Chapter Three
Marcus Olivieri was one of Gustavo Bianchi’s top soldiers.
Now he was dead.
Before Priest killed the guy in Cleo’s apartment, he made sure to get some dirt. Bianchi had cops on his payroll, a lot of them, which would not go over well with Boss. Killer of Kings had people working for them in every sector of society, including the police force. He had to let his boss know without revealing his fuckup.
His hope was to handle things himself on the downlow without needing to involve anyone else. They wanted Cleo, so he could use her to his advantage. She’d make perfect bait.
What he needed most was time to think.
Cleo was in the passenger seat with a blindfold over her eyes. As he pulled into his driveway, his cell went off again. He couldn’t avoid Boss forever. It would only make him more suspicious.
“Yeah.”
He stepped out of the car, pacing back and forth outside.
“Where are you now?”
“Home. Why?”
“Good,” Boss said. “Check your encrypted email.”
That was it. He hung up without another word. That fucker was always eccentric, but Priest had been sure he was calling to question him. Boss always seemed to know everything, even his darkest secrets. Just because Boss didn’t mention the assignment or the girl, didn’t mean he was off the hook. Priest had to be careful, no more mistakes.
He rounded to the passenger side and helped Cleo out, leaving the blindfold in place.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“You talk too much.” He led her inside, punching his security information into the panel before closing the door behind them. It was good to be home, but not so great with this girl in tow.
Priest had to keep reminding himself she wasn’t part of the contract. She was innocent, in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was still hard to have pity for her when his life was in upheaval thanks to her.
He reached into one of the kitchen drawers and grabbed a couple of long zip ties from the bag. He pressed her down into a chair and secured her hands behind her against the wooden slats.
“Don’t move. Keep your mouth shut.”
“But—”
She didn’t finish her sentence. Good choice.
Priest went upstairs and turned on the shower before putting a call into Maurice, one of their in-house tech wizards. The steam from the warm water began to fill the bathroom, clouding the mirror above the vanity.
“Long time no hear,” Maurice said.
“I just need a quick workup on a girl. Cleo Bennet. Twenty-four.”
“And by quick, you mean?”
“Within the hour. Less would be better.”
“Of course. I should be used to Killer of Kings’ impossible expectations by now.” Maurice sighed on the other end. “I’ll be in touch.”
Maurice knew to keep his mouth shut, so Priest didn’t have to worry about him ratting his business to Boss. He wouldn’t ask questions, either.
Priest carefully set his handguns on the dresser, scrubbing a hand over his jaw when he saw his reflection in the mirror over his dresser. He looked like shit. He returned to the bathroom, stripped down, and then stepped into his oversized glass shower. The warm water flowed over his face and hair, soothing him and washing his worries away. His mind wandered back to his hometown across the ocean. It seemed a lifetime ago—it was. He’d never returned since leaving, and probably never would. It represented too much darkness. The loss of everything and everyone good in his life. And his turning point into madness. He had no regrets for his atrocities, even though every fiber of his being demanded he should.
He'd lost his faith that day, cast all his values aside.