Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
There’s no record of a man named Damien. No history, no childhood. Hamish and I have tried to gather information but found nothing more than hearsay and legend. In the early days of Fraternitas, he made a name for himself by murdering the heads of every gang and crime family in a bold and genius move. The coup created chaos and paved the way for Fraternitas to cement their control of all criminal activity in the city, from gambling and smuggling to the illegal fights under the city.
Like the rest of the gang, Damien wears the signature Fraternitas ring, but his ring is the only one that has a skull wearing a crown. If businessmen like me rule above ground, he’s king of the underworld. At least in New Rome.
I nod to both St. James and Damien, but only St. James nods back.
Damien goes to the head of the table and stands in front of the chair but doesn’t sit down.
“All right, Roy,” he says to me. “We’re here. What do you want?”
I don’t waste any time. I paid a million dollars for the privilege of meeting with the heads of Fraternitas because money is the language St. James speaks fluently. If money talks, mine shouts the loudest.
“There’s a new serial killer in New Rome. I’m hoping we can form an alliance for the purpose of bringing him down.”
I look at the blond thug to the right of me, the one who took my briefcase while his identical twin frisked me at the door. He brings it to Damien, who opens it on the table and removes the files Hamish and I compiled on the case.
Damien studies the picture of the Bondage Killer. “This him?”
“Yes, that’s the target, as he was decades ago. He’s responsible for a series of murders in a small Midwestern town. He sent letters to the local police station to take credit for the crimes. Called himself the Bondage Killer. His real name was Dennis Bundy, and his killing spree ended when he was trapped in a warehouse fire and presumed dead.”
Damien sets the picture down on the table for everyone to see. “And why should we care?”
“Because he’s back in this city now. And he’s killing again.”
St. James shifts closer to the table to get his own look at the photograph. After a pause, he shares a long glance with Damien before saying, “This is a job for the cops.”
“The cops haven’t been able to stop him. Plus, he might be working with someone in the department.” Hamish found Detective Lacy Collins’s notes where she speculated that BK might have had an in with someone in the department, and that’s why he always seemed one step ahead.
“Corrupt fucks,” a masked man mutters, and a few others agree with him.
“I’ve come to you because I’d like him found sooner rather than later, and Fraternitas rules the underworld of New Rome.” They’re also responsible for their share of murders, but I don’t mention that. Hamish and I have discovered that they take great pains to follow a strict code of honor. For example, they never hurt children.
Their history is gruesome and bloody, but the violence is mostly against the grown members of other gangs or corrupt city leaders. Which suits my own purposes just fine. If I were to punish Fraternitas for their crimes, a worse gang would take their place in the underworld. In this case, the devil I know is better than the devil I don’t.
“I’m willing to pay handsomely to see this man brought to justice,” I say. “I’m putting a bounty on his head.” I make a point of meeting several of the masked men’s eyes. “Double if you happen to find him dead.”
“We’re not killers for hire,” Damien says.
“No, that would be me.” A murmur comes from the door where a tall man with white-blond hair stands idly flipping a knife in the air. “Am I late? Has the party already started?”
There’s a burst of movement from the masked men around the table. Several draw weapons and begin to charge at the stranger before St. James raises his hands for them to stand down.
“He’s a guest,” he says.
“Victor,” I greet the newcomer. We’re not really on a first-name basis because I don’t know his full name. I suspect “Victor” isn’t even his real name anyway, only a moniker.
“Roy.” He dips his chin. “St. James. Everyone. Sorry to startle you.” His smirk tells me he’s not sorry at all.
“Next time, accept our escort,” St. James warns him. “Trespassers end up in the Abyss.”
“Understood,” Victor says. “And I promise to never do it again. But tonight I needed to make an entrance to prove myself. I’m still auditioning for this job.” He sidles up to the table and sifts through the pictures with long, pale fingers.