by TJ Nichols
The door slammed closed and he was alone except for the rats that scuttled closer.
As his breathing became shallower, he realized someone was there, watching from the shadows. He tried to call out for help, but no words came out.
A man in a cloak drifted closer. Death?
No, this man was worse. He was the wizard who’d promised hope and delivered only torment. Lives filled with killing flickered through his mind like a silent movie running backward. Until he reached the start.
“Sign your name here and join my army.”
Olivier looked at the man who promised riches and power if Olivier helped him claim the throne. It seemed like too good a deal.
His father had been far too fond of gambling, and the merchant’s sons had played that flaw for everything it was worth. The loans had piled up until there was nothing. His father had a title, but a title meant nothing without gold. The king didn’t care. Olivier petitioned him to help his sisters marry, to declare his father mad—anything so he could put the family back together and keep his sisters safe.
He failed. One was now the king’s mistress. The other was forced to marry one of the merchant’s sons. She should’ve married a lord. Someone with status. But he pulled out when he realized there was no dowry. Meanwhile the merchant’s sons were allowed to continue their games. Because of them he signed over his soul to a wizard.
A wizard or the devil? He was sure a priest would tell him to forgive his enemies and accept his lot. A priest who probably pardoned the brothers when they went to confession. The anger simmered in his veins and made his blood hot and his temper rise. His father always said he was rash. Yet it was his father who had let his pride get in the way.
“And my sisters?”
“Will be given a dowry suiting their station.”
“Previous station—before my father was revealed for a fool.” He wanted the deal to be clear. He was angry, not stupid. “They have to marry well.” And be looked after.
The man smiled, and it did nothing to soften the harsh hook of his nose or the lines around his eyes. “Of course.” He inclined his head. “I will ensure that their previous marriage contracts are fulfilled.”
Olivier nodded. They would be safe. All he had to do was help the wizard become king. At least he was willing to help his subjects, unlike the current king.
Olivier read the document. He’d been taught by monks. When his father broke the news of their destitution, the assumption was that Olivier and his sisters would go to the church. Olivier couldn’t think of a more boring way to live. He liked the weight of a sword in his hand. He enjoyed a good hunt. He did not enjoy prayer.
“And what is this clause?” Olivier pointed to one small line.
“Forgiving your enemy will break the contract. It is the same for every Knight.”
“I have only two enemies.” But there were other knights sworn to fight for the wizard.
The wizard grinned. “I know all about the wool merchant’s sons. They are unpopular, but you need only forgive one, not both. It wouldn’t be fair to change the agreement and make it more difficult for you to leave my service.”
The wizard was a fair man. Olivier nodded, but it would be a cold day in hell before Olivier forgave either of them for what they had done to his family. “Where is the ink?”
“Sign it in blood.”
Olivier studied the wizard for a few heartbeats and then used the quill to score the skin beneath his collarbone. With his blood as the ink, he signed his name with a flourish.
The wizard rolled up the paper. “Now about those brothers… that can be your first job. Enjoy your revenge.”
Olivier’s mouth filled with blood. He should be in agony, but he was numb. His jaw was broken, so he couldn’t speak. Anders would get away with it. No one would stop him, and he would send someone to kill Olivier’s sister. He had failed to protect those he loved. Again.
The wizard nodded. “Yes, you have failed again. All you had to do was to forgive one brother to be free.” He pointed at Finn. “And you were so close this time, but in the end you blamed him.”
The wizard touched Olivier’s forehead, and everything stopped.
CHAPTER ONE
THE MAN left the office tower—a rather fancy building that promised high rents and equally high fees from those who worked there. Olivier Merlo couldn’t afford to set foot in the lobby. For Connor Anders it was just another Friday at the office. Olivier knew Connor Anders’s routine down to the minute. The accountant had a dull life, spiced up by a once-a-week lunch break with his dealer where he’d snort up a few lines and put some in his pocket for the weekend.
Most people lived for the weekend, but Connor would rather be high and avoid it. His wife must be one of those tens on the outside but pure poison on the inside. But, then, you’d have to be pretty toxic to marry into the Anders family.
His father probably had no idea about the cocaine habit either.
Connor’s suicide would be a terrible scandal in the Anders’s social circle. How Connor Anders had gotten on the bad side of Olivier’s boss, Olivier didn’t want to know. He wasn’t paid enough to know the details or ask questions. He was paid to clean up a mess. Connor had somehow messed up—big enough for the solution to be final.
Olivier followed the man at a distance. He knew where he was going. The bar was walking distance from the office. Jesus, Connor wasn’t too bright if he let his dealer get that close to his office. And yet Connor worked for a very exclusive firm, and nothing about him said stupid. But, then, the Anders name could open all kinds of doors that Olivier had never even dreamed of.
The lunchtime bustle was at its height as people jostled to get to their favorite sandwich bar or café. By the time Olivier walked into the bar, Connor had taken a seat in one of the booths and was checking out the menu.
Olivier paused. Connor’s regular dealer had suddenly found himself under arrest. That hadn’t been Olivier’s doing. His boss liked to keep the parts of his business separate. Olivier had one job to do; Connor wouldn’t leave the bar with a smile and a newfound bounce in his step.
Instead he’d snort and discover too late that he’d gotten a batch so pure it would blow his mind and lead to either a hemorrhage in his brain or a fatal heart attack.
Would the paper call it an overdose, or would it be written off as something more medically innocuous? An aneurism or something? Olivier didn’t care. He’d stopped caring about his marks long before.
Connor looked up as he walked over. Olivier’s steps faltered. For a moment he was sure he knew the man… or had known him. There was something familiar and terrifying about him. Connor’s blue eyes narrowed. Suspicion and distrust formed in that deadly ice, and the moment was gone.
Yes. He knew this man and so many like him—men who didn’t care about whom they hurt as long as they got what he wanted.
Well, Olivier had what Connor needed. Would a sense of self-preservation save Connor, or would he buy the drugs anyway? Addicts were predictable. It would be too easy.
Connor’s lips pulled into a forced smile as Olivier slid into the seat opposite. “I hear the steak sandwich is good.”
Connor was silent for a moment. Would he put down the menu and walk away, or would he want the cocaine? How deep did his hunger go? His gaze darted to the door. “I was meeting someone else.”
Olivier repeated the line. If Connor balked, Olivier would have no choice but to go for something a little more brutal. He hated to break into cars or homes to force the overdose. It was such hard work. He much preferred it when his mark’s greed took his life and made it look like suicide or an unfortunate accident.
The Anders family was built on greed and corruption. Connor should’ve had the world at his feet. He had money and connections. He could’ve done anything, but instead he’d wasted it all—not that he knew that yet. Something moved in Olivier’s chest, a worming sensation that coiled through his heart. It took a moment to realize that he pitied the s
poiled rich brat.
Connor gave a nervous swallow. “Yes, I’ve eaten it before.”
Good. That was what he was supposed to say.
Olivier smiled. He pulled the envelope out of his jacket pocket. It looked like a regular business letter, maybe a little too thick. He put it on the table.
Connor reached for the envelope and skimmed his fingers over the surface as though he could feel the drug inside. He swallowed and handed Olivier an envelope. “Payment.”
Olivier reached for the money. Connor put his hand over Olivier’s. “I know who you work for. Tell him to leave my wife alone.”
Olivier’s heart thudded hard and rattled his ribs. Did Connor really know, or did he think Olivier worked for the same people as his usual dealer? Why would a supplier hassle his wife?
“I’ll pass on your concerns.”
Connor released his hand, and Olivier pocketed the money and stood. “Enjoy your lunch.”
He walked to the bar and ordered a beer. He needed to be sure Connor used the drugs.
Connor took his time, as though he knew something wasn’t right. Eventually he placed his meal order then went into the men’s room. If it was like last week, he’d lock himself in a stall for about five minutes. It would be about fifteen before his meal arrived. By the time the waitress looked for her missing customer, Connor would be dead. Olivier downed the last half of his beer and left the bar. He wouldn’t stay for the show.
A part of him wanted to be there as Connor realized what was happening. Olivier’s heart beat a little faster, and he was tempted to turn back to be 100 percent sure. The need to kill thrummed in his veins. What if someone found him early and he survived?
Olivier forced out a breath and kept walking. First person to find the body was always the first suspect. The cocaine was pure and could kill an elephant. Olivier blamed Connor for the need to turn back. He’d known something was up. What if he changed his mind and didn’t use? It wasn’t that slim chance that Connor would slip the noose that bothered him, as much as the line about his wife…. Who was watching her?
The death of Connor Anders would not sit well with the father. Olivier was sure that Benitez had weighed up the decision and was prepared for what would happen next. If it was the start of a rift, it could get very messy very fast. Olivier stopped his thoughts from racing away. That wasn’t his job. The moment he stopped doing as he was told and started thinking about what might happen, he was dead.
On the street he joined the lunch crowd and eventually caught a cab three blocks away. The man in the rearview mirror had green eyes and light brown hair, but the wig had started to itch, and the contacts were scratchy.
LIVING IN Las Vegas put a healthy amount of distance between Cody and his family. His father hated gambling, so Cody would never accidentally run into him. Not that his father would ever be seen on a casino floor. If he did gamble, he’d be in a high-roller room.
While Cody liked the distance most times, when he had to get on a last-minute flight to New York, it sucked. If Lily—Connor’s wife… widow—hadn’t e-mailed to ask if he was coming to the funeral, he wouldn’t have even known his brother was dead.
They were twins. He should’ve known.
He should have felt his passing or something. Instead he opened his shop, ordered supplies, and created some props for an up-and-coming magician with a show in a small theatre just off the strip.
That was how he spent the day Connor killed himself. That was how he spent every day.
It still wasn’t real. Connor couldn’t be dead. He half expected it to be a setup to get him home so his father could tell him what a flake he was.
Dead.
Was it weird that he still felt nothing? He should be crying or something. Right then he was most likely to shed a tear if he got on the damn flight home. He hadn’t thought of New York as home in a very long time, but that was where his family was, so that made it a home of sorts.
But Connor was really dead. He’d looked it up. Drug overdose.
Connor didn’t use drugs. Or at least the brother he’d known hadn’t. Connor was the favorite. The good twin.
Which made Cody the evil one. They joked about that as kids. By the time they were teens, it was easy to see who their father favored. Connor had been gifted with a silver tongue. He was smooth and smart and always knew what to say and what to do. He was charming when he turned it on.
Cody was forever running late and tripping over his words. Unless he was on stage. Then he was a different person. He started the law degree that his father wanted him to get, but dropped out and literally ran away to Vegas. He was the one whose life was a clichéd collection of incidents. The gay son of a rich catholic businessman. The struggling magician. The law school dropout who couldn’t hold down a relationship.
Connor couldn’t be dead. He had everything—the wife, the house, the job, and their parents’ love and respect.
He would not believe that Connor was dead until he got to the funeral home. Just because it was written down didn’t make it true. He didn’t want it to be true. His ribs were too tight around his lungs, and each breath was hard.
He glanced at the counter, but the woman behind the desk avoided eye contact. He’d been told to wait. Wait. His brother was dead!
When was the last time he’d spoken to Connor?
Was it when Cody had refused to go home for their thirty-fifth birthday, three months before? All he knew was that the conversation had been less than civil at the end. Oh God. Had his last words to Connor been “you are such an asshole”?
He winced as he realized they probably had been. Connor had been an asshole that day… most times they spoke. He wanted Cody to grow up and get a real job. He sounded just like Dad. If that was what growing up was, Cody didn’t want it. He had a mortgage and a business. Surely that made him an adult?
He raked his fingers through his hair, turned, and approached the desk again. The woman kept her eyes on the screen.
“Please. I really need to get to New York. I can’t miss my brother’s funeral.”
Saying it didn’t make it any more real. What was wrong with him?
She held up her finger as though he were an interrupting child. He was older than she was. Probably by a decade. She couldn’t be older than twenty-five.
“I’m trying, sir. Please sit, and I’ll call you when I have something.”
Annoyance bubbled through his veins and sought a way out. If he got angry, she wouldn’t help him. So he nodded and sat back down. He wanted coffee, but if he walked away, he was scared she’d forget about him or he’d miss hearing his name called.
There’d been a small newspaper article about his brother—a statement from their father about the loss. No public comment from Lily, and she hadn’t said anything about the overdose in her email, only asked if he was coming to the funeral.
He’d stared at the message until his eyes dried out, disbelieving. Then he’d looked it up online to be sure. Logically he knew Connor was dead… but he didn’t deal in logic. Magic worked because eyes and brains could be deceived.
While he might not trust his father, Lily he did trust. They weren’t exactly friendly, but he was glad she’d contacted him. Had she known what Connor was up to and looked the other way, not wanting to tip their luxury yacht?
His father should’ve called him, but then his father hadn’t spoken to him since the day Cody dropped out of college. Literally hadn’t spoken a word. He had, however, written a lengthy letter listing all of Cody’s faults and then forced Mom to hand it over. Cody hadn’t read it until he was in Vegas and had a job. Even then the contents tore him apart.
He still had the letter. He couldn’t bring himself to tear it up and throw it out.
His mother could’ve called him to tell him about Connor.
His older brother and younger sister were so busy obeying Dad that they hadn’t bothered either. Cody had been dead to his family for the last fifteen years. And they had been dead to him.<
br />
Now Connor was actually dead.
And he was worried about which family member hadn’t bothered to call him. Maybe he was as fucked-up as his father claimed. Then again, aside from a couple of visits to Vegas before he married, Connor hadn’t tried to keep in contact. It had been easy for Cody to give up too. Maybe he should’ve gone home for his birthday. Had that been Connor’s way of reaching out to make amends?
“Mr. Anders?” The woman behind the desk looked at him. “I’ve got a seat for you.”
It was as she handed him his boarding pass that he realized he didn’t want to go to New York after all.
He wanted to apologize for wasting her time, but it was too late. He had a one-way ticket to the place that had once been home.
CHAPTER TWO
THE FUNERAL was beautiful. Cody wouldn’t have expected anything less. His mother would’ve made sure everything was perfect. He slipped into the back of the three-quarters full church so as not to cause a scene before the service. He didn’t know if the people there were Connor’s friends or their father’s.
Had his brother considered what his death would mean? Probably not. Connor had never been overly concerned about other people’s feelings when they were growing up. Connor probably hadn’t expected to die. He had money, and people like him didn’t die from drug overdoses in the stall of a bar restroom.
He should be listening to the priest, but instead his mind raced. Too much coffee with too much sugar on his way there. He’d like to blame the coffee for the shake in his hands and the speed of his heart, but that would be a lie, and he’d stopped lying to himself when he moved to Vegas. He was afraid of what his father would do. He was afraid that he would go to hell. He’d been told often enough that people like him went there. It was where Connor would be going for killing himself. Even though it was accidental.
