Page 1 of Shredded Soul

Chapter One

Twelve years ago…

The low scratch of metal scraping metal was always the way Aron knew Paine was on his way. Their cages were side by side. They rarely spoke for fear of giving themselves away. But Aron lived for the sound of the loose bar between them being moved aside. Paine had been starved for so long, his body easily slipped through the gap.

Aron stayed completely still so he wouldn’t give away Paine’s presence. On his knees, under the cover of pitch dark, Paine crawled toward Aron. His every movement was as silent as a cat. If not for that telltale screech, Aron would never know he was there. Then the tiny cot dipped and Paine slipped beneath his arm. They cuddled for warmth. It was the only comfort in their hell. All they had was each other. It was more than anyone else there had. Aron held tighter than usual. Nightmares of the day still lingered in his head. He didn’t know if they would survive, but he knew their sanity wouldn’t. Even with the only thing he possessed in his arms, Aron prayed for death. The way he always did. He hoped they went together. Aron couldn’t imagine either of them being left behind. Sometimes, he pondered killing them both to save them from another day of suffering. But then Aron held Paine and he couldn’t do it. Paine was a flower growing from the ash. He was too beautiful to die.

Chapter Two

Present day…

The houses in this area were all beautiful, imposing, and too ancient for Charon’s liking. In truth, he adored historic homes. Charon simply had no desire to deal with the upkeep. This home had no worries. The sprawling yellow and white mansion had obviously been well loved. Sitting on a large piece of property backing against the Mississippi Bayou, its bright lights illuminated the night, casting a beautiful glow across the landscape. The entire property screamed money and safety. It was an exact picture of what Charon hoped for Paine. Unless there was a monster living inside and there very well might be. Charon needed to be prepared for that possibility. That was why he was armed to the teeth beneath his five-thousand-dollar suit.

Charon had done his research. The owner, Quentin Montgomery, was old money. That afforded him and his reputation some protections. While Quentin was only thirty-nine, his money went back to the aristocrats. No one knew for sure what the man did with his time. From what Charon gathered, his reputation was as white as snow. That didn’t mean much, except Charon had dug deep. Quentin truly seemed to be the quintessential rich man, living the quiet country gentleman's life.

As Charon made his way from his car to the front door, he straightened his jacket. He needed to look his best. Charon couldn’t risk having the door closed in his face. Not when he was so close. As he pressed the doorbell, musical chimes floated throughout the house loud enough to be heard through the door. A full minute passed before a beefy man with hard eyes opened the door.

Charon passed his card to the man. “Please let Mr. Montgomery know I’m here.”

The guy accepted his card but closed the door in his face. Charon stared at the white wood grain and fought the urge to fidget. He had been trained to show no emotion. While Charon had worked on correcting the wrongs foisted upon him, occasionally, those lessons worked in his favor. He needed his coolest head tonight. Charon focused on the sound of crickets and frogs, filling the night with sound. He had never understood why people thought country living meant silence. Nature was loud as hell.

Finally, the door opened again, pulling Charon from his musings. The same man in an uncomfortable-looking suit waved Charon inside. Charon’s pulse pounded in his ears. He didn’t know what he would find here. Charon only knew what he hoped to find.

The obvious bodyguard slash butler led Charon to a sitting room. The man Charon recognized from his investigation sat on the couch with a blanket over his lap. He wore a sweater even though it was too warm in the room. While he didn’t look old, Quentin obviously wanted to appear fragile. Or maybe he was. Charon couldn’t get a clear read yet.

Quentin tapped Charon’s card. “Mr. Nikolaou, collector of antiquities. To what do I owe the honor? I don’t recall insinuating to anyone that I wish to part with any of my pieces.”

Charon pasted on his most friendly smile. “This isn’t about my business. It’s about yours.”

Intelligent blue eyes followed him. Quentin motioned toward the loveseat across from him. “Sit. You have my attention.”

As Charon moved toward the loveseat, his gaze made a quick sweep of the room on the sly. Two guards blocked the door. They were armed. He bent to sit and froze. In the back corner, hiding in the shadows, was Paine. Charon’s heart rate kicked up. He fought not to run to him. Those purple eyes. The face he loved. Coldness stared back. Then other details sank in, forcing Charon to swallow his fury. Paine wore only a collar and fuzzy pajamas.

Charon forced himself to return to his task. Paine was there. The information he had been given was good. Negotiations could begin.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Before Charon could continue or Quentin responded, Paine silently crawled across the floor, reminding Charon of all the nights Paine had crept into his cage. He hopped onto the couch as if he was an actual cat. From there, he put his head on Quentin’s lap, turning his face from side to side, as if marking his territory or begging for pets.

Quentin stroked Paine’s head and body as if he really petted a cat. “What is your proposition?”

Charon’s heart broke. He had known he wouldn’t find Paine whole, but this was another level. Paine openly ignored him while batting at a vase on the coffee table, sliding it closer to the edge.

“I’ve come to buy your cat.”

Paine pushed the vase from the table like a misbehaving cat. It bounced on the thick, expensive throw rug.

Quentin stroked his hair. “It’s okay, kitty. I would never sell you.”

With a sniff, Paine slunk from the couch and moved back toward an enormous-looking dog bed in the corner. He turned his back to the room, as if pouting. Charon’s gaze followed his every move. Every breath came harder than the last. He wanted to kill everyone and snatch Paine from this ridiculous situation. How had this happened?

“He isn’t for sale.”

Charon’s gaze moved back to Quentin. “You just haven’t seen enough zeros.”

Quentin’s gaze moved over Charon’s face. He wore an expression Charon couldn’t describe. It was somewhere between kindness and fear. “You know him.”

It wasn’t a question. Still, Charon gave a sharp nod. He locked his back teeth, trying not to lash out at the situation. He had been searching for Paine for two years. Paine had stalked him and turned up too many times to count, but he always escaped Charon’s grasp. He couldn’t fuck this up.

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