Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

Killian

The doorman lifted the velvet rope and nodded me through, out of Boston's bitter night air and into the nightclub's throbbing beat. Music thumped my chest; people cast me sideways glances before moving away, some instinctual part of them knowing I didn't belong. I wasn't here for them.

My target lounged in a booth, knees spread, arms draped over the back, his black sateen shirt with floral accents unbuttoned and untucked from his slim waist, pants hanging off his hips, sandy blond hair messy, as though he'd fallen out of bed into another wild party.

Too stupid, too full of himself, too confident—Noah King had no idea tonight would be his last night alive.

He spotted my approach and cracked a cocky smile. "What are you doing here?" Blue eyes raked over me while his smart mouth parted in a smirk.

"Let's go."

"I'm not done." He snorted. "Why don't you grab a drink? I'll let you know when I'm ready." A few titters bubbled from his groupies.

I didn't work for him, didn't follow his orders, and didn't give a shit about his schedule. I had a job to do, and that job was putting Noah King in the ground. I lunged, grabbed his shirt in my fist, and hauled him out of the booth. He flailed and his friends screamed, probably more concerned for their spilled drinks than Noah's well-being. The crowd parted again, since I now had a stumbling, swearing Noah King in my grasp.

The doorman nodded me through again, familiar with this song and dance.

Noah didn't struggle, not really. We'd been here before, me dragging his ass out of trouble, away from the cops, scooping him up after the latest bar fight or binge. There was always something with him, some kind of drama. Fucking Gen Z.

"Jesus, what crawled up your ass and died?" Noah spluttered, righting his shirt as I dumped him on the sidewalk. "This is a fucking Blake Mill shirt, you neanderthal."

I headed back down the street, toward the nearby parking garage. Noah tagged along, muttering about his fancy shirt, unaware the outcome tonight would be very different from the others. After descending the ramp, I unlocked the Lexus, the alarm chirping as it disengaged, and we both climbed into the car and settled into its leather seats.

Noah clicked his belt on. "What did I do this time, huh?" He sniffed.

Ignoring him, I peeled the car from the garage, threading into Boston's quiet nighttime traffic. A few hours' drive should be far enough away. I had the perfect spot in mind. Somewhere his remains would never be found.

"Fuck this," he muttered, then dug a bag of white powder from his pocket.

"Don't do that shit in here."

"Right, I forgot, you're my conscience. Maybe you should try some, huh? Might help you loosen up. You're always so uptight, so rigid, you know? That brooding face ever smiled?" He circled a hand and chuckled to himself, returning to unwrapping his bag of coke. "Getting high makes sex amazing. Not that you'd know."

I hit the button for his window, cracking it open. A blast of cold air almost whisked the coke from his knee. He swore and tried to punch his window button to override mine. I grabbed the bag of coke and flung it out of the car, then hit the button to close the window.

He glared, eyes big and blue, like a kid who'd lost his balloon.

Jesus, he was twenty-four; would he ever grow up? Not now, since it was over for him. "If you think coke makes sex amazing, you're doing it wrong."

"Fuck you, Killian. All right? Fuck you. " He huffed and slumped in the seat.

Hopefully, he'd shut his mouth for the rest of the ride, as we had a ways to go. His silence was a welcome relief. Until he fiddled with the radio buttons, trying to find a station. He settled on something moody and emotional. I jabbed it off.

"Why are you on my ass, huh?"

I took the I95 north. Boston's glittering sheen faded in the rearview mirror, so there was just us in the car's quiet interior and the occasional oncoming headlights carving through the dark, illuminating his sullen face.

"Where are we going?" He waited a beat. "You can talk, you know. My father isn't here. Pretend to be a human being? I won't tell him. It's not like he and I talk anyway. He barely knows I exist."

Val, Noah's father, knew Noah existed all right, and this time he was done with Noah's excuses. There were fuckups, and then there was sleeping with the enemy. Noah had been warming the wrong bed and spilling business secrets during pillow talk. Still, killing his own son was something I didn't think I'd ever see the boss order. But here we were. Even the boss of the notorious Back Bay Mafia had limits when it came to family.

Noah glanced over, and in the glow of the car's instrument lights, his face had never been so pale. I kept my eyes on the road. Five years, I'd been cleaning up after Noah King. After tonight, he wouldn't be my problem ever again.

"You know, I never asked—figured you wouldn't tell me anyway—but you got family?" He huffed a laugh. "No, of course you don't. Do you even have a life outside my father?" He continued with his rambling, tossing around theories about my background. His voice droned, like the rumble of car tires. I only half listened.

Ninety percent of the words that came out of Noah were filler. I'd gotten used to filtering out the important parts. I was tempted to ask him why he'd done it, why he'd talked , why he had to be so damn stupid, when he must have known his bullshit wouldn't be tolerated forever. But if I asked him that, he'd know I knew, and then I'd have a hostage situation on my hands. Like this, with him thinking we were heading up north to the summer house, despite it being winter, kept him compliant.

Snowflakes left trails in the headlights. The car's automatic wipers came on, sweeping fat flakes aside. Hopefully, I'd get this done and be back in Boston before any real snow began to fall.

"Is this about the drugs?" Noah asked, his voice softening. The high from whatever he'd snorted in the club had probably begun to wear off. Somewhere in that stupid head of his, he might even be sensing danger. But he wouldn't listen. If he'd had any survival instincts, he wouldn't have gotten into this mess.

"My usual guy stopped selling to me. That's my father again, you know? What am I supposed to do? He cut me off. It was only a few deals. My options are limited, right? I can't buy from the usuals, so I have to go out of town. And it's not a lot, it's just…" He shrugged. "I don't know, man, it's not a problem. I don't have a problem. It's just sometimes…" He laughed dryly. "Like you'd even understand. You don't even have a life. Well, I try to. You know how fucking hard it is to make friends when everyone knows your father's a fuckin' psychopath? I'm talking about real connections here, not just people who want to fuck me over for money or power. You know, try and get me to talk shit… I can't fucking trust anyone. Everyone wants a piece of me. So yeah, I get high, it's that or… or…" He trailed off, staring out of the window. "Whatever."

I flicked the radio back on. Even I had my limits to how much bullshit I could listen to.

"You can't tell me you like doing this? Cleaning up after him?" He flicked his pretty eyes over me. "Do you look in the mirror and like who looks back at you? My father's attack dog. He clicks his fingers and you bark."

"Watch it."

"It's true. If you were something, someone important, you wouldn't be babysitting me."

That might have been true, but I knew my place. And I was buried so damn deep in its hole, I'd made my bed there long ago.

I took the next turn off the interstate, onto winding back roads. A light dusting of snow had settled on the asphalt and clung to the pine trees. No tire tracks. This part of New Hampshire got rural real quick. We were close to our destination.

"Where are we?" He sat upright and studied the scenery, only now beginning to realize something was very wrong with this road trip.

I tightened my grip on the wheel.

"Killian." He faced me, eyes widening. "What is this?"

Just a few more miles.

"Where are you taking me?"

His usual easygoing tone had vanished from his voice, leaving it thin. We weren't friends, him and me. Never had been. Despite the times he'd begged me not to tell his father the multiple messes he'd gotten mixed up in, the countless fuckups even his father didn't know about. It was always going to end this way. He'd had chance after chance to clean up, to toe the King family line, and he'd flung it back at his father time after time. Noah was never going to win that fight.

I pulled the car onto a snow-dusted dirt road, rolled into a sparse clearing in the woods, and cut the engine.

Noah gulped. "Wait?—"

As I opened the door and climbed out, I discreetly collected the gun from the pocket of the door. Freezing air sucked all the warmth from my body, but that was fine, I needed the cold for this. It would be over soon. But the next few minutes might get loud.

"Killian?" He peered up at me as I opened his door and he knew—either saw it on my face or finally understood this was the end of the road. He paled even more. "Ki-Killian, w-wait."

"Out."

Noah pushed himself into the seat and breathed hard through his nose. He looked at his hands, perhaps thinking he could take a swing. He might land a lucky punch, but we both knew I'd put him on his ass right after.

I could shoot him in the seat, but that would make a forensic mess I didn't much feel like cleaning up.

His gaze skipped sideways, to the gun in my hand. He swallowed and slowly climbed out.

"Phone."

"What?"

"Phone."

He dug into his pocket and handed over his phone. I dropped it and smashed it under my heel.

Noah had fallen quiet.

Each man died differently. No two were the same. Some begged, some got furious, some fell apart, some tried to sell their souls—or the souls of their kids—for one more chance. Noah was quiet now, but his mind was probably working overtime trying to figure out a way to get free. But we both knew his father had sent me because I never missed.

He looked up with those long-lashed eyes, and damn if some part of my heart didn't hiccup. I shoved him forward, needing him to stare ahead, not at me. "Walk."

He stumbled between the trees, heading into the woods. If he ran, he knew I'd shoot him in the back. The begging would start soon. Maybe I should have gagged him?

"Whatever this is about, let's talk. Call my father, let me talk to him. This is a mistake."

"No mistake, Noah."

"He… Look, whatever I did, I'm sorry, okay? This is… I get it." He tripped over a root and righted himself again. "I get the message. I need to be better, a better son, I get it. I'll be that. I will. I'll be whatever he wants me to be."

I flicked the safety off. Noah's shoulders jerked at the sound, so loud through the snowfall. Snow had landed in his sandy blond hair, lit by moonlight. A few flakes had melted on his expensive shirt. He wasn't so worried about it now.

"Killian—" He tried to turn and stumbled. I grabbed his arm, righted him, and pushed him on. Just a few more steps. Away from the clearing. Couldn't have any hikers stumbling on his shallow grave.

"What the fuck is this?! Huh?" he snapped. "What did I do that was so bad? I just bought some fucking coke from the Southies, that was all!" And here came the anger. Good. It showed he had some fight in him. For a while there, I'd thought he might die like prey, which would have been fucking sad for both of us.

"Turn around."

He stopped, boots crunching in the snow, and turned. "Asshole."

I pointed the gun between his eyes. "On your knees."

His bottom lip wobbled. "Let me run? I'll go, you'll never see me again. Tell him you killed me. I'll vanish. It'll be like I'm dead."

"Knees." I gestured with the gun.

"Fuck." He swallowed. "Killian, please?"

A step, and I pressed the gun to his forehead. " Knees ."

He glared, those blue eyes a brilliant sapphire, and knelt. Lifting his head, peering up, those eyes burned with icy fire. "What did I do? Tell me that."

That defiance, I'd never seen it on his face before, like he had a backbone. As though, somewhere under all the expensive shirts, leather bracelets, cocky remarks, and sassy smiles, there was someone with a heart and soul, someone not as dumb as he made out, someone worthy.

I lowered my aim, hovering the gun over his lips. It was going to be a damn shame to mess up his pretty face. "You betrayed the family."

His eyes narrowed, brows digging in. "Betraying the family is the one thing I have never done."