Page 31 of Ruthless God

“I think we all know that’s not the case. He chose Dallas to keep an eye on his mistress while keeping his wife and children close.”

But not his secret love child.

Of course, I don’t say this part out loud. He wants me to take her somewhere safe and somewhere far away. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

To Santos, I say, “See you at seven.”

I leave the mansion, going to my car. Unlike the others, I’m driving myself. The car is a rental, but it’s nice. It’s sporty and gets me where I need to be while doing so in style. Back home, I have a building that holds twenty of my vehicles. All of them are classics I inherited from…

My hands curve around the steering wheel. No! This is not the time to think of him. I grit my teeth together so hard that my jaw aches. Anything to get my mind off the ghosts of my past.

By the time I get to my hotel, a headache has formed. After leaving my keys with the valet, I go in and stop by the front desk.

“Send a bottle of your best whisky to my room. And before you say anything, I don’t care how much it is.”

The woman’s eyes are wide. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

Even though this woman doesn’t know me, her sense of self-preservation must warn her I’m dangerous, because the look in her eyes is now cautious and weary.

I take the elevator to the top floor, entering my penthouse suite. Everything is in order, but I do a sweep of the room just to be safe. I have many enemies, and I wouldn’t put it past one of them to try something when I least expect it.

When I’m satisfied there’s no threat, I sit at the desk, opening my laptop. There are no messages from Blanc, which isn’t surprising. He’s been tight-lipped since the assassination attempt. Hell, knowing him, he’s probably regretting having Carter open the letter.

Because now the Elite Members know his dirty little secret. And secrets hold power in our world.

A knock on the door has me reaching for the gun in my waistband as I cross the room. Looking through the peephole, I see a server in the hotel’s uniform. He’s carrying a tray with a bottle of whisky and a single glass. Opening the door, I step asideso he can bring the tray in. When he turns, I slip him a hundred for his troubles.

“Have a good night, Mr. Irons.”

He keeps his gaze adverted, as if he’s been told not to look directly at my face. Wise man.

I dip my head, locking the door when he’s gone.

Back at my computer, I pour myself a drink and go through my emails. There’s one from Odin Vilulf inviting me to his home in Manhattan the next time I’m there. He reaches out twice a year, ever since I saved his wife from a trafficking ring. I never accept, of course. I owed him a favor, and that favor has been paid in full. There’s no need for us to keep in contact.

Leaning back in my chair, I think.

The card left after Charles Blanc was attacked only held a single date. October 31. Devil’s Night. A time when anything goes. The host is promising rare merchandise, which is Cecely. If they get her, she’ll go for a lot of money because of Blanc’s status in the Brotherhood. People will want her as a pawn and even as revenge.

I’ve tried to find out who the host is without digging too hard. Only big players were invited, myself included, and I don’t want to ruffle any feathers. From what I can gather, the host is new to the game and looking to make a name. The only thing I got were two initials. G.F. It’s not enough to go on, and yet I can’t stop myself from wondering if it’s the same person going after the Brotherhood, or if they are working together.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the coin I always carry with me. It’s the size of a silver dollar, but instead of currency, it reads ‘yes’ on one side and ‘no’ on the other. A decision-making coin.

The coin rolls between my fingers habitually, and I can’t stop my mind from going to Gabriel. For years, I’ve heard the rumors that he was alive.

But that’s all they are.

Rumors.

I saw him die. More than that, I’m the one who pushed him to his death.

The truth settles over me.

I killed my twin for the better of the world.

And now some clown is out there pretending to be him to lure me out.

I’ve never admitted this to anyone. They’d think I was crazy, or that I didn’t get the job done when I killed him. Neither are rumors I want tied to my name.

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