1. Chapter 1

I hate shit like this.

As I pull at the knot of my tie, I try for the hundredth time to loosen its chokehold around my neck in an effort to not feel like I'm strangling to death.

It doesn't work.

This is one of the many reasons why I can't stand attending formal functions.

Ties.

They're literally torture devices.

This scene was Merrick's forte, not mine.

Unlike me, my best friend had the ability to blend seamlessly with both the upper crust of society and the seedy underbelly.

Truthfully, I'd always been most comfortable as a faceless individual behind a computer screen or facilitating shady deals in back alleys.

Though these days, I've upgraded to conducting those shady business deals in lavishly furnished offices and palatial estates.

As a man who proffered the sale of stolen art, gems, and antiquities, I'd come a long way from my humble and turbulent youth, as I like to put it.

I tried to blend into the wealthy lifestyle more befitting my regular clientele but in reality, "humble"

meant broke and "turbulent"

meant shitshow.

The first part of my childhood had been more than a little rough.

Hell, my entire childhood had been rough.

But at least for the first 14 years of my life, I'd had my mother.

Granted, she hadn't been without her … problems.

But she loved me, that I knew.

She made sure that, no matter what her mental state was, she showed me every day that I was her reason for being.

She'd bought me my first computer, and even as a young child, it was clear I had a penchant for technology.

She'd encouraged me to play to my strengths and nurtured my newfound obsession as best she could, given the fact that she was addicted to opioid medication for the majority of my life.

Then, not long after I turned 14, she died of a drug overdose.

Even though I knew in my heart that it was an accident, because she never would've voluntarily left me, the nightmare that had plagued me for years had finally come true.

Suddenly yanked from the only home I'd ever known, I'd found myself a ward of the state.

We didn't have any family to speak of, and even though it wasn't long after that I found out who my father was, mama never listed him on the birth certificate, so little was done to locate him.

During the years that were supposed to be my most impressionable, I found myself caught up in the circus that was the foster care system.

Don't get me wrong, I'd had a few caseworkers that actually seemed to give a shit about my wellbeing, but for the most part, they'd all been overworked and overwhelmed.

The system was a joke.

I'd watched countless kids, both older and younger than me, fall victim to sexual predators.

Countless more used simply for a government check, but ultimately being neglected or physically abused.

Even more turned to drugs or alcohol themselves to escape a vicious cycle so full of flaws that no one ever really saw them.

Driven by determination and probably sheer luck, I narrowly avoided those harrowing paths.

Being the son of a junkie, albeit a functioning one, cemented the conviction that I didn't wanna be anywhere near the stuff.

So instead of an addict, I'd become a criminal.

Sure, I could've taken what happened to me and turned myself into some type of advocate or social justice warrior, but I didn't have much tolerance for bullshit and a life like that would've been rife with bullshit.

Pandering, hand-shaking, and debating.

No, thank you.

So, by my 15th birthday, I'd run from what would become my last neglectful foster family and started carving my own path.

It wasn't easy, I can't lie.

Living on the streets as a teen wasn't a dream come true.

It was dangerous, and if you wanted to survive, you had to learn who and what to watch out for.

It hadn't taken me much time to decide that I didn't wanna be just another petty criminal.

Call me delusional but my ultimate plans had been much more grandiose.

I lived for two things: money and revenge.

The first, I'd begun amassing in small amounts when my mother was still alive but no longer able to care for us.

Even at that early age, I knew I was a natural-born salesman.

But you wouldn't find me on some car lot hawking lemons to suckers.

Instead, I'd used my knack for technology to create a mystique for myself.

A reputation as a pirate of the criminal underworld.

An online savant that could access any information that existed on the internet … for a price.

My other persona was as a trustworthy go-between for thieves and those who had no problem receiving stolen goods as long as said goods were of the highest quality.

Both dual sides of my personality helped fund the comfortable yet modest bachelor lifestyle I now led.

The extra, I hoarded like a dragon.

If I did take from my sizable nest egg, it usually went toward my ultimate goal of doling out retribution to a particular United States Senator.

The man at the root of everything that had ever gone wrong in my life .

This explained why I was currently sipping a glass of single malt whiskey in the back of a crowded room full of ageing debutantes and wrinkly old bastards with more belly than balls.

And, of course, money.

Always money.

It was changing hands via unmarked white envelopes or auction bids at a table full of items nobody really wanted.

It was all one big circle jerk to see who would rise in the ranks of power and who would become a used-up husk thrown to the side and ultimately forgotten.

The pretense of tonight's fundraiser was to shine a light on … actually, I didn't really know what the hell the purpose of this gathering was.

All I knew was that Senator Hawkins was on the guest list, which meant so was I.

Well, not technically, but I was a halfway decent forger, too.

Party invitations, even ones like this, were child's play to me.

As I skulk around the edges of the room, looking for my target, I keep as much to the periphery as possible.

It only made sense considering both of my alter egos are perfectly at home in the shadows.

I also don't wanna be recognized.

Not that I think anyone who sees me will make a connection to the beloved senator, but you could never be too careful.

I take after my father, after all.

Senator Martin Hawkins was happily married with two fully grown kids, both of which seemed to be using their connections and wealth to follow in their noble father's footsteps of philanthropy and do-gooding.

At least, that was the public image.

In private, the good senator fucked anything that moved, his wife couldn't function without a glass of red wine in her hand, and the kids were spoiled little shits who wouldn't know a hard day's work if it bit them in the ass.

As for me, the only thing I'd inherited from the man was my strong jawline and eyes, which were as blue as the sky on a clear day.

My sandy blonde hair was a trait passed down to me by my mother, even if it was too long to be considered stylish by this crowd.

As it was now, it was pulled back in a small knot at the base of my skull, and to anyone looking at me head-on, I'd blend in well with the rest of the slicked-back rats in this room.

Once again, I make a futile move to pull at my tie.

I swear, each time only seemed to make it tighter and tighter.

I would feel a hell of a lot better if Merrick were here tonight.

While I don't think he enjoys these types of parties any more than I do, he definitely schmoozes better.

The man was a fucking chameleon, having the uncanny ability to camouflage himself into the pattern of any setting.

It was probably one of the traits that led to his chosen profession as a world-class thief.

But as much as Merrick's presence would ease some of my anxiety, I wasn't ready to share with him just how close to this situation I'd put myself.

Don't get me wrong, Merrick knew all about my father and nearly all of my reasons for despising the man.

But I hadn't yet let him in on my plans to systematically break down and destroy every aspect of his life.

To say I was bitter would be an understatement.

Martin Hawkins had ruined my mother, refused to acknowledge my existence, and thrown us both away like trash.

For that, he would pay with nothing less than everything.

I'd make sure of it.

A sudden commotion near the entrance of the large banquet hall has my head swinging towards the doorway where I can just make out the dark hair lined with silver that was Senator Hawkin's signature look.

My gaze turns to stone, and I track the man's movements as he shakes hand after hand, flashing a set of pearly whites that I'm sure cost a pretty penny.

I'd bet my life they weren't his pennies, though.

The man was as crooked as they came.

If you looked up the word "corruption"

in the dictionary, you'd see a picture of his face.

My face.

I hated that.

Hated the fact that I looked anything like the man that had sired me.

The man who had cheated on his wife by seducing a 17-year-old girl, promising her the world, and instead, got her pregnant.

Who'd discarded her like garbage when she refused to have an abortion.

The man who now stood as a pillar of the community and the epitome of Southern class.

As he works his way through the room, I watch from the sidelines as his wife, drink in hand, follows three feet behind him like some peasant made to walk in deference behind the king.

Thankfully, the asshole's other children weren't in attendance tonight, which would make my mission that much easier to accomplish.

I'd picked up a tip that, like many other parties of this nature, one of the many meetings taking place here tonight was to discuss the upcoming auction at the estate of Mr.

Eugene Kingsley.

The annual auction was one I've attended before.

It was invitation-only and ridiculously exclusive, mostly because of all the illegal shit that happened there.

Mr.

Kingsley's yearly party was a who's who of black market buyers and sellers.

The construction magnate had his hand in a lot of sketchy pies.

Art, jewels, antiques, exotic animals, you name it.

On paper, his forte was land development, and the city contracts he received through bribes and blackmail made him a very rich man very quickly.

There was never an official list of items for sale before the party, but it was rumored that there was going to be a valuable gem among the many things up for auction.

A gem I'd been obsessing over since I was a child.

It had changed hands illegally several times since its last legitimate sale through an auction house to a private bidder.

The current owner of the stone was somewhat of a mystery, though, making it hard to pin down.

Couldn't get your best friend to steal something for you that neither of you could find.

The name Dante Gaspari had been thrown around a few times, but I took that bit of information with a grain of salt.

I'd heard of Gaspari before—an eccentric Italian with too much money and a sick streak a mile long.

The stories told about him were the things nightmares were made of.

Especially his treatment of women, though I'd heard his reputation for savagery didn't extend only to the fairer sex.

I didn't buy into the possibility of him being the owner of my sought-after jewel because, quite frankly, the man was currently feeding worms in a cemetery somewhere.

I, like the rest of the criminal underworld, knew that Dante Gaspari had died under mysterious circumstances nearly three years ago.

His killer was never caught.

The irony wasn't lost on me, considering the man had had a reputation for making others disappear, among other things.

Obviously, whoever this new seller was, he was a mystery to me.

And I didn't like mysteries.

In the same way, I didn't like mint-flavored gum or anyone over 80 with a driver's license.

So, whenever possible, I needed to get to the bottom of these mysteries.

It was almost like a compulsion.

I was currently the number one fence on the East Coast.

The one with a reputation for getting the ungettable, and right now, I wanted to get my hands on that jewel.

Especially if the correspondence I'd intercepted was true and my father planned on attending that auction.

I didn't believe he was going for the same reason I was, though.

That ship had sailed a long time ago.

Twenty-eight years ago, to be exact.

But I also didn't believe in coincidences, so my reason for attending the auction would be twofold.

I needed that jewel, and I needed to find out exactly what my father would be doing there.

If I could, I might finally have enough leverage to topple the delicate house of cards he's built up around himself.

Just then, I see my target lean down to whisper something into his wife's ear.

As I watch, she obediently moves away to chat with some of the other trophy wives in attendance.

Clocking the senator's movements, I see him shake hands with an unknown male before they both stealthily exit the room through a door at the back.

As they disappear through the doorway, a guard I hadn't noticed before steps in front of the now closed door, effectively blocking the entrance to wherever that door leads.

Narrowing my eyes, my gut tells me this is the moment I've been waiting for.

I sit my unfinished glass of whiskey on a side table and shove my hands into the pockets of my slacks, making my way over to the entryway that leads to the foyer at the front of the house, moving casually, as though I'm on my way out.

I know what I need to do.

Exiting through the front door, I stroll around to the side of the house, taking out my phone and putting it to my ear.

I'm not actually calling anyone, but if someone were to look out of a window and see a random man wandering the grounds, at least it would appear as though I have a plausible reason.

Clearly, I needed to step away from the noise of the party to take a very important phone call.

A call that I needed privacy for, hence the wandering.

In reality, as I walk the perimeter of the house, my eyes catalog the windows along the side that match up to the direction of that door.

My father and this unknown man are in one of those rooms.

Looking in both directions to make sure no guards are patrolling the grounds, I quietly slip along the line of shrubs bordering the house.

Luckily, several trees provide me with a good amount of cover as I make my way to each window, peering inside.

When I get to window number three, I peek through the open curtains before ducking my head back quickly.

Bingo.

Backtracking to the window of the last room I passed, I make Merrick proud with how quickly I jimmy the lock, and lifting the window, I climb inside.

This room is dark and thankfully empty, but I can hear faint voices nearby.

The deep baritone that I recognize as my father's and that of the man he left the ballroom with.

Locating an air vent near the top of the wall that separates the two rooms, I grab a chair, quietly place it beneath, and climb up.

The voices are louder now and I can hear exactly what's being said next door.

"I need you to speak with him, Greg.

He's the only one that can take care of it.

I'm already having issues with the IRS and missing campaign funds.

My accountant must've fucked up somewhere.

Either that or the bastard is embezzling my money.

If I don't get re-elected, I'll lose everything! I can't afford for my seat to go to that smug little shit, Sykes."

That's definitely my father.

I can't stop the smirk of satisfaction that crosses my face at his words, knowing that I'm the reason he's missing money.

The other man, whose name and information I'll have by the end of the night, replies soon after.

"It's a difficult situation, Martin.

He's not a man you can just throw money at, even if you have it.

He's got money.

Hell, he's got everything.

If you want him to help you, you'll have to come up with something more than just cash, and that's if you can even get a meeting.

It's not like he's got an open door policy at this point."

My brows draw down in confusion.

Who the hell are they talking about?

"I heard he's going to be at that auction, and I'm just desperate enough to go and try to find him myself if I have to, but I'd rather not have to.

That's where you come in.

You can get me a meeting.

Tell him I'll give him whatever he wants.

There's gotta be something he doesn't have.

Whatever it is, I'll get it.

I need this problem taken care of."

The other man sighs heavily.

"I'll see what I can do.

If I can get him to see you, it'll definitely be in LA.

He won't trust that any other meeting place will be neutral enough to talk."

"Fine.

I'll be there.

And I'll get him whatever he wants."

As I listen to the sound of footsteps, followed by a door opening and closing, I quietly lower myself down from the chair, backing against the wall behind the door, just in case someone enters.

After a few minutes, when the door remains closed, I know my father and the other man must be gone.

Exiting the room the same way I entered, I keep to the cover of the shadows near the house as I make my way back around the front.

As I wait for the valet to pull my car around, I turn back to take one last look at the house—no yelling, no guards running out, and nothing out of the ordinary.

When my car pulls up in front of me, I take the keys from the valet and leave the ridiculously large house in my rearview mirror.

I don't need to be here anymore.

I got what I came for.

As I make my way back to the highway that will take me home, I take stock of what I know.

My father is clearly desperately trying to win his re-election bid.

His opponent, Cole Sykes, is currently leading in the polls.

Whoever this man is that they were discussing is someone with enough money, power, or both to take Sykes out of the running.

Whether by physical harm or ruination remains to be seen.

I'm going to have to do a lot of digging when I get home, but there's one thing I know for sure.

Whatever's going to happen next, it's gonna happen at Eugene Kingsley's auction.

Looks like I'm definitely going to LA.