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Prologue
Prologue
Ollie—eight years ago
The hotel was cold. So cold that paint had begun chipping from the walls, black splotches of mold replacing it. Fancy golden frames were still tacked against what was left of the pretty pink paint. Chandeliers hung above, with no working bulbs.
The once pretty venue was no more than a vacant shell where memories of better times danced along the halls. Laughs and desires were shared in the rooms that now only held secrets and silence. I sucked in a deep breath, inhaling the last puff of a cigarette Mr. Badeaux blew out as he rushed to finish it before our boss arrived.
An expensive cologne filled the air, seeping from the skin it clung to and overpowering the aroma of ash and tobacco. Rubbichon was here, causing even his long-standing employees’ knees to jerk with nerves. His expensive scent was borrowed from his nephew, who was fond of the designer stuff. I guess it made it easier to hide the smell of the shit they were involved in.
“What have I told you about those fucking things!” he fumed, eyeing Badeaux. His stare was enough to make the room even colder. “The cheap ones are disgusting.”
Rubbichon was an enigma to me. He was a man so evil, so clever, so ruthless, and so fucking cold. Scars covered him completely. The flames of hell had tried to swallow him whole but didn’t like the taste and had spat him back out.
Rumor was his son had set the fire, wanting him dead, gone, turned to dust.
And yet, the devil had risen and dressed himself in a fancy suit, matching everyone else in this room.
He strolled in with a sinister smile on his face, one that would have been appealing once upon a time. I’d seen pictures of this man. He was once the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I was as straight as they came. Now, his smile just made him creepy as fuck.
A shiver ran down my spine over the idea that I was in the same room as the devil—or maybe even someone worse.
We sat around a circular bar. A battery-operated light was the only thing gifting a yellow glow.
I swirled my rum in the glass, dreading the taste slipping down my throat. I wasn’t a drinker. The kind of man who might drink one glass of red with dinner but never the heavy stuff. Never until now. I needed the numbing that alcohol brought. I felt too hot in my suit and hotter again as the liquid burned my throat. I refilled my glass, internally cringing as Alerion Rubbichon sat at my side. Nothing showed on my face as I filled him a glass, too.
He thanked me with such a false smile, his sharp fangs on show.
“Appreciated.” He raised a glass to me. “You new?” His French accent echoed in the still room.
“I’ve been here around three and a half years.”
“Strange that we haven’t met.”
“Do you know all your employees?”
“All the ones in this room.”
We both took a drink.
“You spend a lot of time moving around. You go home to France and return to different states. I’ve been based here for a while.”
“He’s under my wing.” Badeaux gripped my shoulder. “He’s good at what he does, Alerion. Hasn’t brought in as many as your little rockstar, but he’s done his part. He’s earned his place.”
My stomach turned, hating what I’d become.
A fucking monster.
Alerion Rubbichon let his eyes examine me, and he didn’t hide the appreciation in his gaze as it lingered on my torso before moving to my mouth as I licked away the ugly taste of rum.
What he was doing was obvious to me—years in the police force had taught me things, like how to look for things a psychopath would do to make you feel uncomfortable. Proving he couldn’t, I smiled.
“How did you find our business?”
“I have secrets of my own.” I smiled, taking another swig before relaying the lie I’d told many times. “It was an accident, actually. Prior engagements took me to a cabin where I saw more than I expected, and I wanted more from it. It just took me a few months to pluck up the courage to face one of you.”
“And look at you now. Even I can’t read you. That’s the sign of a dangerous man, Mr.?”
