Chapter One
Chains was hungry.
No, starving.
He needed food.
After all the shit that went down with Shadow and Boss at Killer of Kings, he’d decided to take a vacation. He didn’t want, nor did he need, any shit in his life right now. At times, being a killer took a toll on a man, and he wasn’t a fool. His kill ratio rivaled many of the killers he associated with. Of course, Boss had overtaken all of them with the slaughter he’d just done based on a mafia mark.
Rubbing the back of his shaved head, Chains entered a shitty looking diner. He’d have preferred a restaurant, one that served Russian food, but right now he couldn’t be picky. Taking a seat in the back of the diner, he grabbed the well-worn menu and looked over the choices. Of course, it was all greasy burgers and stuff more suited to a fifties-style menu.
His cell phone buzzed, and he glanced down to see it was Boss.
The fucker was alive and well, not that he would ever doubt him. If anyone could get out of a hit, it would be Boss.
Turning off his cell phone, he placed it back in his pocket. He’d already left word for Boss to know he intended to have some time off. No killing.
To get this … burning under control.
The rage inside him had begun to simmer midway through this latest mission, watching Shadow with Riley. He didn’t know what it was all about, and he didn’t care either. All he knew was when he wanted to kill those he worked with, he had to leave.
So far, Viper, Bain, Killian, and now Shadow had each fallen for a woman. Hardened killers became weak when they chose to bring a woman into their lives. Killers shouldn’t have women. They always had a “use by” date, and if one of their enemies heard of a way to take them out, their women would be the first to go. It was why he never allowed himself to take any pleasure other than in the women he paid for. The whores on the streets wanted his money, and he only required a quick release.
If he didn’t feel like fucking one of the streetwalkers, he’d found plenty of escorts and agencies willing to give him what he wanted.
He didn’t want love.
Glancing around the diner, he saw several families eating. One of them had that very prim and proper American look with crisp white shirts, the kind they wore to church.
He stared at them, knowing how looks could be deceiving. In his line of work, he’d seen a lot of shit. He’d seen stuff that had sickened him to the core.
One of the worst things was the child trafficking rings. Boys and girls sold for a fortune to meet the demands of the depraved perverts that wanted them. After seeing some of the victims, he’d made a vow to always defend them. If he ever caught sight of anything going down, he checked it out, and was sure to make an example of the people who thought they could use vulnerable children.
After surviving one of the worst childhoods imaginable, Chains learned from a young age the horrors that awaited in the big wild world. He’d been an unlucky bastard, being thrust into one of the worst Russian orphanages.
Every one of them had to learn to survive, and that hadn’t been the worst of it. The people who claimed to protect them had enabled the abuse. He’d been in a mixed gender orphanage, and the girls that were there, they had it a lot worse than the boys. They were trained to shut up and take it.
As a child, seeing the damage those girls faced at the hands of men, he’d taken a personal dislike to anyone who harmed a child.
“Hey, sorry it took me so long. What can I get you?”
The feminine voice brought his attention around to the woman standing in front of him. He’d seen her enter five minutes ago. Her head was bent over her notepad, and she was on the chubby side. The uniform she wore was too tight, some of the buttons gaping around her impressive cleavage.
Her long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she looked pale. He couldn’t get a good look at her, and Chains wanted to look at her.
“What’s good here?”
He’d long ago lost any of his Russian accent, and only when he was angry did it show. Right now, he looked and sounded like any American businessman. He always preferred suits. To him they’d symbolized the sign of power, where the real money was.
“The cheeseburger’s good. I, erm, I wouldn’t go for the chicken though.”
“Oh, why not?”
The girl, Lori, her badge said, looked behind her, and he saw her nerves show through. “He doesn’t always cook it all the way, and it can make you sick.”
She still hadn’t looked up, and he didn’t like that she was avoiding eye contact.
Putting his hand at his side where his gun rested, he wondered if any of his enemies had followed him. He could never be too cautious in his line of work.
Lori sniffled and leaned to the side, expelling a little cough. She sounded sick.
“I’m so sorry.” She cleared her throat, and she finally looked up at him.
The bruise covering her left eye twisted his gut.
His gaze unnerved her as she quickly arranged the hair covering her eye. “What can I get you?”
The bruise looked recent. “You know, boyfriends that do that don’t deserve you, right?”
“What?” she asked.
He pointed to his eye as he looked at her. “The eye. You really shouldn’t stick around with a guy like that.”
Her cheeks heated, and she shook her head. “Oh, this isn’t from a boyfriend.”
Okay, now he didn’t like where this was going.
“I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. So, cheeseburger, right?”
Chains watched as she quickly wrote down the order. He wasn’t about to dispute her.
“What’s your last name?” he asked.
“Why?”
“Because I’m a curious customer.”
She took a deep breath, and shrugged. “Dean. Lori Dean.” She walked away, and he watched her go before grabbing his cell phone.
Turning it back on, he put a call in to Maurice. He didn’t like that she didn’t put up enough of a fight. Didn’t she have a clue what a guy could do with her name, and only her name?
“What do you want?” Maurice asked.