Page 2 of Soul Of A Villain

“I’ll try, King,” Oliver finally acceded with a growl of defeat. Kingston’s use of the affectionate nickname he’d given him during childhood was a low blow. A sledgehammer reminding Oliver of the times his brother protected him. It also brought up shared nightmares of a shitty childhood with a sadistic father. It was almost more than Oliver could stand. It made something burn deep inside him. A hatred once reserved for his older half-brother but now—more often than not—turned inward. “Really, Kingston. I’ll try to make it.”

“I hope so. We’ll talk again soon and finalize our plans. Until then, be safe, brother.”

Oliver ended the call, poured another finger of scotch, and tossed it back with a grimace.

Hate was a funny thing.

After living with it for so long, its absence proved disconcerting.

Oh, he still hated, of course. Burned with it, actually. Loathing for his deceased father. Hatred for his enemies. Disgust for liars. But the overwhelming emotion once harbored toward his half-brother had melted during the months roaming the country.

Love had worked some crazy magic on Kingston. His happiness and that of his bride-to-be were evident in the photos Oliver saw splashed across social media and paparazzi outlets. The two of them fucking glowed with adoration despite the brutal violence coloring the beginning of their love story.

But even as his hate for Kingston had dissipated, Oliver still suffered from jealousy. There were moments when he craved the same peace and contentment his brother had found with Ava. It hit him the hardest during those intermittent phone calls with Kingston. The five-minute conversations existed as reminders that his brother cared for him. Worried about him. There was no mistake that Kingston and Ava wanted him home so the tattered relationship could be mended for good.

Oliver wanted that, too. Sometimes. But the blackness inside him inevitably snuffed out any glimmers of light. The promise of happiness was not meant for a man like himself—a coldhearted monster who once negotiated the sale of the woman his brother desperately loved. It did not matter that Oliver killed his partners in the illicit deal following an unexpected change of heart. It did not matter that he saved Ava’s life for Kingston’s sake. Even if he no longer hated his brother, darkness still poisoned his soul. Kingston and Ava might have forgiven him, but it didn’t fucking matter. How could it when forgiving himself for what he had become over the years was impossible?

The truth was simple. Whatever drops of humanity he managed to squeeze out would not change a damn thing. His heart was twisted and black. It would be that way until the day he took his last breath. And he would pay for his many sins during an eternity in Hell’s deepest pit.

There was little hope of salvation for the soul of a villain.

ChapterOne

Diamond Lake Ranch, Colorado

Oliver

Oliver rakeda hand through dark hair while half-heartedly listening to the Diamond Lake Ranch director.

“Fine set of girls tonight,” Erik commented in a thick Russian accent, his thin lips curved into a grin. “Maybe you bid, eh? Get a girlfriend for a small price.”

Oliver almost snorted in disbelief. Small price? No such thing existed here at this exclusive compound nestled deep along one of the more remote ranges of the Colorado mountains. Every service offered at Diamond Lake Ranch came at an exorbitant cost.

“I’m just here for a scene or two,” Oliver replied with a shrug. “Been a while since I’ve had the chance to visit the ranch.” He did not mention that it had been nearly four months since he’d last fucked a woman. It wasn’t for lack of female attention. Recently, no woman had piqued his interest enough to put forth the required effort.

Erik leaned closer, his voice lowering. “We have a special offering tonight after the usual auction, Mister Winter. A man of your tastes will appreciate.”

Oliver’s eyebrow lifted. “A man of mytastes?”

In addition to the normal operation as an exclusive and remotely located kink club, Diamond Lake Ranch also organized a series of expensive auctions. The world’s elite were offered a buffet of women willing to serve as companions and sexual partners. Vetted participants entered the auction with the protection of a contract and rules. Everyone walked away happy—especially the women who were paid outrageous sums of money and treated like royalty during the requisite thirty-day time span.

The Russian’s eyes narrowed. “Da.It is no secret, my friend, the things you like. I took the liberty and preapproved you. You will find the necessary information in your room.”

Oliver did not respond as Erik led the way to the suite reserved for his stay. He had no interest in bidding on a woman, much less being responsible for her care and well-being for the next thirty days. He’d only come for the quick, string-free encounters and extensive BDSM activities the ranch was famous for.

His curiosity pissed him off when he found himself gravitating to the security-enforced chambers where the auction would take place. Deep within the subterranean network of tunnels beneath the sprawling compound, Diamond Lake Ranch auctions required prior financial approval, an invitation, and a mask to enter. All thoughtfully provided for Oliver’s convenience. He ignored the internal voice echoing Kingston’s warning about the ranch’s recent forays into the darker aspects of the business. These voluntary auctions were common; he saw no danger in attending one merely as an observer.

There were two selections of masks available for bidders. Picking one up, Oliver considered the sickly gray devil mask accented with curved horns. He tossed it back onto the heavily carved side table and picked up the second one. He slid it on. The half mask covered his features from the mouth upward. A gruesome skull with black, hollow eyes could have served as the prototype for the tattoo inked on his back.

Before moving toward the auction chamber, he accepted a tumbler of scotch from a bartender whose features were concealed by a simple black mask. Other men were slowly filing in, choosing their own masks and taking advantage of the elegant bar.

Low, thumping music set the mood as attendees moved through the queue, the space lit only by flickering gaslight lanterns anchored into roughly hewn stone walls. Once his credentials were verified and paddle number registered, Oliver entered the inner chamber and took up a stance against the back wall. He tucked his bid paddle into the inner pocket of his black tuxedo jacket and glanced around the room.

From this vantage point, he could easily see the circular stage bathed in a pool of white. Attendees could view the offerings while remaining hidden in shadowy darkness. It was cold; the stone walls and floors only enhanced the chill in the room. Cavernous and dark, the chamber was illuminated only by the wall lanterns and that singular light blazing over the stage. It reminded Oliver of a surgical room in a horror movie where the attention was focused on the operating table and the patient. There was no seating, but several high-top tables of the same heavy dark wood stood within the antechamber. Men gathered around them, talking in low voices, their low chuckles barely audible over the background music.

“I knew you wouldn’t resist the auction, Winter.”

Oliver cursed under his breath. Despite his devil mask, he immediately recognized the middle-aged man who sidled up beside him. The burn scar marring the top of his right hand gave his identity away. Lee Barlow was a mean son-of-a-bitch and as dirty as one might expect a career politician to be.

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