
"Greg's one of the leaders around here. He's one of the guys who wears the robes, y'know? He didn't wear one for your initiation ceremony because he had to present you as his initiate," Charles continued. "But yeah, he's one of the big guys. From a founder family."
"Founder family."
"Yeah, remember we told you about the war and how the Society started?"
"Yeah."
"The Abernathys and the Society go back to the beginning. Every generation brings a new head. A new heir to the role of leader in the group," Charles said. His eyes had glazed over and his words slurred at the edges. Still, he scanned constantly, shoulders tense. Drunk but aware. Only fear could push a man past the buzz.
"And Anthony is the next leader?" I asked. Boy, I'd be out of here long before that happened. He'd drown me like a redheaded step-child if I was still around when he came into power.
"That's the thing," Charles said, and pushed his index finger to the corner of his mouth. Great secrets forthcoming. "Greg knows that his son doesn't have what it takes to be a leader. Greg's cruel but he's smart. Ruthless. And Anthony?" Charles shook his head and let out a bark of laughter. "He's a little runt. He's got all the meanness from his old man but none of the brains. Greg won't let the Society suffer a fool. He loves this place more than his own family."
I worked hard not to shudder. I wasn't a guy who got creeped out easily, but I hadn't realized the depth of Abernathy's coldness. He'd always seemed stiff as a corpse. But he wasn't one, no—he was an animated puppet. The Society pulled the strings and he bobbed along, except his puppet hands held strings of their own…and mine were in them.
Abernathy tugged and I followed. What if he cut the strings?
"Anthony struts around here like he owns the place,” Charles continued. “He's desperate for approval from his daddy but Greg won't give it. He won't name him as the next leader of the family. He's given Anthony everything he can. A good education, money, a job. But that's as far as it goes. Greg's familial obligation is fulfilled. He has a blood obligation to the Society and nothing will change that."
This time I did shudder, but Charles didn't catch it - too busy checking for eavesdroppers.
"So, everybody hates him," I said.
"They don't hate him. He's an irritant. A crumb stuck beneath a lip. They don't listen to what he has to say, so I wouldn't worry about what he's said to the others about you," Charles whispered, still with that finger touching the corner of his mouth. "But you should worry about something else."
"What?"
"How Anthony would react if Greg decided to name someone else his heir. Someone outside the family."
Oh no. Oh fuck no. That wasn't possible. I was a peon. I wasn't a person Greg would trust with something as big as this and I didn't want it. The thought drove up my resolve to find my way out of the Society.
"I'm just an initiate," I said.
"For now. Give it a couple months. Everyone around here likes you. You've got that laidback attitude. They're used to stiffs in suits and you're a regular guy off the street in a leather jacket and jeans. That's a breath of fresh air around here. The Society has been staid for long enough. A breath of fresh air is what we need." Charles drank his scotch and sucked an ice cube into his mouth. He shattered it between his teeth and crunched on it.
"I'm just here to do pick-ups and deliveries," I said.
"For now." Charles tapped the side of his nose. "You're earmarked for great things, man. You'll see."
"I don't want to be earmarked for anything except cash," I replied, and forced a chuckle.
He laughed along with me and finished off the rest of his drink. He scraped back his chair. "Get you another one?"
"Nah, man. I've got to deliver and get going. Got to hit the gym," I lied.
"I hear you. Take care, brother." Charles wandered off to the bar, drawn by the allure of more alcohol. He'd become a fixture in the parlor. Hopefully, he'd be passed out by the time I came out of the office.
I rose from my seat and strolled to the door on the other end of the room. I weaved between the empty tables, my anxiety growing with each step. I reached the door, and for the first time since I'd been initiated, shit, the first time since I'd set foot in the parlor, I didn't knock. I turned the knob and moved into the space beyond.
A long, dimly lit corridor. What was it with the Society and bad lighting? Did they think it hid their secrets better if they all had to fumble around in the dark?
I walked down the hall, my footsteps muffled by a thick carpet of whatever the hell color red looked like spilled, dried blood. I halted in front of an office door. I leaned in and listened. Muffled voices. Shit, it couldn't be this one.
I hurried on and paused at the next door on the right. Listened again. Silence, then the squeak of a chair. Next came the office two paces away on the right. This one was quiet and the brass plaque read: Colin.
That was it. Just the guy's first name. Colin. It should've said, "Colin the Vampire. Colin the Guy Who Freaks Everyone Out. Colin the Acquisitions Expert." No. Just Colin. The lack of identifier made my skin crawl.
I tested the handle and the door swung open. "Colin, he who does not lock his door," I muttered, and checked the moldings for hidden cameras. "Colin, who believes he is so scary people won't invade his privacy." He probably wasn't wrong.
I wasn't brave, though; I was a mixture of stupid and a drive provided by my love for Shelby. That made me extra stupid.
I made for the filing cabinet in the corner, heart pounding out a rhythm of 'what the fuck are you doing, you moron, you're going to get us killed.' I clunked the top drawer open and rifled through the folders and files. Blackmail information. Good Christ, Colin, dude. No wonder the fucker didn't lock his door.
I shut the first drawer and opened the second. More of the same. I went through the motions. Checked every nook and cranny until finally I picked up tax papers. Apparently, Colin did more than just collect the deliveries. He also helped the Society evade tax and defraud the government.
I studied the numbers, eyes narrowed. "This might be enough," I muttered. I pocketed the documents and rounded the desk. I'd make copies and put these back, hopefully before Colin returned from his dungeon orgy or whatever the fuck he was doing.
I pressed my palm to the door and froze.
"—Colin," a man said, outside.
"No idea. He went somewhere. I don't ask the guy questions," guy number two replied. "I like to keep my blood inside my body, thanks."
"He told me to give this to him," number one said. "I don't want to go home without handing it over."
"Just leave it on his desk."
"Right. What was that thing you said about keeping your blood in your body?" number one asked. "I don't want to overstep any lines with the guy."
"I don't know, man. If Colin wants something today, he means it. You go home without handing it over and you're fucked."
"Fine."
I leaped away from the door and scrambled toward the desk.
The knob turned.
I circled Colin's desk, dropped to my knees, and squashed into the space where his feet went. It was fishy as hell down here but better than being outed by another peon.
The door creaked. Footsteps thumped across the carpet - expensive loafers, no doubt. The crinkle of paper. "There," number one said. "I've done my duty."
"Cross your fingers that he doesn't take your balls for coming into his office unannounced."
"What? But you just said—"
"I'm fucking with you, bro. Let's get out of here. This place makes my skin crawl." Two pairs of loafers marched out, and the door clacked shut behind them.
I waited a couple seconds, sucking in breaths to steady my heart. Shit, that'd been close. I took my delivery out of my pocket and dropped it in the tray beside the other guy's brown paper bag. Technically, I could've faked that I was here to do the same as him, but I didn't want the questions. I didn't want my presence in Colin's office getting back to Anthony.
While Colin might not talk to Abernathy's son, those other dudes might. I listened at the door for a full minute, eyes shut tight, beads of sweat gathering on my brow, then slipped into the corridor and promenaded toward the exit, casual as could be.