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First, he would eliminate the Brotherhood. Next, he would dismantle The Shadows, and his job would be over.

No more secrets. No more lies.

Yes, The Shadowswere supposed to be a band of vigilantes vowed to protect the people whom Parliament cared not about. The people the Brotherhood used and discarded.

But Gideon had seen what power did to men. Once they had enough, they always forgot the ones they claimed to protect.

The late Wolverstone proved that to be true.

Most of the old Brotherhood members were dead now. The ones spared by Wolverstone had died of illness or age. Gideon had helped the lingering two cross over to the realm of the dead. The only survivor of the old guard was Norfolk.

Gideon suspected he was the one who had kept the operation running all these years—the leader of the Brotherhood.

He was the one Gideon was eyeing as his next victim. But the old man was careful. Suspicious. Never alone. Always surrounded by his wife and daughters like a shield.

As if he hadn’t sold other men’s wives and daughters for a coin.

As if he hadn’t murdered other men’s wives and daughters…

As if he hadn’t deserved to have the same thing done to him as he had done to others.

Gideon clenched his jaw.

Sometimes, he wished he was cruel enough to give Norfolk exactly what he deserved. Sometimes he wished he could strip Norfolk of his family and leave him to suffer alone…

But Gideon wasn’t that cruel. Just cruel enough to hunt him down and kill him.

Eventually. He would get to Norfolk soon enough.

In the meantime, he had others to take care of—the new members. Men who joined the Brotherhood after Wolverstone’s purge.

At first, Gideon thought that the Brotherhood rebuilt their ranks by recruiting the original members’ sons, but he was wrong.

It turned out a completely new group of young gentlemen had taken over the vile society. And they all shared core identifying characteristics.

They were young, rich, lazy… entitled. Too lazy to earn their wealth by honest means. Too twisted to resist the pleasures of the flesh—even when their victims were unwilling. Even when they were children.

Men who drank, debauched, and used others like tools. Men whose own morality didn’t stop them from participating in heinous activities like the illegal slave trade and child brothels.

Gideon had identified a few of them by watching who grew close to the remaining older members or who suddenly came into great wealth or had ties to the old members.

Then he followed them. Listened to gossip. Bribed harlots for information.

Luckily, all members of the Brotherhood were foolish enough to brand their bodies with a crimson fist. So once he identified the men with questionable morals, it was easy to confirm whether they were part of the Brotherhood.

The problem was, he didn’t know how many of them were out there.

Eleven? Fewer? More?

It was quite possible he would never find out—unless he obtained their records somehow. Either that, or he would have to inspect every gentleman’s body for the crimson mark. And he did not relish that prospect.

Gideon had gleaned as much as he could from the late Wolverstone’s journal, even before it was lost to him…

Not lost. Stolen.

Just a few weeks ago—right out of his metal safe with an elaborate lock.

Gideon had known who the thief was, and that was why he’d never confronted her.