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Chapter 1
Cage - Friday Evening
Irecently discovered that you can beat a man to death with a motorcycle helmet.
Last night, a man knocked on my door to deliver an invitation and recognized me. He decided to try his luck and reached for his gun, but his visit ended with bits of his brain in my carpet and a broken helmet. A shame to have to replace it, but a decent weapon if you’re in a pinch.
That was six hours ago. I accepted the invitation via the number in the envelope, and after a long flight, a stranger is now driving me through the dense woods of an unfamiliar place. A peaceful view, given that the destination is a lion’s den.
We come to a stop at a maroon-painted wooden gate flanked by gray stone walls. Orange-toned lights fixed to the stone pierce the darkness, and from what little I can see, only the trees are tall enough to overlook the property.
The window hums as I open it, and the rich smell of pine and rainfall hits my nose. I’ve never been a fan of cars and this journey has me missing the comfort of my motorcycle. Nothing grounds me more than the rumble of an engine and the blur of city lights as I race past speed limits, too lost in the rush to care.
“Go faster and I’ll kiss you, Cole.”
“Put the window up,” the driver snaps, dragging me out of one of the few memories that doesn’t ignite rage.
Closing my eyes, I inhale further, turning over a small device in my hand, the cool, scratched metal a comfort. Flicking up the hinged cap, I draw my thumb across the metal cog, and the lighter springs to life. The flame flickers and dances, and it’s now the only movement in the car, because the driver has gone still.
We lock eyes in the rearview, and the blood bleeds from his knuckles as he grips the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—” The gate swings open on silent hinges, but he doesn’t inch the car forward. “I didn’t know it was you.”
I say nothing, and seconds later, we move.
Spotlights line a driveway leading to a modern, flat-roofed home built on a compound. Concrete, metal and glass meet in sharp lines spread over three short, wide buildings linked by glass walkways. Warm lights glow beyond the windows, and my smiling host waits at the top of the driveway.
The car stops and I climb out, rolling my shoulders and ignoring the pinch in my neck. I’m too damn bulky to be in the backseat.
“Cage.” Felton Maddox, my host, grins broadly and shakes my hand. As always, he’s in gym clothes, as if he’s constantly prepared to prove how many sit ups he can do. He’s thirty-two, like me, and we’re both six four, but that’s where our similarities end. Where my dark hair is buzzed short, his auburn locks are brushed back, strands falling over piercing green eyes lit up with genuine excitement to see me. Disgust sours my stomach that I make this man feel anything other than intense pain. “So glad you could make it. Sorry for all the cloak and dagger, but you understand our need to be discreet.” I do, and I hate it, so I simply nod. “I need your phone. Just until the weekend is over.” I expected this so I don’t hesitate in handing it over, and Felton smooths a sticker on the case with my initials scribbled on. “You’re the last to arrive, so the party is in full swing.”
The interior of the home is just as grand as the exterior. Polished stone floors, gold dripping light fixtures and art most can only dream of seeing, let alone owning. A beautiful home bought with blood-stained Maddox money.
I follow Felton through an empty living room and onto a spacious patio with a pool. I count six made men, three sitting on comfortable garden furniture, cradling crystal glasses filled with amber liquid. There looks to be one bodyguard to each man, but their holsters are empty. No doubt their weapons were confiscated before they got close to the building, same as they did with me before I boarded the plane. The other men are standing by a makeshift bar, and I barely hold back a sneer when I spot the one person who seems to have it out for me.
Chip Fennington is the center of attention as always, his brutish laugh setting my teeth on edge. He’s huge, definitely dosing, blonde hair shaved but beard thick and long enough to braid. He’s a boulder given life and hates that Felton likes me so much.
The trouble is, Chip is smart. He was suspicious of me the moment we met, but luckily, my background as Cage Monroe is solid. No one here would ever know the truth.
“Don’t worry about him,” Felton says, jabbing my ribs gently. I grunt in response, tucking my hands into my pockets, recounting the other guests and hoping to spot someone in particular.
But the fucker isn’t here.
“Now you’ve arrived, we can have a little fun.” Felton winks. I pin him with a glare he’s all too familiar with. “I have a gift for you, Cage.” A chill runs down my spine. The last thing I want is what he would consider a gift. He’s undeterred by my reaction and claps to get the attention of the others. “Everyone! It’s time to break in our newbie.”
Amused croons and cheers are the response, and I school my expression into mild curiosity and not horror.
Felton cups his hand to his mouth. “Darcy, bring out the ladies!”
A few seconds pass. Then, a minute.
The guests cheer, chant, clap. It’s a symphony of excitement, but I simply fold my arms. Finally, Darcy appears.
The five-foot-ten blonde looks beyond stunning in an emerald, sparkling dress. Her hair is curled, and her red-lipped smile beams as she stands at the open patio doors. She’s been Felton’s girlfriend for as long as I’ve known him, and she’s beyond fucking unhinged. Felton told me he once woke up to Darcy carving her initials into his leg. He chuckled as he recounted the tale, proudly showing the scar, because he let her finish. They’re a match made in hell.
“Are you ready, boys?” she asks, and everyone cheers. Darcy tuts, cups her ear and calls out, “I asked if you were ready!” Whoops and hollers follow, and she laughs before sliding her flirtatious gaze to me. “Let’s bring out your gifts, Cagey Boy.”
Felton keeps his eyes on Darcy as he leans close to me. “She’s fucking fantastic, isn’t she?”
He doesn’t care what I think, so I don’t respond. Darcy could slit Felton’s mother’s throat as the evening’s entertainment, and he’d be the first to start the round of applause.
