Page 3

Consumed by the darkness.

Chapter 2

Static

TEAGUE

Not a single fucking thing has had the balls to go my way. Not one.

Between Christophe giving me shit while running my ass into the ground and having Truie in my bed each night but not being able to touch her the way I want, I might lose my fucking mind. Because, yeah, Truie has all but moved into my suite.

Her clothes. Her stuff. The scent of her. Her fucking essence has worked its way into my head and under my skin. She’s taken over my closet, my space, my thoughts—everything. She’s taken over my entire fucking life.

While I’ve been tied up during the day, running security and chasing after whatever shit Christophe sends my way, she’s been with Winnie in one suite or the other.

It’s been a stretch, but I’ve had to relinquish my carefully held control and put my trust in his staff to make sure she’s well-tended and comfortable. And safe. That’s been the hardest part of all.

As the auction loomed just on the horizon, Christophe locked his shit down while his uncle did nothing but spin further and further out of control. His special brand of instability is next level.

Christophe had me running at shit I have no idea the breadth of, knocking tasks off my list, only to find more added that made no fucking sense.

Why he thought I was the competent choice to pack up all of Winnie’s shit and bring it to his office so he could supervise her while she prepared for the auction, is beyond me. The fact that he went through with it is a whole other steaming pile of shit that I don’t know how to process. He knows what his uncle is, what the man does. Knows how he acquires his playthings, the vile things he does to them, and what he allows his men to do.

For the love of Christ, Alain elevated his slimy lawyer to mayor of the fucking town and then ripped his family apart. Truie’s family. The only plus there was that Truie had a respite for her summers and holidays visiting her mom.

Good for her.

Shitty for me.

I spent those weeks trailing Winnie while my head was wrecked not knowing where Truie was at every goddamn moment. I had no idea how much worse it would get.

Winnie has always been my assignment, but Truie was my reward. My secret obsession born of doing a job I didn’t necessarily want. Until she disappeared without a trace. Fucking killed me. And now that I have her, I don’t actually have her. But with the auction finally done, and Christophe claiming his woman, maybe that can change.

Tomorrow, in the light of day, I’ll be able to focus on Truie. Coax her to speak to me, to trust me enough to open up, or at least let me find someone who can help.

Something.

“Mr. Grey, one of the crack whores’ kids is here. Wants to see Mr. Robicheaux.”

I stop in the center of the foyer, my escape to my rooms and the gorgeous blonde tucked away there going up in a puff of fuck you that I could absolutely do without.

“Nope. Boss gave strict orders he’s not to be disturbed. Whatever the kid needs, take care of it and get him out of here. We don’t need anyone on the premises tonight.” How did someone get on the grounds anyway? Orders were to lock down the estate after we returned from the Honey Pot.

The scrawny form of Roux Ballenger pushes through the door. “I gotta see him, Mr. Grey. It’s an emergency with my ma.” Distress pours off of him in waves, but that’s not my problem.

Well, it is if this kid disturbs the boss.

One thing leads to another and another and a-fucking-nother and instead of sliding between the sheets and curling around Truie, I ended up cutting through the woods in tactical gear and adding a handful of names to my body count.

All in a day’s work, or so they say.

I step over the threshold into Alain’s home office, drawing his focus and business end of one of his men’s weapons. Alain doesn’t skip a beat, acting as though having the woman his nephew has killed for spread out on his lap is nothing out of the ordinary.

“Mind your tiger before he pounces and does something rash.” Alain tosses his words out with a dismissive nod in my direction. “Someone could get killed with his kind of carelessness.”

I’ve heard worse. Been called much worse by people who were supposed to mean more to me. Sometimes family isn’t what it’s cracked up to be, and the world is better off with them gone.

I keep still, taking in the room around me. Two of Alain’s goons stand sentry. The man himself watches the hostage he has on display in front of him as he runs his mouth. Most of what I hear is just blah blah blah, the ramblings of a delusional old man teetering at the edge of his fall from power, but the third—maybe fourth—time he mentions the Irish, I start paying attention.