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CHAPTER ONE

NASH

Six years later

Three times, a black Mercedes has crept by.

I’ve counted.

I always count.

They’ve done it over the past thirty minutes. They make it obvious they know I’m in here.

Watching them from the shadows of an arched window above Meeting Street, I unbutton my starched shirt. It reeks of perfume, sweat, and sex. Sex with seven men and one woman. The aroma is distinct. Taboo. Beastial.

And I savor it on rare occasions.

“We have friends.” I give the intel.

“And we have a screamer,” Axel replies.

He doesn’t care. He knows we’re covered. He reclines in a black leather executive chair behind his mahogany desk. The lamps in his law office are off. The light glowing from the dusk and gas lamps outside is enough to see how he’s amused, and I’m annoyed.

We’re done here.

I need to go home while the screams of the woman in the boardroom next door fill the otherwise empty office.

“He’s cleaning her,” I say, doing the same, wiping the sweat off my chest with my soiled shirt before tossing it aside. “He gets off on it.”

“By the sound of it,” Axel smirks, “so does she.”

“She’s barely twenty.”

He shrugs. “She’s his now; that makes her ours, too.”

He makes it sound natural, and I shake my head.

Yes, it feels permanent now. I feel a bond after what we’ve done with her. I’ll always protect her, too, but … it’s not natural.

Reaching into my cognac leather duffel resting on a side table, I grab a fresh, black golf shirt. Tugging it down my torso, I fasten the buttons at the top. The familiar strangle around my throat conceals me; I count on it, smoothing away wrinkles in my shirt before dropping my dress pants and kicking them away.

We never wear boxers or briefs for this. Our pants stay on while we drag our zippers down. So now my black Brooks Brothers trousers reek. Like a wolf, I can smell the seed of men and a woman’s arousal on them; it’s a maddening skill.

“We need a safer place for this,” Axel says what I’ve warned for years.

Like tonight, our meetings get loud. Booming voices, raucous laughter, tell-tale creaking wood, screams of lust, and grunts like beasts; we sound like the animals we are.

It’s risky. We can draw too much attention, and that’s the last thing we want. We’re trained to hide in plain sight.

“I think I found one,” I say, sliding on the khakis I plucked from my bag; their neat front crease is not my style and exactly what I intend. Toeing on loafers I hate, I slide glasses from a case, pressing their thick, black frames over the bridge of my nose and securing the disguise.

“A place?” Axel asks. “Where?” He’s skeptical. He knows every property in Charleston.

“The old Bonneau mansion.”

Axel cocks a brow. “You mean Delta’s, the sex shop?” He cocks a knowing grin, too. “Where you’ve been working for your daughter’s best friend?”

Secrets don’t exist between us. It’s in his tone.

It’s a bad idea. It’s the best idea. It’s genius , kind of like me.

“The books at Delta’s are a mess,” I reply. “Vale called me to fix them, and I’ll have their audit done in a month, maybe two, and then I’m out, but there’s a room on their third floor. It’s private, protected, and very posh. It’s perfect.”

“No,” Axel coldly commands. “Two of us already work there, and now you ? That’s too many targets in one location.”

I gesture to the paneled, wooden door. The one not able to muffle the carnal feast in the next room. “Every time we meet, we run that risk. At least at Delta’s, our meetings won’t draw attention. They’ll blend in, like us. But here? This is a respected law office where it sounds like a woman is being murdered in your boardroom.”

“It sounds like a woman is coming in my boardroom.” Axel chuckles. It’s rare. “ Again .”

I growl, “He needs to hurry up. I’m going to be late.”

I’m never late.

“She’s finally his queen. Let him enjoy her.”

We’re waiting for them to finish. We’re always the last to leave. Axel knows I have to check the locks three times when we do, or I won’t sleep.

Leaning back in his chair, he admires my form, how my clothes hide my inked flesh but not my strength. We stay in shape. Our bodies are trained to perform together.

“It’s time you find your queen, too,” he says.

I wedge my dress shoes into my duffel before neatly folding my soiled suit, laying it on top, and pressing it down, though I’ll take it to the cleaners first thing in the morning.

“I know you heard me,” he rumbles.

“You know I don’t share.” My snarl is low, and this fight is old.

“We’re not sharing; we’re initiating .” To most, Axel is an attorney, and he’s damn good, arguing, “It’s our custom. It bonds us, protects them , and you know it’s your turn.” He tents his tattooed fingers. “And you know it’ll be Alena’s after that.”

“You’re not initiating my daughter,” I sneer. “That’s final and fatal if you do.”

He nods. “Then find a vessel for her. Someone we’ll symbolically initiate before she gets married. She’ll need a second husband.” Usually, ice slides through Axel’s veins, but not about this, not about Alena. He offers, “It can be me.”

I’m loyal to Axel and his family. I had none, and now they’re mine. I’ve killed for them. They’ve killed for me. But this custom? This initiation of seven kings bound to seven queens. Of a second husband for each queen, each wife should the first husband die protecting her. One of us swears to claim her, protect her, and provide for their children.

It’s an honor to be a second husband. It’s ancient and admirable. It’s also archaic and absolutely never going to happen.

Over dead bodies, it will, and they won’t be mine.

Yes, my daughter needs protection. I agreed to let her marry. She’ll be one of our queens, though she’ll never know. She doesn’t know who we are, what we do, and she’ll never be initiated into our circle.

I don’t care if they’re like my brothers. I don’t care if they’d sacrifice their lives to protect her. The thought of Axel as Alena’s second husband makes it even worse. I see rage. I see death. I see blood, though he and I share none.

A double knock raps on his office door.

“I’m done.” A deep voice grumbles, then a giggle tickles the air, calling out, “Goodnight, my kings.”

Her tone sounds youthful with delight, though her voice rasps after hours of screaming orgasms.

It twitches my cock, I’m ashamed to admit.

My cock that was in her hungry mouth an hour ago.

She was begging for it. She was loving it. We always make sure they love it. Even the tests most don’t pass, they’re consensual. They’re pleasing. They’re taboo, which is my kink, but I couldn’t do it. After all I did to her, when it was my turn, I couldn’t come down her throat, though my hard dick ached to do it. Though her raven hair reminded me of her —my greatest shame, my greatest temptation— Vale, my daughter’s best friend .

But our newest queen is twenty fucking years old. So, hell no. She’s younger than my daughter, who will always feel like my little girl, though she’s twenty-seven now.

“Goodnight, our queen.” Axel shows her respect, calling toward the closed door.

The sound of the newlyweds’ steps, leaving his law office, fills the air. The happy couple exits through the back entrance, as we will. It’s private and secure, but still, I stand guard, surveying the window again, scanning for that black Mercedes.

I trust my instincts. I’ve earned them. Shit’s about to go south . It makes me want to cancel tonight.

Alena’s throwing a party where she’ll announce her engagement. She thinks she’s surprising me, but I’m always well aware.

Like now … something’s wrong .

The charming street below, with its oak trees draped in Spanish moss, bustles with innocent tourists taking leisurely strolls to dinner. They’re none the wiser about Charleston, South Carolina, ironically called “The Holy City.” They don’t know who or what evil hides in this sultry southern town by the sea.

It’s more like … what evil we control. Or stop. Or end.

“Nash.” Axel breaks my concentration.

I turn, staring him down. I stare down decades devoted to my best friend and his family. I’d die for Axel. But he can’t have my daughter.

He can’t have his custom, either.

His glacial eyes bore into mine disguised behind fake glasses, my glare refusing, while his silently demands:

Claim your queen.