Page 11 of Darkest Before Dawn (His Perfect Darkness #2)
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Evil never sleeps. Which is why I stay awake long after Inara falls asleep in my arms. This time, she rests peacefully, with no tremors or bad dreams.
I can’t be the man she wants me to be, but at least I can keep her safe and watch over her while she sleeps.
If you ever felt anything for me, if any of it was real, you would set me free, she told me before she fell asleep.
I can see our future, where I hold her tight in my arms, keeping her safe even while she grows sadder and sadder. She’s right; without her work, she’ll be a shell of herself.
But her work also might kill her. I had to make a choice, and I’ll always, always choose to save her. Even if it means the rest of the world burns.
But she won’t let me own all of her. She’s too stubborn for that. She’s been holding back pieces of herself. I thought I could coax her secrets from her in time, but BK escalated things, and now I don’t know how to earn her trust again.
I’m about to do another thing she won’t approve of, and the chasm between us will only grow deeper. But it’s already too vast to contemplate, so what’s another six feet?
After midnight, I rise, careful not to wake her, and kiss her perfect face. I could chain her to the bed—I have the chains ready and attached to the bed frame, including a replacement for the one she ripped apart—but I don’t.
I hate leaving her, but after all the trouble Hamish went through setting up this meeting with the most dangerous men in the city, it’s imperative I attend in person.
I fly to New Rome and walk into a nightclub called Club Inferno in the dark hours before dawn.
Two identical blond thugs escort me through the restaurant, bar, and strip club area, straight to a private meeting place.
There’s a long conference table in the center of the room, but only one chair at the head of the table.
My guards lead me to the opposite end of the table, so I guess the chair isn’t for me.
I thank them, but they don’t say a word. They remain flanking me while the rest of the meeting attendees file in.
Seven gang members take their places around the table.
They’re mostly men, although there’s a slim woman in a wheelchair with tattoos winding up her arms. Some are dressed in jeans and leather jackets like they’re part of a biker gang, while others look more like businessmen in their tailored three-piece suits.
Most of them also wear skull masks to hide their faces.
The one thing they all have in common is the huge silver rings decorated with a skull. Different colored jewels glitter in the skull ring’s eye sockets. These are The Seven, the leaders of a gang called Fraternitas.
Hamish and I have cataloged as many of them as we can, putting names to faces in a private database we keep on all important figures in New Rome. Even with our thorough research, a few figures remain mysterious.
Fraternitas means “brotherhood,” and the gang was founded by a group of street children who pledged their loyalty to each other above all. Now, their wealth and power are formidable. In a few decades, it might rival mine.
St. James is one of the last to enter in his signature gray suit. I know he’s been up all night, but he doesn’t look tired. He takes his place behind the single chair.
The man who enters last is shorter than St. James, but his presence sends ripples through the room. Surrounded by other powerful gang members, he’s the obvious leader. I’ve never met him, but I know of him. He’s Damien to his friends, but everyone else refers to him as The Devil.
There’s no record of a man named Damien.
No history, no childhood. Hamish and I have tried to gather information but found nothing more than hearsay and legend.
In the early days of Fraternitas, he made a name for himself by murdering the heads of every gang and crime family in a bold and genius move.
The coup created chaos and paved the way for Fraternitas to cement their control of all criminal activity in the city, from gambling and smuggling to the illegal fights under the city.
Like the rest of the gang, Damien wears the signature Fraternitas ring, but his ring is the only one that has a skull wearing a crown. If businessmen like me rule above ground, he’s king of the underworld. At least in New Rome.
I nod to both St. James and Damien, but only St. James nods back.
Damien goes to the head of the table and stands in front of the chair but doesn’t sit down.
“All right, Roy,” he says to me. “We’re here. What do you want?”
I don’t waste any time. I paid a million dollars for the privilege of meeting with the heads of Fraternitas because money is the language St. James speaks fluently. If money talks, mine shouts the loudest.
“There’s a new serial killer in New Rome. I’m hoping we can form an alliance for the purpose of bringing him down.”
I look at the blond thug to the right of me, the one who took my briefcase while his identical twin frisked me at the door. He brings it to Damien, who opens it on the table and removes the files Hamish and I compiled on the case.
Damien studies the picture of the Bondage Killer. “This him?”
“Yes, that’s the target, as he was decades ago.
He’s responsible for a series of murders in a small Midwestern town.
He sent letters to the local police station to take credit for the crimes.
Called himself the Bondage Killer. His real name was Dennis Bundy, and his killing spree ended when he was trapped in a warehouse fire and presumed dead. ”
Damien sets the picture down on the table for everyone to see. “And why should we care?”
“Because he’s back in this city now. And he’s killing again.”
St. James shifts closer to the table to get his own look at the photograph. After a pause, he shares a long glance with Damien before saying, “This is a job for the cops.”
“The cops haven’t been able to stop him. Plus, he might be working with someone in the department.” Hamish found Detective Lacy Collins’s notes where she speculated that BK might have had an in with someone in the department, and that’s why he always seemed one step ahead.
“Corrupt fucks,” a masked man mutters, and a few others agree with him.
“I’ve come to you because I’d like him found sooner rather than later, and Fraternitas rules the underworld of New Rome.
” They’re also responsible for their share of murders, but I don’t mention that.
Hamish and I have discovered that they take great pains to follow a strict code of honor. For example, they never hurt children.
Their history is gruesome and bloody, but the violence is mostly against the grown members of other gangs or corrupt city leaders.
Which suits my own purposes just fine. If I were to punish Fraternitas for their crimes, a worse gang would take their place in the underworld.
In this case, the devil I know is better than the devil I don’t.
“I’m willing to pay handsomely to see this man brought to justice,” I say. “I’m putting a bounty on his head.” I make a point of meeting several of the masked men’s eyes. “Double if you happen to find him dead.”
“We’re not killers for hire,” Damien says.
“No, that would be me.” A murmur comes from the door where a tall man with white-blond hair stands idly flipping a knife in the air. “Am I late? Has the party already started?”
There’s a burst of movement from the masked men around the table. Several draw weapons and begin to charge at the stranger before St. James raises his hands for them to stand down.
“He’s a guest,” he says.
“Victor,” I greet the newcomer. We’re not really on a first-name basis because I don’t know his full name. I suspect “Victor” isn’t even his real name anyway, only a moniker.
“Roy.” He dips his chin. “St. James. Everyone. Sorry to startle you.” His smirk tells me he’s not sorry at all.
“Next time, accept our escort,” St. James warns him. “Trespassers end up in the Abyss.”
“Understood,” Victor says. “And I promise to never do it again. But tonight I needed to make an entrance to prove myself. I’m still auditioning for this job.” He sidles up to the table and sifts through the pictures with long, pale fingers.
I’ve hired Victor before. He’s an assassin of the finest caliber but semi-retired. I had to lure him here with a seven-figure advance, so he’s joking about auditioning.
“You might be the only one in the running. We haven’t accepted the job,” Damien tells him.
The room turns expectant eyes on me. I need to sell this. “He’s murdering families. I’m hunting him on my own, but I can’t leave this to chance.”
St. James stirs but doesn’t say anything.
He knows why I’m so invested in finding the Bondage Killer, but he wants me to explain why.
I knew this meeting would require my complete honesty.
It’s a risk to reveal my weakness, but from what I’ve gleaned, Fraternitas understands loyalty.
They have rituals revolving around their members claiming a chosen one, so I’m hoping they’ll respect my commitment to Inara.
“He’s targeting someone important to me,” I admit to the room. “A detective named Inara Ramos. She happens to be the only victim of his who escaped.”
Damien finds the copy of the front page of the newspaper that reported the Bondage Killer’s crimes with a picture of Inara as a child in black and white. Hamish paper-clipped a second, more recent photo of her from the NRPD’s employee files.
“She was a child,” he states, frowning at the photos.
“Yes. The Bondage Killer murdered her entire family and saved her for last. It’s not clear why he spared her. She then became a detective to lock up monsters like him.”
Damien rubs the lower half of his face. The back of his hand bears a tattoo of a skull, and the effect of his hand over his face makes him look like he is wearing a mask over his mouth. “What else do we know about this fuck?”