“And yesterday?”

  “Felt worse.”

  “Is there something I should know about?”

  Sam shook his head.

  His mom walked over and sat beside him. She draped an arm around his shoulder. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

  Sam always had. But this was different. This was very different. “I know.”

  She lifted his chin. “Then how come you’re not telling me what’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “If it made you skip school two days in a row, it’s something.” She took her arm away, giving him some space. The distance made it easier for Sam to look at her.

  Up the hall, his sisters squabbled over the bathroom. Sam learned the pecking order a long time ago. While it might change among his sisters, it was always the same for him. The bottom. Right next to his dad. You just didn’t get in the way of a girl and her curling iron. Not if you valued your life.

  “Would you rather talk to dad about it?”

  Sam winced. “No.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “I guess.”

  “What about Joe?”

  Just the mention of his name made Sam’s stomach flip. “No.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Wow. That’s a first.”

  What would she say if he told her? Just came right out and said it. Mom, I’m gay. I told my best friend I have a crush on him, and now he hates me. He doesn’t even want to speak to me. I don’t know what to do. Oh, and by the way, the other day before you came home, I was going to hang myself. Because, yeah. It’s that bad. It’s worse than anything in the world. “I can handle it.”

  She reached out, then stopped. “Sorry. Old habits.”

  “As long as there’s no one around to see it, I don’t mind.”

  She smiled and ruffled his hair. Sam managed to smile back.

  “I don’t have to worry about you skipping school anymore, do I?”

  “No.” Maybe. Hopefully. Unless he started puking. Going by the way he felt at the moment, it was a real possibility. “No more skipping.”

  “Good.” His mom stood and went to the door. There she paused. “You know whatever it is that’s going on, it’ll be all right.” There was the slightest flicker of something in her eyes. Sam had seen it before but never knew what it was. Now he did.

  Fear.

  “I know.” Hopefully, she didn’t see the same reflected back.

  She must not have because she pulled the door shut behind her.

  As much as Sam hated it, she was right. He couldn’t stay hidden in his room forever.

  Sam dragged himself off the bed and got dressed.

  By the time Sam went downstairs, his sisters were gone. Patty and Becka would ride with Brenda’s mom. Katey still went to elementary, so Mom would drop her off on her way to daycare with Stephanie. She was supposed to start pre-K next year.

  Sam grabbed a breakfast bar out of the cabinet and dropped it in his backpack.

  He stalled at the front door. Normally, about this time, Joe waited for him on the porch. The fact he didn’t drove home the reality of what had happened.

  Sam headed down the steps to the end of the driveway. He came to a halt at the sight of Joe walking up the sidewalk. He looked up.

  The spark of hope in Sam’s chest died when Joe’s features hardened. He cut between the houses and disappeared.

  Sam took a breath. “I am not afraid.” He walked. “I am not afraid.” He kept walking. “Okay, maybe a little.” He bypassed the shortcut. Being late would be easier to deal with than running into Joe. “Okay, a lot. I’m a lot afraid.”

  And what did Marcel say to do when he was afraid?

  “Move boxes.”

  Sam snorted.

  “Yeah, and where am I going to get boxes while walking to school?”

  He shook his head. The guy definitely had a screw loose. Considering what he looked like, he probably had a good reason. Had it been a car accident? Or something else, like a war. None of the photos Sam had looked at showed Marcel wearing a uniform. Except for the school pictures.

  Now those had been creepy. No one smiling?

  If Marcel didn’t get hurt in the military or a car accident, then what was left? Could have been a house fire. Sam didn’t know much about burns, but the mass of scars covering Marcel’s face and arm suggested it had been bad. Real bad. As in, maybe his whole body bad.

  How did a person survive something like that?

  And why hadn’t Sam ever asked himself these questions before? He lived next door to Marcel. Saw him in the yard all the time, sometimes raking leaves or building flowerbeds. The guy even wore paisley printed gloves and a straw hat.

  Okay, so he wore the hat to keep the sun off his head since a lot of his hair was missing on the right side. But the gloves? Paisley? Seriously?

  Yet all those times, even when the guy looked ridiculous, Sam never had the urge to make fun of him. Even his sisters would cast an uneasy glance at Marcel. They might whisper, but no one ever spoke out loud.

  And once Sam had gone about his day, he completely forgot about the man.

  Sam had no idea how that was possible. After meeting Marcel the day before yesterday, hearing his voice, being in the same room. Sam had no idea if he’d ever stop thinking about him.

  Maybe thinking about Marcel would keep him from thinking about Joe. Otherwise, he would have to find a lot of boxes to move around.

  Sound roared, turning into voices, then individual words. Diesel fuel, cologne, teenage sweat—it snapped in place with a rush of sight and sound.

  Sam stood in front of his homeroom, surrounded by students rushing to their class. He checked his watch. He’d not only made the entire walk without realizing it, he’d made it in record time.

  “Boxes.” Apparently, he had more boxes to move around than he realized.

  Karl shoved his way past Sam, knocking him into the doorframe. The guy tossed a cruel smile as he slid into his desk.

  Sam definitely needed more boxes.

  Lots and lots of boxes.

  5

  Good things come to those who wait.

  It was a saying Yvette Annanstein had heard many times growing up. Such simple words. Yet she believed them in much the same way people believed in God.

  Those words had guided her through the darkest hours of her life. Through the loss of her brother, Ivan. Then the pain of growing up without him.

  But good things come to those who wait.

  Yvette had waited almost twenty years to get what was owed to her. The life of the man who had taken away all her happiness as a child.

  And if her family was too weak to take it for Ivan, then she would.

  In a few days, Yvette would either be digging a hole for Marcel or watching him torn apart by his House for violation of Law.

  The Sicarii were a brutal bunch, even with their own.

  They should have destroyed Marcel for killing Yvette’s brother. But in a strange series of circumstances, those Laws they lived by had crossed, creating a pocket around Marcel, rendering him untouchable.

  Yvette had refused to accept the ruling among the Justices, but she was outnumbered. People feared the House of the Sicarii, Houses feared them.

  With good reason.

  But to Yvette, the Sicarii were dogs. Dogs to call to heel. Dogs to equal out the powers. They were not the gods they thought they were. They were not the ones who should choose who lived and died. Ivan losing his life over one of their whores was more than an insult. It was a fucking tragedy that deserved to be avenged.

  And none of it would have happened if it wasn’t for the boy.

  The mistake. The bastard child. The life that caused all the agony and suffering in Yvette’s family would soon be the solution to her misery.

  She dialed her cell phone. It rang once. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Where is he?”

  “On his way.”

  “Watch him. I want to know what happens. Every move, every twitch, I want to know when he steps foot into the john. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. I do.”

  “Have you paid the Ouroboros?”

  “I’m supposed to meet with him this evening.”

  “Good. Make sure they never find the body.” She hung up. Yvette had no fear of accountants and bankers. They were bought and sold like baubles. They knew it too. It made them willing to turn on each other, like the serpent marking them. Even if they did find their House member dead, they would suspect one of their own before an outsider. If they never found the body, they’d never get the chance to speculate.

  She turned to the window overlooking the city. A blight of traffic and concrete: smog-filled, noisy, crowded.

  And beautiful.

  Here, Yvette’s humble family had built its empire on a foundation of the world’s most coveted perfumes.

  Oils and fragrances made with only the finest ingredients.

  The search for those extracts had taken her grandfather across the world where they’d amassed powerful contacts, who needed invaluable favors.

  Like any wise businessman, Mr. Annanstein had offered his services.

  Almost overnight, the million-dollar business transformed into billions when me Fragrances became the place for other enterprises to funnel their assets.

  Even as a child, Yvette knew money rendered the blemishes like the city and other man-made objects, irrelevant.

  And could raise even the most common man into a living god.

  Because nothing gathered devoted followers faster.

  There was a knock at her office door.

  “Yes?”

  It opened. Roger, short, baby-faced, and mean as they came, stepped inside. “The jet will be ready in the next half hour. We should probably go.”

  “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  He left, and Yvette picked up her purse from the desk. She was about to drop her cell phone in it when it rang. She checked the number and frowned. It kept ringing. It was either answer it, or he’d never stop.

  She put the phone to her ear. “What do you want, Patrick?”

  “For you to not do something stupid.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Rumor has it you’re going after the Sicarii.”

  “You should know how dangerous it can be to believe a rumor.”

  “Then the flight plan filed yesterday was a figment of someone’s imagination?”

  “I’m allowed a trip or two.”

  “There is nothing down south to see but him.”

  “There are other people who would disagree with you. Miami, Atlanta, they are both very powerful cities with very powerful associates. Perhaps I even have a date.”

  “With death, maybe.”

  She laughed. “You don’t give me enough credit. I would think you’d have learned by now just how foolish that can be.”

  Yvette went back to the window. The pale ghost of her reflection stared back.

  “I’m begging you, little sister. Let this go. Please, let this go. I know you loved him. We all loved him. But Ivan made a terrible mistake that he paid for with his life. Don’t make that same mistake.”

  “I have no such plans.” There was no need for her to dirty her hands.

  “He’s not stupid.”

  “He’s not smart either. Or he wouldn’t have killed Ivan over a whore.”

  “He was not a whore, and you know it.”

  “Call them what you want, but those so-called pets are nothing but fuck toys.”

  “You know that’s not true.”

  “They’re not Sicarii. And even if Alexander Ross had been Sicarii, they’re not worth one drop of Annanstein blood. I dare you to tell me otherwise.”

  Patrick sighed. Even from thousands of miles away, it conveyed his frustration.

  “I know what I’m doing, so don’t worry yourself.” There was no way this wouldn’t work. Every detail had been sewed with the tightest stitch. Yvette researched Sicarii Law, she knew their loopholes.

  And she planned to use every one of them.

  “You know the family will not stand up for you if this goes wrong,” Patrick said.

  “Because they are spineless.”

  “No, because they know the repercussions. No matter what you want to believe, the Sicarii do not belong to any of us. They have loyalty only to their own, and to the anonymity of the internal structure. Their pledge is to keep wars from happening between those involved. Including us.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, Patrick. Because it’s the only reason they have the power they have. If we were less afraid, they would have never disrespected our family. They most certainly would have never allowed Marcel to live for killing Ivan.”

  “Like I said, Ivan made a mistake.”

  “That bitch made a mistake when she slept with another man. Alexander made a mistake when he helped her hide. And Marcel made a mistake when he refused to say where Alexander sent her.” Yvette snatched up her purse and headed out. “Ivan delivered justice.”

  “We had a right to take care of our own,” Patrick said.

  “Except Alexander wouldn’t tell Ivan where she was.”

  “It doesn’t change the fact the companion belonged to Marcel. Ivan was a fool. Even more of a fool to use a device which was practically his signature.”

  Yvette knew why, and she had agreed with his choice. It was a warning. It was a promise of retribution for any member of their family the Sicarii thought they could erase.

  Roger waited for her at the elevator. He stepped into the corner, practically disappearing against the mirrored walls. Yvette nodded at him, and he allowed the doors to close and hit the button to the lobby.

  “If Lorelle hadn’t been pregnant, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Yvette said. “The Justices would have never found in Marcel’s favor. Even they know a whore isn’t worth one of us.”

  “You are grossly mistaken. But that doesn’t matter because she was. Therefore, they did. And because she was pregnant, Ivan should have gone to Father and told him. He would have had council with the Justices. This could have all been legal.”

  It would have never been legal. The Sicarii would have never dealt out punishment where it was due. It wasn’t as if Lorelle had been raped. She had been willing. Why Marcel didn’t dispatch Alexander for his indiscretion, Yvette didn’t know. And since Alexander was his pet, the Sicarii were likely to give Marcel a handful of demerits for the affair between Alexander and a married woman. Unless the Justices had lashed Alexander to death, it would have never been enough.

  Even that would have been meaningless. Marcel’s unwillingness to kill Alexander was proof that Marcel would have taken the scars in his pet’s place without protest.

  Ironic, though, he wound up with far more than he would have had by the hands of his own.

  Too bad he hadn’t just died along with his whore.

  “Are you there?” Patrick said.

  “Unfortunately, I haven’t lost a signal yet.” The reception in her building was flawless. Times like this, she wished it cut off if she moved an inch.

  “Please.”

  “Please, what, Patrick? Don’t do this? Don’t do what our family should have done a long time ago?”

  “He’ll kill you.”

  “No, he won’t. I found the boy. I know the Law. One way or another, Marcel will die.”

  Yvette hung up. The lift doors opened, and she took the first step in her journey to retribution.

  The first address in Uncle Greg’s notes was for Sunset Inn, an extended stay motel just off the interstate and within a mile of the killer’s address.

  Ben had done a drive-by on the man’s hideout first.

  That’s what he’d called it in his mind.

  Then he saw it.

  The subdivision was new enough to be well landscaped but old enough for the houses to be distinct. The fact a monster would live in such a place should have been laughable. But somehow, it made everything more real.

  Even dangerous.

  This was a man who walked, talked, and thrived among the masses. A beast in flesh. Someone who killed innocent women, taking them away from their children. There were fathers on the list too. Brothers. Sisters.

  People.

  Human lives.

  They’d been dispatched in the same way you’d crush an insect. At least with an insect, the mess was normally cleaned up. According to the newspaper articles, this Marcel had left the bodies in plain view. Each one found with ease. Some of them killed in public. In broad daylight.

  But there were never witnesses.

  Somehow, Marcel had moved in and out of places without detection. As if he were a ghost people couldn’t see.

  Ben had only caught a glimpse of the man. Not seeing him should have been impossible. He was something right out of a horror film. One side of his face nothing but valleys of scar tissue, more on his arms, missing fingers, and a pronounced limp.

  How could anyone not notice him?

  Kneeling in his front yard working a flowerbed, Marcel had looked like the hundreds of thousands of retired Americans. Going by his build, he’d probably been imposing once, but now he was nothing but an old man who walked with a cane.

  Ben had told himself he was just here to see the man. Maybe even find additional evidence he could take back to the police. But the more he thought about it, the more he stared at the list of names, the letters, the notebook—the darker his thoughts turned. The shock became anger, then the anger transformed into a terrible entity rebuking common sense in lieu of revenge.

  All the years Ben had lost. All the things he’d never had. Not tangible objects but the mental and emotional connection of unconditional love. Someone who cared enough to risk their life to protect him. Now she was dead, and the closest person Ben had to family was dead too.

  He never imagined solitude could be so destructive. But sitting there in the car, watching the man who had forever altered his future, it became an intoxicating poison.

  The fact this living nightmare was old, crippled, and probably on his last leg, stroked Ben’s confidence. By the time he left the cul-de-sac, he’d not only convinced himself killing the SOB would be easy, Ben had convinced himself he had no other choice.