Chapter 14

Styx

"You rang, bossman?"

Rico knew how much I hated it when he called me that. I usually lashed out at him, although our sordid friendship was such that little I did fazed him. Tonight was no different, other than what my brother had called my Capo sucked in his breath, sniffing afterwards in an exaggerated fashion like some vile pig in the wild.

"You smell like a whorehouse."

I threw him a nasty look and poured a drink, not bothering to offer one to him. This wasn't a social visit.

"I need you to do something for me," I told him as I turned around, leaning against the edge of the bar.

"Hence your text. ‘Get the fuck here immediately.'" He grinned, the man obviously having too much time on his hands. He was the single person in my life I'd almost consider a friend, although good old Dad had drilled into me that having friends was akin to having a loose but thickly woven rope around my neck.

Still, Rico had been there through thick or thin, someone who had no life other than what I told him to have. Granted, he was wealthy beyond his means, but I gave him little time to enjoy it. Other than when he traveled with me.

"What do you need?" he asked, obviously realizing I was not in a playing mood.

"Find out all the dirty little secrets you can about Gideon Martin including a list of his friends and colleagues he associates with on a regular basis. He was also seen with a fucking Arabian prince the other night. Find out who that was. I emailed you a picture of the two of them together."

"Don't you know who this prince is? You know everybody."

"How the fuck would I know? Arabian princes are a dime a dozen these days." I couldn't help but snort.

He threw up his hands. "I thought you'd be in a better mood after collecting the object of your infatuation."

"Yeah? Well, you thought wrong."

Yes, her utter defiance right to the end had pissed me off more than I'd anticipated but it was more than that. It was the disgust she had in her eyes when looking at me, even though a portion of the time her gaze had been filled with lust. It was the sick feeling that my decision to keep her would haunt me in some fashion.

I wasn't the kind of man who handled change easily. My usual response was terrible acts of violence to soothe my inner beast. Somehow, I doubted that would work any longer.

"O-kay. I'll see what I can do. You do know Mr. Martin has as many powerful friends as your family does."

I took a swig of scotch, eyeing him before answering. He hated my two brothers almost as much as I did but at times, we were both forced to acknowledge my background. At some point, I'd be forced back into the Don position of the glorious Saint Empire. The thought was as revolting as the last time I'd talked with my brother Creed.

"I'm well aware they're mafia. However, I need to know every scrap of information about him, including his connection to the Thibodeaux clan. Liam Jacobs has become a nuisance."

He knew I was capable of gathering whatever information I wanted given my ability to hack into any computer in the world and the lengthy list of contacts I had, but this was more about time. The idiots who'd hired me to kill Emily would eventually try to track me down. It was only a matter of time.

I had other important business to attend to, including spending more quality time with my special little rose.

"Not good for his health. Okay then. I'll let you know what I find. Do you want me to turn on the security system?" he asked, more in passing than anything.

Yes, I'd lied to her because I wanted to discover exactly what she was capable of. "Not yet. However, instruct the men to keep an eye on her as well as ensure no one attempts to get on this island."

"You got it, boss. She's a handful, huh?" His grin irritated me today. He must have noticed immediately because his eyebrows lifted and he turned on his heel, walking out of the room.

Sighing, I pulled the glass to my head, my mind aching as much as my balls were already doing. I hadn't intended on being as brutal with her as I'd been, but no woman had ever challenged me in such an egregious manner. What the hell was I talking about? No one had ever done that, period.

I took a deep breath, throwing back another gulp. The taste was spectacular, but not nearly as much as the lingering hint of her sweet pussy remaining on my tongue. I'd dressed, leaving my shirt partially buttoned and my feet bare. I wasn't the kind of man to parade around in sweatpants or some equally useless piece of clothing.

There was no reason for me to be thinking that way other than I'd wanted to crawl into bed with my little sparrow. Sadly, she needed to learn more than one lesson. The sight of the sharp drop-off and electrified razor wire had obviously done nothing to deter her desire to escape.

I glanced at one of six laptops I had at my disposal, thinking about how to get through to her. It shouldn't matter but I did want her stay to be as pleasurable as possible.

After refreshing my drink, I headed for my desk, easing down in the chair. With Rico doing some leg work, that freed me to spend more time getting to know everything I could about my prize.

And the one thing that I knew continued to haunt her.

Her mother's death.

I pulled up the internet just like anyone else would do, allowing my fast fingers to go into motion. I already knew the Martin family's entire lineage of course, including hobbies, likes, dislikes, and whatever else had been recorded about them. But no one paraded their skeletons out in public, especially a man like Gideon.

He'd excelled through privacy and secrecy.

But his wife's murder had been difficult to hide.

I found articles on her murder in archived copies of the Boston Globe. I'd casually read them over before, finding nothing of value, but I took the time to really go over them. Kendall Martin, her maiden name Ryker, had been the second daughter of a powerful political family from California. She'd been raised in the lap of luxury, her parents remaining in love until their untimely death.

Kendall's life had been picture-perfect, a beauty queen and virtuoso pianist a year after she started walking. She'd gone to the finest schools, had played with the best orchestras, and from what I could tell, was the person solely responsible for her only child following in her footsteps.

I'd even heard Kendall play, her style so much like her daughter's that her murder haunted even a man like me. After staring at the ridiculous photos of Kendall and Gideon arm and arm at some benefit gala only a few nights before her death, I was determined to learn what had really happened.

While all l had to do was to hack into the Boston Police Department's secure files, I enjoyed reminding certain people I kept under my thumb, and those who I'd bailed out of something horrible in their lives, that they owed me.

The now chief of police was no exception. Of course he'd been nothing more than a third year detective when Kendall had been murdered. Now he was a man of importance. There was some who said he'd soon run for office. Maybe mayor first. Maybe he'd skip that step, jumping for a seat in the senate. He was well liked, highly respected, had a perfect nuclear family.

Yet no one knew just how many ruthless organizations had greased his hands over the years.

That's where I differed from the typical Mafioso as my darling sparrow had accused me of being. I never played favorites and I'd never greased a single palm since being in operation.

I had saved his wife's life once while enjoying my other profession, the surgery one most doctors had refused to perform, but that's not what had endeared the man to me.

It was when Chase Baxter had come to me after I'd quit playing doctor, frantic and begging me to help him get out of a very ugly situation. He'd been the one to pay me for erasing his problem, but not with greenbacks or stocks, but with his pledge of allegiance to remain my loyal subject.

Maybe I considered myself a little bit of royalty. I grabbed my cell phone, dialing his private number, the one I'd told him he would never change without tipping me off. That had been six years before, the issue I'd dealt with wiped off the face of the earth along with most of the evidence against him.

I held the rest in a secure safe off the premises of both the Boston estate and this one. Only my attorney knew of its whereabouts, prepared to blast the universe with all the damning information I'd collected over the years. Chase Baxter's issue? The very vivid photographs of him in a sultry embrace with a fifteen-year-old. I'd confirmed the photographs hadn't been doctored, the blackmailer simply using a very special camera used by stargazers with a powerful range. I'd purchased one for myself after seeing how useful they could be.

When Chase answered the phone, I could tell he was doing so tentatively. You never knew what to expect what I made contact. That was my claim to fame.

"Mr. Saint."

Ah, a nod of respect. "Chase. How are things on the hunt for the White House?" He hesitated, likely shocked my guess had been correct.

"Frustrating as usual. Politicians are a pain in the ass. What can I do for you?" Now his tone was clipped.

I glanced at my watch, the one I never removed, and sighed. The time difference was four hours, which meant he could be on his way to another amazing event. "I'll make this brief. I need all the information you have on Kendall Martin's murder."

He seemed shocked at my demand, his breath catching. I resisted the urge to ask him if a cat had gotten his tongue. If he wasn't careful, I'd pull it out with pliers.

"I'm not certain what you're talking about," he said evasively.

I laughed in a way that should tell him in no uncertain terms to cut the fucking crap.

Chase cleared his throat. "There was a break-in at the house and she walked in on it. The perpetrator was never found, only a few pieces of art stolen."

"Uh-huh. Translate that for me, why don't you?"

The man sighed, taking his goddamn sweet time before answering me. "Fine, Styx. Gideon was suspected of the horrible crime, but he was away in New York at a fundraiser for a buddy of his, photographs taken only moments before the confirmed time of Kendall's death. My partner and I did our best to tie him to it since we were aware of his deep connections to several mafia organizations even then. Of course, he wanted the press to think he'd been the target, one of his enemies breaking into the house, but my partner and I knew better."

"The murder wasn't committed at the house. Was it?"

"Doubtful," he offered. "The woman was tortured, the blood loss horrific. Yet there was very little blood at the scene. Just enough to make the crime look horrific. I was all over it, but the then police chief shut me down completely. It was a shame since the little girl had been the one to find her mother. I doubt she's ever been the same. Bastard of a father. Now, that needs to stay between you and me."

"And why is that?"

"Because it would appear Gideon Martin is getting power hungry, determined to remove anyone who crosses him."

"Keep going." I drained my drink, already having a sixth sense about where this was going.

"Because the bastard thinks he's going to become the next president of the United States and while you might think me corrupt, all I can say is God help us if he's elected."

I smiled and slowly eased my glass to my desk. That was something I hadn't learned as of yet and was grateful to know. "Well, I assure you he won't make it to the first caucus. Email me the photographs of the murder to my secure email."

"The files have been flagged. People will know."

"What fucking people matter, Chase?" I jerked up from the chair, my anger increasing. "You're the goddamn chief of police. You have men and women answering to you."

"Yeah, but who do you think is running the show in Boston?"

I burst into laughter. "So Gideon owns more people than you do. How fascinating for me and troubling for you. Find a fucking way. If you don't, I assure you that you won't have a chance in hell of keeping a single part of that posh life you've built. Do you hear me?" I was unnerved that I'd resorted to this kind of threat. That wasn't like me at all.

"You don't know what I'm up against."

"And I don't care. Just get the report to me of Mrs. Martin's death along with your notes, Chase. I'm certain I'll find those fascinating. I expect to see what I asked for within three hours." I ended the call, holding the phone to my head, thinking about what he'd told me. Perhaps Gideon didn't want any baggage along for his ride into stardom or perhaps Zeus wasn't interested in having a scumbag as the next president.

I'd need to be prudent in determining how I wanted to handle this, but it was always good to have a full deck of information at my disposal.

I leaned against the thick leather office chair, resting my head on the back, staring up at the ceiling. Gideon was quickly becoming a pain in my ass, a man who deserved to have a bullet driven into his brain, but in my mind, that was too good for him.

And I was curious as to why the Boston police had yet to be notified of the loss of Gideon's guards. Maybe Mr. Martin was just happy she was gone, cutting his losses.

Yeah, I hated the man almost as much as I had my own father.

The same went for Creed and Easton, all three of us discussing how to end our father's life.

When we'd finally made our decision to cut the man to ribbons in exchange for our freedom, that had been the only time we'd worked together.

Why was it that I wondered if it had been a precursor to something bigger?

I closed my eyes, rolling the tip of my index finger around the rim of my glass.

Sleep didn't come easily for me. It never had. During times of slumber, my father had come into our rooms, forcing one or all three us to go on what he called hunts. They'd been reminders of how brutal the man was, his cackling laughter as he forced us to chase grown men who'd been stripped naked through the woods something I would never forget.

The woods where at least a dozen murders had taken place were haunted by the spirits of the men he'd destroyed, the blood spilled. I was shocked Creed had remained in the very estate where the game had begun and the last will and testament of our fucking savage father had been read, his wealth distributed as in the same manner in which he'd lived.

Through deception.

Even before the hunts, he'd often entered our rooms to do other unspeakable things to his children, including beating them for whatever infraction he'd believed had occurred.

I jerked up from the desk, taking two long strides toward the bar, grabbing the entire bottle of whiskey instead of pouring my usual two fingers. It would seem going down memory lane had the same effect as it always did.

It put me in a piss poorer mood than I'd been in when speaking with Liam Jacobs. I poured a full glass, once again thumping down in the seat, remembering words my father had spouted off after the conclusion of the first hunt we'd been forced to engage in when we were only eleven years old.

"You will learn the most powerful tool in your arsenal is fear. Use it wisely."

Fear.

Taught at eleven.

Mastered at thirteen.

Performed a dozen times by the time I was sixteen.

And here I was, lamenting about the meaning all these years later.

I needed my angel, my sweet savior to keep me from turning into my father.

If that was even possible.

When I closed my eyes again, I was able to capture an image of her sweet face to hold onto. Emily truly was the only possible way of gaining salvation.

But as always happened when I kept my eyes closed for too long, Mary's face replaced anything else I was thinking of.

I fisted my hand around the glass, pulling the drink slowly to my lips.

I could still hear her laugh, the way she hummed when she was doing laundry, and her lilting voice when she greeted me after a long day of seeing patients or surgeries.

"Where have you been all my life?" She'd asked me that question countless times in her sultry voice, almost always laughing afterwards.

A single gulp wasn't enough, the images too fresh, too real. I heard her favorite song in my head, the way she sang in the shower always drawing me in to share the steamy water with her. And she'd almost always tried in her way to push me out of the small enclosure.

It never worked, not that she'd tried that hard.

Jesus Christ. What was wrong with me?

I hadn't realized I'd powered down the entire glass until only drops hit my tongue. I grabbed the bottle, my hand shaking as I tried to refill.

There was no way of keeping out the ugliness from that night. The night that had changed my life, the one that had driven me into becoming the man I was today.

Cold and heartless.

It was suddenly as if I was standing on the sidelines, watching as I arrived home from work, the horror of what I'd seen creating a moment of panic. I'd been too fucking late. Too fucking late.

Yet I could still hear her screams.

Oh, God.

It had been her birthday, for God's sake, and I'd… The guilt was the real rope tied around my neck as it should be.

I took another long pull, immediately tossing the glass across the room, the crackling sound as it shattered doing nothing to dull the pain.

If only I hadn't taken the surgery for a colleague. If only I hadn't tried to save a life. If only.

I fisted my hands, pushing them against my eyes, the deep rattle of sadness rushing into my chest. Why now? Why the fuck now?