Chapter 4

As early as I can remember, my mother never called me by my first name. It was always hingetu.

She spent a summer studying abroad in Estonia during college. That’s when she met my father. From what I’ve pieced together of the man, he was someone of importance. Someone you didn’t cross, or you ended up missing.

When he discovered that my mother was pregnant with me, he shipped her back to America with a small fortune. Otherwise known as hush money.

You see, my father already had a wife and kids, and we were mistakes.

Actually, I was the mistake, according to my mother.

I could understand why she hated me. I ruined her young life. But it wasn’t until the bloodlust kicked in that I understood why she was afraid of me.

Turns out she was right to call me by that nickname all along.

I am soulless.

Cracking my neck, I squat down in front of the man behind the skull mask. He struggles against the restraints holding him to a metal chair as I toy with the bloody knife in my gloved hand.

We’ve been playing in Sinro’s interrogation room for hours, but he’s given me nothing. It’s like a broken game of Operation. No fucking fun without the risk of a shrill sound.

And to think I gave up a night of watching my hunter to torture this guy.

Of course I followed him home. I had to test his locks before I was willing to leave him alone.

Flipping the knife in my grip, I stab it down through the man’s foot. He jerks in the chair, biting back a cry of pain as blood pools around his shoes.

Henry, our crime scene cleaner, will appreciate the work after this one. Our staff believes I’m the resident psycho, but he’s on another level.

“I’ll give you credit. No one has lasted this long with me,” I tell him.

“…you,” he gurgles through red-stained teeth.

I lift a hand to my ear. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“Fuck you,” he forces out. “…don’t know…what you’re up…against.”

I pat his cheek. “Oh, I think I’ve got a good understanding now.”

He lets out a garbled laugh, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. “…cute boyfriend…dead…”

Something dark slithers through me. Rising to my feet, I grab a handful of his hair and rip his head back. “Watch it.”

“Been…watching that fa—”

My blade stabs up through his jaw. “We don’t use that word here.”

He writhes for a few seconds, his choked sounds filling the sterile white room, and then he slumps lifelessly in the chair.

When I come back to my senses, I frown at my work. I’ve just cost myself information. Not that he was very forthcoming with sharing it.

“You called?” a gravelly voice speaks behind me.

I don’t have to look to know it’s Rorik, another of my mercenaries. The man is a husky six-four and covered in intricate ink.

He’s our inside guy. The one who melds into criminal organizations and delivers crucial intel back to us. He’s even taken a bullet to keep his street cred.

Ripping my knife free from the dead masked man, I toss it onto the metal table next to my other bloody instruments and turn to face my employee.

“Should I be concerned?” Rorik lifts a dark brow, likely questioning how a single lowly criminal could get under my skin when we’ve dealt with some of the worst beings to walk this earth.

“Always. Our guest here wasn’t working alone. How do you feel about doing a deeper dive?”

Regardless of the fact that Rorik works for me and wouldn’t say no to a request, I offer choices for all of our jobs. I may not have the necessary wiring to empathize, but I study others with hawklike intensity to learn their tells. I wouldn’t push anyone to do something they don’t want to do.

“You know I’m good for it.” Rorik nods.

Blowing a loose strand of hair away from my face, I strip off my gloves. “Then let’s go pay our dungeon troll a visit.”

I burst into Alaric’s windowless basement office, causing him to spill his energy drink down the front of his shirt.

“Shit,” he utters, reaching for crumpled napkins on his desk.

“My favorite little nerd.” I grin. “See the sun lately?”

“You know, you could knock,” Alaric complains.

“I could, but you’d ignore it.”

I take in his sad collection of empty energy drink cans and sour candy wrappers scattered everywhere, illuminated by the purple LED sign on his wall. The opposite wall glows blue from a dozen expensive monitors showing different camera views of Sinro.

We fund Alaric’s every technical whim because he’s a genius who keeps all of us safe. He could ruin a life with a couple of clackity taps on his rainbow keyboard.

Alaric leads our cybersecurity team. Virtually, of course. I don’t think any of our employees have actually come face-to-face with the youngest Vincent brother, and Cain prefers it that way. The less the world knows about the CEO’s little brother, the better he feels about employing him. For as cold and grumpy as Cain can be, he does what he can to take care of his people.

“Here.” Rorik sheds his sweater, revealing more of his thick trunk of a body in a fitted undershirt. When he holds it out, Alaric’s eyes widen slightly behind his glasses. I expect him to reject the offering, but to my absolute delight, Alaric mutters a “thanks” without making eye contact and quickly switches out his wet shirt for Rorik’s sweater, fiddling with the long sleeves to free his hands.

“Don’t comment on it,” he mutters, readjusting his glasses and fixing his freshly washed hair—a sign that he does actually utilize his apartment on the seventeenth floor, unlike what Cain believes.

“Also, I don’t have agoraphobia,” he says.

“Does it look like your brothers sent me to harass you about your hermit behavior?” I question.

He spares me a once-over, frowning at my blood-spattered appearance. “Gross. Gonna have to disinfect my office.”

“Henry can help with that,” I reply, grinning.

“I’d prefer literally anyone else in my space.”

“Mmm. He really is unhinged.”

Alaric cracks his knuckles and hovers his fingers over his keyboard. “Get to the point.”

I tsk. “Rude.”

“Slept thirty minutes last night.”

“No one to tuck you in?” I raise a brow.

Alaric looks up at me with wide eyes. For all his bravado, there’s no masking his insecurities. He doesn’t do well with people. In fact, I don’t see him interact with anyone other than me and his brothers.

And maybe Rorik.

“I’m telling HR,” Alaric mumbles.

“Good luck with that. I used to be HR.”

“The point,” he repeats, exasperated.

I rattle off the address of my hunter, and Alaric quickly traces it to the owner of the property, then down to the agreement for a renter—a Colombian immigrant by the name of Sotero Álvarez Díaz. The picture he pulls up is of a handsome man in his early fifties. Dark hair, slightly peppered through, brown eyes, lean build, and light brown skin.

“He was murdered execution style in his home seven months ago. No suspects listed. Judging by the lack of care in handling his case, it’ll probably run cold. No other names on the lease, but…he did leave two adult sons behind. A Lázaro and a Dante Álvarez Ríos. Wife is…”

Alaric’s hands pause over his keyboard as a poorly shot video pops up of a naked woman tied up and gagged in what appears to be a storage unit, pleading and screaming for help. He quickly closes out of the video.

Everyone assumes Alaric is immune to the shit we deal with on a daily basis, but judging from what I’ve witnessed, I’m not so sure he isn’t affected by this job. He just doesn’t speak up about anything.

I make a note to mention it to Cain.

“Wife is indisposed,” Alaric finally says. “FBI records detail a cartel group by the name of Los Segadores responsible. The group was notorious for terrorizing major Colombian cities two decades ago.”

Alaric flips through photos of bodies hanging from bridges and piled on the streets like sandbags. “Looks like a major SWAT raid took down their key leaders. Not much has been reported on the group since.”

“Maybe not in the immediate area, but I’d bet money that the fall of Los Segadores spawned plenty of splinter groups. They tend to be less organized and more volatile,” Rorik comments with a stern face.

“Fits the mold for our SIXX problem, don’t you think? Terror tactics through violent murders.” I cross my arms and lean against Alaric’s desk. He throws me a look when my ass bumps his bag of chips. “Can you research crimes involving masked figures dating back to that raid?”

Alaric snatches his bag of chips, moving it to the other side of his desk, but not before pulling one from the bag and popping it in his mouth. “Oh, yeah. A full sixteen years’ worth of research. Should take me no time at all.”

“The mouth on you,” I reply.

“You could focus on people tied to the Los Segadores leaders busted in that raid. Family members. Kids. Close friends. Cartels tend to utilize or kill people surrounding their members,” Rorik says.

“Again. The effort,” Alaric mutters, but he’s already reaching for a fresh energy drink from a mini fridge beneath his desk.

I look over at Rorik. “You need more eyes on the streets?”

“Nah. Too many new faces could trigger suspicion, especially after what you just did to their buddy.”

“He deserved worse.” I shrug.

Alaric glances at me again, a twinge of fear sparking in his green eyes. He covers this up by straightening his glasses and returning his attention to his computer screens.

“Any records on Sotero’s sons?” I ask.

Within seconds, Alaric has another photo pulled up—a young, strong-jawed male with dark curls, rich brown eyes, and light brown skin. “Lázaro has a few petty misdemeanors to his name. Theft and street fighting. Currently works maintenance at a chemical plant along the river.”

Which leaves Dante. My pretty hunter.

I’ve never wished so badly for someone to be innocent. I don’t want to have to kill him. Though I’m not confident I’d be able to after learning about these pieces of his horrific past. I’ve never been conflicted in the face of an enemy. Never had a second thought about what I needed to do in the name of Sinro.

“No criminal activity on the youngest. Long list of addresses that match his older brother and father.”

Tensing, I ask, “Did the sons witness Sotero’s murder?”

Alaric nods. “They moved to the other side of West Bank right after. The youngest son quit his job as a soloist at Eastview Ballet Company. Now he’s working at Club Saturn.”

My interest piques. “A gay club?”

Alaric’s fingers continue flying across his keyboard. “No recent posts on his socials, but he was tagged by someone a couple weeks ago.”

I lean over Alaric to read the caption beneath a selfie of some blue-haired guy with three nose piercings.

I’m irked by it. I want to find this glitterking and bash his face in. I want to drive straight to Club Saturn and lurk there until Dante shows up for work.

The only thing that keeps me from powerwalking to my truck is the fact that I know Club Saturn is closed for the night. It used to be one of many spots I’d pick up guys before my promotion swallowed up my free time. Now, I stick to local hookups to save time.

Shame. I’ve missed out on seeing Dante in action. I wonder if he would have come home with me before I stopped him from committing murder.

“Send me everything you can dig up. And take tomorrow off. You need sleep,” I tell Alaric.

“I’m good—”

“That’s an order. Disobey, and I’ll tell your brothers.”

I don’t stick around to hear his muttered complaints. My body moves on autopilot, following the routine I’ve carved out for myself when I’m feeling off-center.

Fingers tapping against my thigh, I ride the elevator up to my apartment on the seventeenth floor.

After meticulously showering, I throw on sweats and settle into the chaise lounge in my bedroom with a new book.

Only, I end up pulling out my phone to creep on Dante’s socials, ravenous for more details about my hunter.

If these masked fucks he’s hunting are tied to the cartel, he’s gonna need someone to keep him safe.

Luckily, I’m just the man for the job.

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