Page 1 of Drowning in Darkness

ONE

JAMES

Not all monsters roam in darkness.

Some people come to revel in the agony; others come because they are chasing a cathartic release. I am here for neither. I deserve everything Daisy dishes out and more so. It’s taken time to find a woman willing to deliver what I need. Pain is the only thing loud enough to drown out the noise. I’m aware that there’s something amiss with me. Strike that. There’s more wrong with me than right, but no amount of therapy is going to fix it. Maybe once I’ve destroyed the organization I helped create, and the worst of humanity is imprisoned alongside me, I can finally rest.

Absolution does not apply to men like me. There is no forgiveness in my future. The sins I have committed are too many and too vast. But I’m trying to right the wrongs of my past before I am consumed by the weight of guilt ravaging my soul.

“You good?” Daisy asks. She squeezes my shoulder as I shrug on my jeans and hiss at the sting her whip left.

“For now. Thank you,” I utter while pulling on my black shirt and buttoning it up.

She sighs and prepares to give me her wisdom once more. She must believe that if she persists with the same spiel, she’ll get through to me. “It’s normal to get aftercare,” she tries, leaning against the black wood-paneled wall. She’s changed from her leathers into a pair of skinny jeans and a white shirt. The soft cotton and faded denim are a stark contrast to the woman who held a whip ten minutes ago.

“I don’t want it,” I reply as I shove my feet into my boots.

She shakes her head and folds her arms. “If you let me in, I might be able to help.”

I lean down and kiss her forehead. “You are giving me everything I need, Daisy.”

“If that were true, then you’d take pleasure in the act, and that’s not the case.”

I’m not here for pleasure. That part of me died long ago. “I don’t pay you for life advice.”

She snorts and pushes her hand against my chest as I snatch my wallet, phone, and keys from the dish next to the still pristine made bed with satin sheets. We never use it. I’m sure it gets ample use from her other clients. Daisy is in high demand with her practiced warmth and bright smiles, skilled at making men believe they’re worth saving.

It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted anyone. That’s a lie. There’s one exception, but I’d be a dead man for daring to even look at her.

“I’ll call you,” I say over my shoulder before opening the door and striding through the high-end sex club. Sounds of twisted sin echo around me. Most here choose private rooms. Tastes range from gentle and sweet to dirty and perverse. But one thing I’m sure of: every person who works here does so out of choice. They are their own boss, paying the owner for a room and the tight security needed to protect them.

I nod at Gareth, one of the brothers who run the place. He raises a brow. “Didn’t realize you were here tonight, Jake.”

Jake, James, Jay... a multitude of names for each part of my life. I hate all of them.

“Last minute,” I answer. It’s true, but after weeks of little sleep, this is what I needed to do to get past it. It won’t last. The silence will disappear, and then I’ll be back to being surrounded by my demons.

The chilly Washington night air bites at the heat trapped beneath my clothes as I stride across the well-lit parking lot to my black Mercedes E-Class, great for all terrains. A familiar figure steps from the shadows beside my car, their red hair catching beneath the parking lot lights.

I raise a brow. “Agent Sinclair. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I might not be tagged, but Camryn Sinclair could track smoke through a hurricane. She’s efficient, loyal, dedicated, and has a strong sense of right and wrong, making her my perfect handler.

“Let’s go for a drive,” she says, flashing those pretty green eyes at me and straightening the peacoat covering her ever-present suit. I half believe she sleeps in those clothes, ready for action with a snap of her fingers.

I click the key fob, and we climb inside my car. I pull onto the midnight streets of Washington, waiting for whatever the FBI is about to drop in my lap. I’m a vital inside man, sitting at the head of an organisation rotten to its foundations. Every piece we cut away reveals three more underneath. Men with money, power, and enough influence to bury evidence beneath legal tape for decades.

Jonathan’s death proved that they’ll sacrifice pawns before they risk exposing the real monsters.

“Have fun?” she asks.

I glance at her and then back at the road. “Not the kind you’re thinking of.”

She hums in the back of her throat. “I don’t. I’m trying to understand.”

Ah, the delights of having an FBI profiler attached to my ass. “If you figure it out, let me know.”

“You could try therapy again.”