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“I hear the Skull King does more.”
Benton went rigid when he heard what I’d said. “I’d hoped you moved on from that.”
“Looks like you don’t know me as well as I thought.”
“You have more than enough, Bartholomew.”
“Until I have everything, it’ll never be enough.”
Benton studied me, his blue eyes showing all his thoughts like words on a page. “I understand the high you get with every conquest. It fades…and then you need another. With every bullet that misses your heart, with every skull you smash beneath your boot, it gives you something you can’t find anywhere else. But it’ll never fix the problem, Bartholomew. It’ll never fill that hole.”
“What hole?” I asked, my lips slightly curled in amusement.
Benton stared at me, refusing to actually say it.
I swirled the glass, watching the liquor spin like water in a flushed toilet. “The Skull King’s days are limited.”
“And then what happens when he’s dead? There’ll just be another.”
I tipped my head back and took a drink before I tapped the glass to the counter. “Not if I take his place.”
2
BARTHOLOMEW
France shared a border with Italy, but the distance between us was still infinite. To control a territory that far away required intense delegation and management. I was up for the job and ready to kill anyone who resisted.
But I needed to know my enemy—and that required research.
It required spies.
It required massive payoffs.
I stepped into the living room, barefoot and bare-chested, wearing sweatpants with nothing underneath because I’d just finished with my favorite whore in the bedroom. Bleu was there waiting for me, a pitcher of ice water and a glass placed there by my butler. A black folder was sitting there as well.
I took a seat in the armchair, knees spread wide apart, sweat still on my back that smeared against the leather chair.
Bleu didn’t look directly at me, as if he wanted to respect my privacy by ignoring the sex written all over me.
I grabbed a cigar from the bowl and lit it, the smoke rising straight to the ceiling. I sank into the armchair with my elbow on the armrest. “You came here for a reason?”
He grabbed a cigar for himself, probably to cover the stench I brought into the room. “Very little intel I was able to gather. His crew is pretty tight.”
“But every man has a weakness. Wife. Kid. Deadly allergy…something.”
“No wife. And he has no medical records, which tells me his ties to the underworld precede his birth.”
So this guy was the real deal.
“But.”
“Ooh…I like the sound of that.”
“He has a couple daughters.”
“This just got interesting.” I rested my arm, the smoke rising to the ceiling and making my living room smell like an old chimney.
“One is with him. One he’s been estranged from for seven years. They haven’t spoken once.”
