Page 22 of Manacled Hearts

“What did you tell her?”

I swing a few punches at him, barely managing to catch him with an uppercut. He’s fast. And good. Too good. It’s why he’s the one in charge of training our men. But our sessions are not about beating the shit out of each other. Over the last eight years or so I discovered that this is my way of coping. It’s masochism in its purest form. And fuck knows I need the punishment.

“I kept it vague,” he answers, “Told her we’re businessmen. We have a few ventures around town.”

It’s not a lie. We do. We have this space here—The Fightclub—which is exactly what it says on the tin. Only, we organize high-stake matches with a select audience, bare knuckle boxing, and some brutal sessions that end close to death. Over the years, a few have ended up that way. Maddox is the one who handles all the affairs here. He’s also the reigning champion.

This place is also a front for money laundering. But that’s the back of house business. Carter Pierce, our resident, brutal genius started that hustle, but I took over a few years back. I don’t regret not finishing university, but for years I felt like I couldn’t match the talents of the rest of the Sanctum. However, it turns out I have a knack for numbers and strategies.

Above this expansive basement we have our speakeasy, Midnight, which is our most legit business. It’s another one of Carter’s ideas, and his true baby. It only caters to a select clientele, and even those on our list need to request a password for every visit in order to enter. No one can simply show up, and it’s not open to the public.

However, our primary business, for years now, has been gaining and using information. And no one is better at extracting it than Vincent The Serpent Sinclair. We make it our business to know as much as possible about everything moving in our city and beyond, and we control it all, too. Some call it blackmail, we call it good business. Information is power, and in our underworld, we are kings. Even normal folk whisper about us, but in their ears, our ventures are mere rumors. Legends. They fear us, yet respect us. Likely scared that we know their biggest secrets.

We do.

This side of our business is where Katya and her girls are involved. The escort service is a front, and the women working for us have bigger goals and stunning skills much more important than accompanying someone to a restaurant or fucking them. They know how to get information out of people, they know how to steal it, too, and they’re highly trained. Katya oversees them all, and I’m also involved there, supporting her.

I’m glad Madds had the sense not to get into all these details with Evelyn.

“She was fine with that vague answer?”

“No,” Madds answers.

I stiffen, exasperated that I keep having to pry the answers out of him. “And?”

“She’s not an idiot, Hennessey, she knows we’re not legit. Especially considering how we found her, and then… rescued her. Though, I’m not sure she remembers anything of her rescue.”

“But that doesn’t mean we have to give her a goddamn introduction course to our business,” I snap.

“I didn’t. But I had to give her something since it was impossible to hide how everyone was looking at me. I told her our organization is called The Sanctum, and our business means people know us around town.” Madds drops his arms to his sides, his head cocked. “Why are you so tightly wound when it involves her?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I am not tightly wound. He’s being fucking ridiculous. “She’s an outsider, Severin. I don’t want her living at Katya’s biting us in the ass. She’s a stranger.”

The man grunts, and I scowl.

“Whatever makes you feel better, man. Don’t fucking expect her to stay blind to our world, not when she’s living in it now.”

“Not for long,” I mutter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Did she say when she plans on leaving?” I deflect.

“And go where? Who’s gonna protect her since we’re still finding the rest of the trafficking ring? And where is she getting money from? Not to mention that we already know she can’t go back until she becomes her sister’s legal guardian.”

A man can dream.

“I’ll give her money.”

“Yeah.” He scoffs like it’s the most idiotic thing I could have said. “Good luck with that.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

“She did ask something else.”

I already know I’m going to regret his next words. Though, what bothers me more is her features materializing in my mind the more we talk about her. I’m about to beg him to slam his fist into my temple, in the off-chance it will make them disappear.

“Spit it out already,” I rasp.

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