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PROLOGUE

THREE YEARS AGO

ROYCE

I t’s moments like these that I understand why no one else wants the gig as Devil’s second: it’s a pain in the ass to be responsible for the man.

Case in point? He’s missing.

Again .

With Lincoln “Devil” Crewes being one of the most powerful men in Springfield, I know that while ordinary civilians passing him by on the street probably won’t see the dark-haired, dark-eyed brawler and recognize who he is, anyone with ties to the seedy side of the city definitely would. Hell, if a Dragonfly caught him off-guard without a Sinner to have his back, good chance he’d end up with a bullet between his wide shoulders and, somehow, it would be all my fault.

I’m his right-hand man. The underboss for our syndicate, my job is mostly as a liaison between the mafia leader and the rest of our guys. I do more than that, obviously, but as I’m cruising toward the quieter part of downtown Springfield, I can’t help but think that my most important task is babysitting our volatile boss.

Link would put a bullet in my back if he ever knew that’s how I think of it, but what can I say? The man’s five years older than me, the head of the Sinners Syndicate, a fierce bastard who is icy cold during a business meet with our suppliers, then raging hot whenever he gets wind that our main rival is stepping foot on our turf. I know his moods better than most and, over the years, I’ve learned to avoid the minefield that might end with him blowing up and reaching for his trusty Sig Sauer.

Those are all reasons why he probably gave me the underboss title when he first cobbled the syndicate together all those years ago—and the fact that I’ve kept it despite my age just proves my point. None of the other Sinners want it.

Sometimes I’m not so sure I do, either, but then I remember how he had my back that summer when everything went to hell and shit . Devil already had my loyalty. Now Link Crewes has my total devotion, and my honest friendship.

There isn’t anything I won’t do for the boss after he saved my ass—including keeping his secrets for him.

I don’t know for sure where he is tonight. If it wasn’t for a problem we have with one of our gun runners, I’d let it slide, but Romeo will only deal with the Devil of Springfield. That means I’ve got to track him down or lose our next supply of weapons if Romeo decides to peddle his wares on the East End instead. It would trigger World War Three between us and the Libellula Family if he tried since guns belong on the West Side, but Romeo’s only loyalty is to the almighty dollar.

I’d call the boss if I thought that would do anything. I gave it a try earlier after the message from Romeo’s crew came in. No surprise: he didn’t answer. And despite knowing that Link carries a second phone on him that never seems to ring, the one time I asked to have the number, the cold look he gave me had my breath catching in my throat.

Right. One phone for business. The other for… well, it can’t be personal. Devil doesn’t do personal, not like so many of the rest of us.

And I’m one of the few Sinners who know the reason—which is exactly why I’m coasting my nondescript two-seater down a deceptively suburban street on the edge of our big city.

It’s a hunch. Normally I’d ignore it, leaving Link to the ghosts of his past. Lord fucking knows I have my own; in my case, that’s literal, too, since Heather is dead. The woman who haunts Link?

She’s very much alive.

Ava Monroe is a schoolteacher. First grade at Springfield Elementary, if I’m getting the details right—and I am. Of course I am. That’s my job, to know details like that. Just like I know that she grew up in the same tenement that Link did, his childhood sweetheart and first love back when he was still Lincoln Crewes and not quite the Devil yet. That was about twelve or so years ago now. The night he committed the kill that earned him his nickname was the same night he walked away from the woman he once affectionately called Saint Ava.

He doesn’t talk about her anymore. It took years of me wondering if he was gay or just the type of guy who won’t get involved with any of our products—guns, gambling, or girls—because he thinks it’s a conflict of interest. Could be. He always carries the same weapon, hasn’t gotten laid in all the time I’ve known him, and refuses to make a sneaky bet in our nightclub-slash-casino-slash-brothel that the Sinners call home.

So, basically, he’s the opposite of me.

I swap out my piece whenever we get a new shipment. I don’t shit where I eat, so the girls upstairs are off-limits, though the ones who visit the Playground aren’t. And when it comes to gambling… well, they don’t call me “Rolls” for nothing. You might think it’s because of my hoity-toity given name—haha, Rolls Royce, get it?—but, if so, you’ve never seen me at the craps table in the back of the Playground.

Link has his reasons for the way he is, same as me. And maybe I’ve gotten worse since Heather, but can you blame me? Nah, just like I can’t blame the boss for the way he turned out.

It all started when I got wind of Ava and dug a little deeper. That eventually led me to realize that Link’s not gay, and while he runs our business with an iron fist, he doesn’t use his position as mafia leader to get women because—in his mind—he already has one.

She just doesn’t know that.

He’s the boss. As his second, I support him. If that means I try to hook him up with one of our waitresses or a clubgoer just to work out some of his repressed need, I will, even if he’s refused every last girl I put in front of him. One of them might snag his attention away from the timid teacher who moved on and is currently in a long-term relationship with one of her colleagues—and if Link decides to make a move on her at last and take out his competition, I’ll help him with that, too.

I’m not just his babysitter. I’m a fixer, and one hell of a clean-up guy.

Link’s Catholic. He’s big on this penance thing. I might be agnostic myself, but I get the gist of it. He thinks he fucked up big, breaking some imaginary rule back when he was a hotheaded twenty-year-old, and keeping his distance from Saint Ava is his way of making up for it. Me? I’ve never pulled the trigger on any of my guns—at least, not at a living target—but I have blood on my hands regardless. Penance or whatever, if cleaning up other Sinners’ messes after Link cleaned up mine allows me to get some closure over what happened with Heather, I’ll fucking do it—just like I’ll sneak around this quiet neighborhood so that Devil knows I’ve got his back.

I purposely park my car two streets away from Ava Monroe’s house. If Link’s out there, I’d rather not draw attention to either of us by pulling up alongside him.

My black suit blends into the shadows. My blond hair doesn’t, and I keep my head bowed, hands in my pockets in case any of Ava’s neighbors are out and about at this hour.

I recognize the black car at the end of the block. As basic and unidentifiable as the one I use, whenever the boss doesn’t have one of the guys driving him around, he uses a car just like that. He swaps the license plates frequently, so that’s no help, but as plain as it is, the compact two-seater sticks out in a sea of minivans and SUVs.

It’s not parked directly in front of her house, but at an angle that would allow the driver to see right into her bay window with the curtains not drawn tight; dark as it is out now, the light in her home gives the impression that she’s in a fishbowl. As I stride past on the opposite side of the street, I catch a peek of her delicate profile. She’s sitting on a couch, probably watching television, completely unaware that someone is watching her .

For a moment, I’m so sure that, as consumed with spying on his ex as he is, Link doesn’t know I’m standing outside his car. But then I grab the door handle on the passenger side, and it isn’t locked. I yank on the door, sliding into the empty seat. The fact that the Devil of Springfield allows that, and all I get is a tight-lipped nod instead of his gun to my temple for intruding on him, is a sure sign that I’m not as sneaky as I think I am.

I wasn’t really trying to be. At least, not with the boss. It’s the rest of the neighborhood I was trying to avoid.

Here’s hoping I did.

I jerk my chin at Link, grinning over at him. “Hey there. You come here often?”

“Fucking smart ass,” he mumbles, fingers curved around the steering wheel despite the engine being off. He gives me a side-eyed glare. “Better not be hitting on me with a weak ass line like that.”

“Nah. Just pointing out the obvious, boss.”

To that, I get a grunt. Probably because it’s not supposed to be obvious—and that he thought he’d done a better job of keeping the Sinners in the dark when it came to this woman despite making it clear to each and every one of us that this one particular teacher in town was off-limits.

We just weren’t supposed to interfere, and he reminds me of that with a dark look as he works his jaw, then spits out, “What are you doing here, Royce?”

Royce… in the syndicate, so many of us go by nicknames, it’s rare for me to hear someone call me “Royce” without “Rolls” being attached to it. It’s like how nearly everyone in Springfield calls him ‘Devil’... except me. Years ago, I shortened ‘Lincoln’ to ‘Link’ and nearly got a fat lip for it. I had no idea it was because Saint Ava used to use that name for him, but after I proved myself to him—after Heather —he became ‘Link’ to me, I stayed ‘Royce’, and even if someone else decided to take over as his underboss, they’d have one hell of a fight from me first.

Even if nights like tonight are part of the job, it’s mine. So he likes to stalk a teacher, watching her from the shadows. So he has a secret.

Don’t we all?

This isn’t the first time I’ve wondered where he went when I couldn’t find him. It’s just the one time I actually followed my gut, headed downtown, and found him watching her from across the street.

Shit. If I could march over there, walk through that front door, and drag the unsuspecting woman out here to give her to Link, I would in a heartbeat. But I can’t. He’d never let me since he’s so stuck on believing he doesn’t deserve her, and I have to sit here knowing that there’s no way in hell I can convince him that he does.

So, instead, I’ll do what I’ve been doing since I learned about his Ava: I’ll keep throwing other women at him, hoping he’ll either get over this one or realize at last that she’s the only one he wants—and maybe decide he’s done with this penance bullshit for once and for all.

For now, though, we’ve got other things to worry about—which is exactly why I’m here.

“It’s syndicate biz. One of our gun runners has an issue with the latest batch of nine-mils. He wants to meet with you.”

“Which guy?”

“Romeo Valdez. When he couldn’t get through to you, he stopped by the Playground. Jessie’s entertaining him now, but he’s ready to walk on this deal if he doesn’t get that meet.”

I could’ve handled it. As Devil’s second, I’m thrown into a lot of the bureaucratic BS that you wouldn’t think you’d get in organized crime. I guess that’s just the ‘organized’ part of it because half the fucking time, the boss is meeting with someone about one of our specialties; it’s a wonder he can find time to come to downtown Springfield to sit in a car and watch his Ava at all.

But while I could have handled it, when one of our biggest suppliers wants Devil, it’s my job to give them Devil.

Even if I have to track down our leader first.

His eyes are back on the light in that open window. For a moment, I expect him to completely ignore what it was he was doing here… but he doesn’t, and I realize I should’ve known better.

I’m his second. He has my loyalty, and I have his trust.

“Tanner told me that Ava finally ended things with that teacher prick,” he says, still staring at her house. “I guess I just wanted to see for myself that she was alone again.”

I don’t ask how Tanner knows that. Our resident tech whiz, he’s as good with all that computer shit as I am with a pair of dice or a pack of cards. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if Link has Tanner run Ava Monroe the same way every Sinner gets scanned before they’re welcomed into the syndicate.

I’m not as good, but my research into Saint Ava said something similar: that she was in a committed relationship with another teacher at Springfield Elementary. It seemed like it was heading toward marriage—and I was already coming up with ways to distract the boss if that happened—but now… seems like one less worry for the both of us.

I open my mouth, ready to point out that this might be the time to make his move. But, as though he can sense me getting ready to prod, his head snaps my way.

“Romeo Valdez, yeah? That’s what you said?”

I nod.

“Romeo.” Link turns the car back on, scoffing under his breath as the engine turns. “Of course it has to be fucking Romeo.”

I’m the smart ass, but I like to put the emphasis on smart . I know when it’s open season to crack a joke—and when to keep my fucking mouth shut. In this case, when I get that Link’s mood has more to do with Romeo’s name than his relationship with the syndicate, I keep the comments to myself.

Pulling away from the curb, he asks, “Your car nearby? Or do I need to give you a ride back to the Playground?”

Because unless he has work for me, that’s usually where I spend my nights. Either at the tables or working my way through the female patrons with a hard-on for a lucky gambler, if I wasn’t already the underboss, I’d expect the Devil’s Playground to be my domain instead of his.

“I parked about two streets away. I wasn’t sure if I would find you here, but if I did, I didn’t want to cause a scene.”

“Good,” he grunts under his breath, taking the first turn off of Ava’s street.

As he pulls up behind my ride, a click- ing sound echoes throughout the car. It takes a second for me to understand that he was engaging the locks, trapping me inside. Sure, I could disengage them, but he made his point.

Link’s hands stay on the steering wheel, a relaxed pose. He’s not pulling out his Sig Sauer, another sign that he’s not pissed, though that can change if he doesn’t like the way our conversation goes.

I don’t take any offense to that. This is Devil, after all. There’s a reason he believes in that penance of his, and after everything he did to create the Sinners Syndicate, if he decided to shoot me now, the only thing he’d regret is losing his right-hand man—and the mess I’d make to the upholstery in his car.

“How long did you know?” Link asks me.

Just in case I’m wrong… “About?”

“Ava.”

Figured. He mentioned her, but only because I tipped my hand by showing up here tonight.

“A while,” I tell him. It’s a safe answer. “I mean, I knew she existed. I knew you were still keeping her under your protection. But if you’re asking about me knowing I could find you here tonight? That was a guess.”

“A good one,” Link says. “I come by here at least once a week to keep an eye on her. It’s not Sinners business, so I kept it to myself. Looking back, I probably should’ve told you. Or,” he adds, “kept my phone on.”

His business phone, I think. He has no problem turning that one off or ignoring it when it suits him. But that other one…

I don’t ask. After tonight, I don’t think I need to.

I do shrug, though. “Don’t worry about it, Link. I mean, maybe I don’t get why—” I pause, not sure I want to finish that sentence right now. Last thing I need is to set Devil off when it’s obvious just how defensive he can get over the topic of Ava Monroe.

He narrows his dark eyes. I didn’t finish my sentence—but he does it for me.

“Let me guess… you don’t understand why I’m mooning over a woman who spent the last two years banging another guy. Something like that?”

Bingo . “What? Nah. It’s not like that.”

“You’re such a fucking liar,” Link says, though there isn’t any heat in it. To prove it, he jabs the automatic lock button again so that I can get out of the car.

I hesitate. Something about that haunted look on his face… I’ve known Lincoln Crewes since I was eighteen, he was twenty-three, and we were both trying to avoid getting snagged by some of the more questionable gangs. With his rep—and my willingness to do anything to get a leg up—he created the Sinners Syndicate, and I was right there with him.

That was nine years ago. I probably know him better than most… and, shit, how well do I really know him?

“Link?”

He shifts in his seat, looking right at me. “Just thinking about what I said and what you didn’t. ‘Cause, fuck me, I am a sap. A killer and a cold-hearted bastard, but when it comes to her ? I get more pleasure watching her live her life without me than all the half-dressed whores dancing down at the Playground you’re so fond of.”

I give him a half-smile. “To be fair, you shouldn’t knock it until you try it.”

Link’s scowl tells me he doesn’t appreciate my comment.

My hand inches over to the door handle right as his voice drops as he speaks again.

“One day, you might find the only woman who’ll make you lose your head and your damn heart. Someone who you love with every last piece of you, enough that you’d carve that same fucking heart out of your chest and let her stomp on it with her pretty little feet if it made her smile. Because, goddamn it, the only thing worth anything in this Godforsaken world is that fucking smile.”

His gaze never once leaves mine as the last of my smile slides off of my face as he adds one last shot before I pop open the passenger-side door: “I look forward to seeing it happen to you, Royce.”

That makes one of us.

One day … right. Because it hasn’t happened yet. Not to me, at least, no matter what the seedy underworld of Springfield believes. No matter what the various women I take to bed believe until I set them free. They all want to be the one to capture my heart, to make me love them, to tame the wild gambler with the wicked grin.

But they can’t.

Fall in love? Not going to happen. Obsess over one woman the way that Link’s been doing for half my life? Nope.

Give my heart away to someone else?

Yeah, no.

Kind of impossible when I realized I was heartless that night three years ago when I watched Heather Valiant die in my arms.

But I don’t tell Link that. I don’t have to. He’s the only one in Springfield who knows the truth about what really happened that night, which is why he said ‘one day’ the way he did.

I just hope that day never comes—even as I give the boss my trademark grin and say, “Wanna bet?”