Our city was big, but in that world, it would never be big enough. Word spread fast and everyone was soon calling Carter the Cold Killer. He didn’t kill only those that ordered the hit; he killed the actual shooters, the back-up guy, the driver, and even the messenger who passed along the hit. He took all of them out, moving faster than anyone could imagine.

While I was in high school and went from foster home to foster home, I saw him a few times. There were random moments when I’d be waiting for the city bus and he would come out of a restaurant. He was always surrounded by other men, big and burly guys. They scared me then, and I knew they would scare me now.

Then in college, since I attended a local one, I caught glimpses of him at nightclubs when I would go with my friends. I never asked for special treatment, I never even knew if he remembered me, but I knew which clubs he owned. Most of them were popular ones, ones my friends wanted to go to anyway, but I liked to see if I could get a glimpse of him. When I did, it was the same—always at a distance. The same men surrounded him, but there were times when he had a woman with him. They were always beautiful, almost too beautiful to be human. He got the best.

I sighed as more images of him went across the television screen. With any story that might’ve been connected to the local mob, his picture was always broadcasted. The media loved him. He was gorgeous with striking cheekbones, blue eyes that reminded me of a wolf, and dark blonde hair. All of that plus a six feet two lean build with muscular shoulders.

No one knew that I knew him. I didn’t dare tell a soul. If they did…I bit my lip as I considered it now. Would Mallory ask me to go to him? If anyone could help me, it was him. But this? Did I trust him with this information? That I had killed one of his enemies?

“You don’t trust anyone, no one except Carter. Go to Carter. He’ll take care of everything. He’ll take care of you, Ems. I promise.”

It hurt to swallow, but when I opened my eyes again—Mallory was in the bedroom doorway. A blanket was wrapped around her frail form. Dried tears caked over her cheeks and she gazed back at me.

He broke her.

I saw it in that instant.

Then I made my mind up. I would go to Carter, but if he wouldn’t help me, I’d help myself. I wanted to kill the bastard all over again. If his father came after us, I would protect her. I would protect myself. Carter rose among their ranks when we were kids. He did it to avenge my brother. If he could do that, I could keep us alive. I had to.

CHAPTER THREE

When I got out of the cab outside Octave, I faltered for a moment. What the hell was I doing? The crowd was lined down the block as they waited to get inside Carter Reed’s most popular nightclub. It was the most exclusive, but it was also the roughest. When my life had been more normal, prior to forty-eight hours ago, my friends and I enjoyed the more vanilla of his nightclubs. They played techno music, mixed with the pop hits, and the crowd didn’t make me envision BDSM occurring in any shadowed corner of the club. With this club, however, there was a reason why so many wanted to get inside—it ensured confidentiality. A lot of celebrities would sweep through and were ushered to their private boxes, floors above the actual dance floor. But there was also another crowd, the criminal crowd, which made it so secretive and exclusive at the same time.

Anyone could go to Octave with the assurance that whatever happened in Octave stayed in Octave. There must’ve been security that swept the club on a regular schedule. Carter wasn’t stupid. He was far from stupid. While some of the rougher customers might feel they could get away with anything, there was a limit.

Even though I’d only been inside Octave once, I couldn’t be completely sure about my suspicions. I knew Carter. He had never sanctioned that stuff when we were kids. Still, a lot had happened from then till now. As I swallowed over a dry throat, I was fully reminded. I had killed a man and now I was hoping Carter would help me.

“Miss,” the cabdriver honked his horn at me. “You gotta pay, lady. This ain’t a charity ride.”

“Oh.” Fumbling through my purse, I found the money and handed it over. As he started to leave, a laughing couple stumbled from the club and climbed through the door. I still hadn’t closed it. His on-service light was switched off as I heard the guy mumble an address before he started sucking on the girl’s neck. Then the cab drove off, and I was left on the curb.

Great.

Again. What the hell was I doing?

I eyed the line waiting to get inside. Most of them were dressed with next-to-nothing while I wore a long-sleeve shirt over jeans. Granted, Amanda had to lend me her jeans, so they stuck like glue to me, but I was covered. There was no way I was going to get into that club, not like this. So I took a deep breath and saw how long that line was. It’d be hours before I even got to the door. As I bit my lip, I considered going around the line and approaching the four large hulks in front of me. As one glanced at me, I saw the flat look in his gaze. My gut told me that others had tried and been rejected. I sucked in my breath—they might even ban me from the place. Then all hope would be gone.

As a large black Sedan drove past the club and turned into the back alley, I started to follow. Could I get in through there? But no. The car slid to a stop and four more men rushed the back door as it was opened. A man and a woman hurried out and through a side door. She’d been giggling, wearing a flashy red dress, and the guy had a business suit on. The door shut with a resounding finality as the bouncer pounded twice on the roof. The car took off and those four guys resumed their stances before the door.