Page 1 of Deranged (Killers Inc. #3)

It was hard as hell feeling like a stranger in his own home.

Everything felt upended since the Agafonov crew had burst into their lives.

Henry relaxed in a lounge chair by the pool, trying to enjoy the way the multi-colored strung lanterns cast a glow on the water.

The night air ruffled his hair. Anything was better than thinking about what happened around him.

Even the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed couldn’t save him from his emotions while they celebrated Mickey and Edge’s marriage.

The wedding had been gorgeous. His boss, Beau, had gone all out.

The pair could have afforded the entire affair without even noticing the cost, but Beau had insisted.

Henry wasn’t fooled. For the biggest weapons dealer on the west coast, this was one hell of a feather in his cap.

Edge led the world’s most deadly assassins’ group for hire: Killers Inc.

Two powerful entities had merged today. Beau would be a legend. Henry had never been more miserable.

It was his fault, of course. He had been in love with Mickey for a long time.

There were more reasons than he could count for why he hadn’t acted on those feelings.

Partially, it was due to thinking Mickey was straight.

Mostly, he knew he could never love anyone the way Mickey deserved.

He watched Mickey getting that love elsewhere now. Henry wanted to hate Edge’s face.

Mickey was a blond-haired, green-eyed beauty who walked with the swagger and confidence of a man who knew his worth.

Fuck, he made Henry’s mouth water. But on the inside, he was blindingly beautiful.

Henry supposed that was exactly what Edge saw too, except Edge had been brave enough to reach for him.

Even knowing he never would have gone out on that limb, Henry’s chest still hurt where his heart should be.

He didn’t know how to get past the loss.

Strong hands landed on his shoulders and squeezed. Henry didn’t even need to look. He smelled Field’s cologne. Field was a member of Edge’s team—a brother by choice. He was also the fakest person Henry had ever met, followed closely by the most annoying.

“Stop pining and find someone to dance with.”

Henry’s gaze moved toward the makeshift dance floor that had been set up in the backyard.

He fought the urge to snarl in disgust. “Don’t let the fact that I used you once go to your head.

You don’t get to assume things about me.

That’s all that night was. You aren’t special.

Don’t create stories about me in your head. ”

Laughing green eyes caught his attention as Field moved past him.

He walked slowly, holding Henry’s stare and wearing a huge grin—taunting Henry.

“Please, Daddy. You’re so transparent. It couldn’t be more obvious you’re in love with Mickey.

I don’t have to know you because I see you.

” He turned, walking backward. “Also, don’t think for one second you used me.

I used myself. You’re not special either.

In fact, considering how that night went and all your ‘you can’t handle me, kid’ bullshit, I’d say you were barely mediocre.

So, I fully intend to abuse myself, over and over again with everyone I can.

Speaking of which.” He turned and walked away, leaving Henry in the dust as if he truly meant nothing.

He headed straight for a nearby guard, invading his space with his laughter and bright smiles. “Hey. It’s Clay, right?”

Clay looked like a deer in headlights. While he was a deadly tool to have on Beau’s team, he obviously had zero game. He didn’t know what to make of the huge, red-haired flirt who stood all in his space.

“Um. Yeah. Hey.”

“It’s Field.”

“I know.” Clay said the words a little too fast to hide his interest.

Henry rolled his eyes. Clay had no chance of handling someone like Field.

Field would twist him like a pretzel, then leave him in the dust, begging for more.

Henry hated to admit that, but he’d had his dick in Field’s mouth once.

He knew what the guy could do. Field was right.

Henry had hardly given him a reason to come back.

To be fair, Henry had just learned about Mickey and Edge.

The news flipped his world upside down. Field had been flirting and pushing him for months.

He had been in the wrong place at the right time.

That had made him an easy target for Henry to release his rage.

Goddamn it. Field had used himself. Henry couldn’t even deny it.

Field was a muscular guy who was terrifyingly deadly.

Henry would bet the guy was every bit of six-six and three-twenty-five.

He could have handled himself if he hadn’t wanted to do exactly what he did.

It pissed Henry off, knowing Field had dropped to his knees and blown him with zero reciprocation of any kind just to hurt himself.

It had nothing to do with pleasing Henry.

Henry hadn’t gotten the upper hand or alleviated any rage.

He had simply been a tool to punish a deranged mind.

Field had issues, and Henry had fed them.

He felt a little sick. It was probably the alcohol.

Henry wasn’t one to pity anyone, and Field would likely slit his throat if he did. What a mess.

“Why aren’t you dancing? I love to dance.”

Henry started slightly at the sudden appearance of Beau’s husband, Kylo. He was so fucking quiet. The guy probably knew more about what went on in the house than anyone, simply because no one knew he stood there half the time.

Henry set his empty glass aside and stood. “Let’s dance, then.”

Kylo bounced in place in happiness and clung to his arm on the way to the dance floor.

Henry genuinely liked Kylo. He was the perfect spouse for Beau.

He offset the cruel and calculating man Henry had known nearly his entire life.

They had come to the U.S. together from Italy.

Henry had watched Beau’s back while Beau took them from absolute starvation to a life so luxurious, Henry hadn’t known it existed.

This was where he would stay until he died—right at Beau’s side.

“I’d ask why your lazy husband isn’t dancing with you, but I see him scheming with Tracker.” He always knew where Beau was. That was his job.

Kylo led him into a fancy dance Henry couldn’t keep up with, but he didn’t lose thread of the conversation. “I’ve already worn him out. He needed a break. You haven’t danced at all tonight.”

Henry forced a laugh. “Well, as you can see, I’m not good at it.”

Kylo didn’t laugh with him. He slowed down and took on a serious look. “You should let me teach you. I dance with Mickey all the time. He’s gotten really good. You could too. Anyone can.”

He was such a sweet soul. Henry had no fucking clue why the guy had fallen in love with this family.

Except he kind of did. Kylo was too good-hearted for this world.

He needed exactly what he found here. It didn’t hurt that sweetness coated a steel center.

Kylo was the toughest person he had ever met.

A slow song began. Henry turned his head, expecting Beau to plow him down. Instead, his gaze landed on Edge and Mickey. They looked in love. The way they stared at each other made his chest hurt.

“Yeah. Maybe you can teach me sometime.” Henry heard the words, but it took him a second to realize they came from him. Maybe he was drunker than he thought.

When the slow songs began, Field immediately detangled himself from any chance of a dance partner. Beau had been nearby, talking to Tracker. Field had practically shoved Clay into Tracker’s arms so Beau could steal his husband from Henry. He needed another drink.

Fabrice stood at the open bar, watching everyone dance.

As usual, the French chef looked overly serious.

His jet-black hair was combed to perfection and his shirt perfectly pressed.

He was much younger than Field would expect a personal family chef to be, but Beau’s entire staff felt like a mystery to him.

Field had no idea where each person had come from, but they were fiercely protective and loyal.

It was a bit strange, especially since Field felt it to his bones, they weren’t like that out of fear.

Field pasted on his brightest smile. “Fabrice! Hey. Why are you hanging out over here?”

“This is where they hide the spirits.”

Field laughed. “Good plan. I’ve not had nearly enough alcohol to deal with all the love in the air.”

Fabrice reached over the counter—like he was the boss of the bar. He grabbed a full bottle of vodka and set it in front of Field. “A good Russian drink for the Russian. "Santé.”

“Is that your way of telling me to get lost?”

A hint of confusion crossed Fabrice’s features. “Not at all. You look like a man who doesn’t want company.”

Now Field felt like shit. He hated it when people could read him. Most people accepted every smile at face value. Occasionally, people were better at picking up the vibes he couldn’t always hide.

Field ignored the bottle. “You know what? Fuck that.” He was good at reading vibes too.

Fabrice wasn’t the best at letting go. He was the guy in the corner.

The wallflower who wanted to join but didn’t know how.

Field grabbed his hand. “You’ve stood here too long.

” Field headed for the dance floor, practically dragging Fabrice behind him.

Fabrice spoke in rapid French, but while Field spoke several languages, he didn’t speak that.

He gathered the guy protested in some way.

Since Field couldn’t understand him, he chose to ignore his wishes.

In seconds, Fabrice was stiff in his arms.

“I don’t normally dance.”

“Welp. You are tonight.” Field fought a laugh at the horror in Fabrice's expression.

“I’ll likely step on your toes.”

A part of Field’s usual facade fell away. He understood insecurity. “Look at me. Do I look like someone you can hurt by stepping on?”

Fabrice’s gaze moved over him. “You are rather large.”

A genuine laugh burst from Field. The only time he was happy for real was when he did things for other people. If he made everyone else smile or uplifted them in any way, then maybe he could keep going. Otherwise, he was a waste of space. As Fabrice had pointed out, a large amount of space.

“Did I insult you?”

Field realized his mask had slipped as his thoughts took a dive. “No. I’m sorry. Have you ever had one of those moments where you remembered something you forgot to do, completely out of the blue, and when you can’t do anything about it anyhow?”

“My job here is very hectic, so oui. All the time.”

Field spun while holding tightly to Fabrice, making the guy laugh. His smile was back for real. He wasn’t failing tonight. Field realized he had never really spoken a lot to Fabrice. “How long have you worked here?”

“Since I was a child.” He looked thoughtful for a moment.

“I’ve been here twenty-two years, I think.

Not all of those were working years, of course.

My uncle Pierre was the head chef here for most of his life.

He is retired now and living his best life in a small cottage on the property.

My parents passed when I was four and he is my only living family.

Beau happily agreed to take me in the moment Pierre asked.

His children were young back then, as well.

We grew up together.” Fabrice nodded toward a pair of tall men.

One had a very dark air about him. The other looked like a goofball and Field felt like he looked in a mirror.

That image wasn’t totally real. “Boone and Banks. The angry-looking one is Boone. The one running around like an idiot is Banks. Don’t let either impression fool you. ”

Field could imagine. They were the sons of a weapons dealer.

The pair were probably just as capable of anything.

Still, Field had been trying to learn more about Fabrice.

Not Beau’s sons. “I suppose that means you’re very well regarded here.

It always looks like everyone thinks of you as part of the family. ”

An odd look crossed Fabrice’s features. “Everyone here is part of the family, including you.”

“You made that sound so ominous—like this is Hotel California.”

Fabrice laughed. His light blue eyes danced with humor.

He was a good-looking guy. “You seem very observant. I’m surprised you haven’t realized it yet.

This is a home of lost souls. There isn’t a single person here who hasn’t been homeless, poor, hungry, or isolated by the world.

Speak to anyone and ask how they ended up here.

Every single one has a story about how Beau snatched them from a life they don’t regret losing.

You can’t buy loyalty like that. Maybe this is the Hotel California, as you say.

But everyone here is here willingly and they’ll burn the world to stay here. ”

Without thinking, Field’s gaze moved Henry’s way, automatically finding him in the crowd like he never lost sight of him.

Henry was nearly the same age as Beau. He knew from insanely searching, Henrico Venturini had moved from his home country of Italy alongside Beau.

From what he gathered from pieces of conversations, they had been poor and best friends.

Beau had risen from poverty and taken Henry with him every step of the way.

They were still best friends, and no one crossed Henry.

He was every bit as much in charge here as Beau and would kill anyone who so much as looked at Beau wrong.

His friendship and loyalty were unshakable.

None of that fully explained the ice that constantly poured from Henry.

The guy had lived a cushy life for decades.

It didn’t sound like he had a reason to be such a bastard.

It was whatever, though. Field had blown better. Henry was no one to him.