LOVE FOR THE REAPER

  THE ELITE

  BOOK 8

  CHARLIE COCHET

  CONTENTS

  Synopsis

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  A Note From the Author

  The Elite

  Also by Charlie Cochet

  About the Author

  Love for the Reaper

  Copyright © 2023 Charlie Cochet

  http://charliecochet.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of author imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  Cover Art Copyright © 2023 Morningstar Ashley

  Edited by Stacy Sirkel

  SYNOPSIS

  Devlin “Dev” Espinosa lives in the shadows of the criminal underworld. As a Ferryman, his job is to safely transport “the dead” to their new lives, no questions asked. With no one to answer to, lots of cash, and access to The Anonymous–an exclusive club for the elite–Dev is loving life.

  Until Remy Corbin gets into his car.

  Remy is just a regular guy working a regular bartending job. At least, that’s what he thought before walking in on his boss taking someone out. Witnessing the assassination paints a target on Remy’s back, and when the bullets fly, he jumps into a stranger’s car.

  Dev has no intention of getting involved in Remy’s problems, but something about the guy brings out protective instincts Dev didn’t know he had. Going against his better judgment, Dev vows to keep Remy alive.

  Can wild nights fueled by danger and explosive passion lead to more? Or will the hitman on their tail cut their romance–and lives–short?

  ONE

  There was Sin City, and then there was the city that put it to shame.

  Old Defiance.

  It was the kind of place only a certain type of individual ended up. Those who didn’t possess the proper constitution were usually too late to discover how foolish they’d been to stay. By then, the city’s darkness had spread, its putrid tentacles taking hold and twisting their soul into something else. Two options remained after that—thrive or perish.

  Like most of the city’s inhabitants, Dev barely remembered his life before taking up residence here. And why would he want to? That life had been a sad, pathetic one. Things were different now. He was free.

  As he waited, Dev tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, the sweet disco beat of “Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Gees filling his car. His love for music was the only thing he’d kept from the life he’d left behind.

  Years after he’d washed up on the shore beneath the docks at the city’s edge, with nothing but the drenched clothes on his back and the knowledge that anyone who’d known him thought he was dead, he realized he’d been given a second chance. This time, things would be different. He built a new life and made himself indispensable—one of the best Ferryman in Old Defiance.

  A call came through his car’s Bluetooth, and he answered with a smile. “Good evening, Katerina.”

  “Don’t call me that,” the smooth female voice said, followed by a heavy sigh. “Status.”

  “Your endless cheer is an inspiration. I’m waiting for the package. How’s traffic?”

  “Clear.”

  Dev hummed. They both knew how quickly that could change. Traffic, for him, didn’t mean what it did for everyone else. It posed a host of dangers. In his line of work, delays were unacceptable. Then there were those who might not want him to make his deliveries.

  “I’m on standby,” Cat replied.

  Tonight’s delivery was run-of-the-mill, but he took nothing for granted. He knew these city streets like the back of his hand, but having Cat on his side made all the difference. She had a bird’s-eye view of the city and access to traffic lights at her fingertips.

  A banged-up metal door opened to his right, and a huge man in a dark suit approached his car. Dev hit the button on his passenger power window, and it slid down as the guy bent down to peer inside.

  With a two-fingered salute, Dev grinned. “Hey, there, Tiny. Beautiful night, don’t you think?”

  Lurch grunted.

  A man of few—or no—words. Got it.

  Dev rolled his right arm to show the gas lantern tattoo on his forearm. The mark of the Ferryman. With another grunt, the guy straightened and turned. Two more guys in suits appeared. They hauled along some dude with his wrists and legs zip tied. He had a black hood around his head, and they’d gagged him, judging the muffled noises he made.

  Getting out of his car, Dev walked to the rear and popped the trunk lid, revealing a spacious, darkened trunk expertly lined in plastic to protect his interior from any unwanted fluids and fibers.

  The man struggled, but it was useless. They lifted him quickly, shoved him in the trunk, and slammed the lid more forcefully than necessary.

  “Hey,” Dev growled, shoving the asshole. “Lay your hands on my car like that again, and I’ll cut them off and shove them down your fucking throat. You hear me?”

  The guy stared at Dev, nodded quickly, then scurried off. No one messed with him or his car. His restored 1969 Chevy Camaro wasn’t just any muscle car. He’d custom-built her for the shadows. A pitch-black paint job with black grille and door handles made her part of the night. Her 18-inch wheels and rims were black, and so was her interior. She was one of a kind, and everyone in Old Defiance knew what she signified.

  Death.

  Lurch showed Dev a torn piece of paper with an address scribbled on it. When Dev nodded that he’d memorized it, the paper went up in smoke. Spinning on his heels, Dev climbed into his car and revved the engine. He turned up the music and burned rubber, his tires shrieking as he left Lurch in a cloud of smoke.

  Man, he loved his life.

  With the beat pulsing through him, he sped through the empty city streets. The route he took lead him down darkened, abandoned sections where what law enforcement remained wouldn’t dare to enter. Old Defiance had a way of creating its own laws.

  Gears shifted, and Dev let out a loud whoop as he made a sharp turn, wheels gliding on the asphalt like he was driving on ice. What was the sense of having a car like his baby if he wasn’t going to have fun? The streets were his playground.

  Speeding past derelict buildings, the few streetlights that worked joined his headlights in lighting his way. The neighborhood might be a cesspool of vice, but the asphalt was impeccable. Transportation was vital to the survival of Old Defiance, no matter the method. In less than half an hour, he’d reached his destination.

  As a Ferryman, his job was transporting “the dead” to their new lives. Sometimes—a lot of the time—that new life was the afterlife. His job wasn’t to question, just deliver. He had one exception and one only. No kids. His moral compass might be damaged, but it wasn’t completely busted. Oh, and no animals. So, maybe two exceptions. The animal rule came after a kinkajou he’d been contracted to transport got out of its cage, scratched the hell out of his face, and took a shit on his leather seats.

  No animals.

  Pulling up to the curb, the neon sign above the dingy glass door read “Delicatessen,” the letters flickering off, leaving only the “d, i, and e” brightly lit. Ominous? Yes. Concerning? Meh. That’s why he wore a double-shoulder holster with a Glock tucked in each side. If anyone was rude enough to threaten him, he also had the small arsenal hidden under the backseat.

  Getting out of his car, he fastened his Armani suit jacket buttons and ran a hand through his hair. He popped the trunk as a couple of rough-looking dudes emerged from the unhygienic deli. Not the kind of place where Dev would get his lunch meats from.

  They grabbed the guy and dragged him out of the trunk. Another sharper-dressed man with slicked back, greasy blond hair and a toothpick between his teeth sauntered out. He nodded in greeting.

  “Boss has another pick up for you. Tonight.”

  Dev frowned. He removed his phone from his pants pocket. Biometrics cleared; he checked his secure email. Just as he’d suspected. He waved his phone at the guy. “No contract.”

  “It’s last minute.”

  They dragged the package inside, and Dev shook his head. “Sorry, Penelope. No contract, no pay, no delivery.” His gaze never wavered. Who the hell did they think they were dealing with?

  The guy narrowed his eyes, turned around, and disappeared inside. Seconds later, Dev’s phone pinged, and he dropped his gaze—new contract. Reviewing the exceptionally well-crafted contract he used that Cat had drafted herself, he signed on the digital dotted line. In a former life, Cat had been a badass Army JAG lawyer, so his contracts were a thing of beauty.

  His phone pinged again, showing a wire transfer for a cool fifty grand. He saluted his greasy new friend. �
�Pleasure doing business with your boss. Deets?”

  “Will be sent later tonight.”

  “Great.” It looked like he had some time to kill and knew just the place.

  Speeding off, he soon hit the highway, the streetlamps casting shafts of light across his car as he headed to the expensive side of town. His phone rang through the Bluetooth system, and he braced himself. Cat hated when he took jobs on the fly. No sense in prolonging the inevitable. He hit the button on his steering wheel.

  “I can explain,” he said.

  “What have I said about excuses?”

  “Excuses are like assholes. Everybody’s got one. In your case, two.” Namely, her ex-husband, who was only alive because she enjoyed torturing the bastard too much to get rid of him permanently. Dev didn’t have that kind of patience. Not for a guy who deserved whatever hell Cat imagined for him on any given day.

  “And yet you accepted the contract.”

  “You’re right. I got nothing. Except lots of groveling.”

  “I will accept your groveling in the form of alcohol. You can make it up to me by buying me a drink or ten. You coming in?”

  “On my way.” He hung up and turned his music back up. The closer he got to The Menagerie, the more brightly-lit buildings scattered the skyline, and the more people were out and about, enjoying their evening.

  It wasn’t the killers and criminals he was most wary of. Those he understood and always saw coming. It was the rich folks. They were the spoiled children of Old Defiance, throwing temper tantrums when they didn’t get their way. They were the ones who laughed with you and invited you over for a game of polo, only to have their man Jeeves put a bullet in the back of your head when you weren’t looking.

  Dev enjoyed seeing them freeze when they spotted his car approaching. Was he there for them? Had they pissed off the wrong person? He could all but hear their sighs of relief when he drove past. And that was real power. Knowing they feared him, yet couldn’t touch him.

  Pulling up to the curb in front of The Menagerie, he turned off the engine and stepped out, tossing his keys to the valet. Were it any other hotel, he wouldn’t have trusted his baby with anyone, but if there was anywhere he knew his car was safe, it was here.

  Dev unfastened the button on his suit jacket, letting it fall open as he strolled through the hotel lobby. The hotel had been around since the 1800s, a classy joint filled with marble pillars, crystal chandeliers, and stained glass skylights. Floral frescoes adorned the high ceilings and walls. It was beautiful and screamed European elegance.

  But it wasn’t the hotel Dev was interested in. With a smile, he walked up to the concierge.

  “Good evening.”

  She smiled widely. “Good evening, Mr. Espinosa. Code please.”

  “7769,” he replied.

  She motioned to the elevator. With a nod of thanks, he stepped in and greeted the elevator operator.

  The two lower floors of The Menagerie were what he cared about. They housed The Anonymous, an exclusive underground club for the city’s elite. He’d never heard of the prestigious club until he received an invite not long after his first mission. It came on the heels of him earning his Ferryman title. That was then he realized he’d achieved his goal. He’d become one of the best.

  Dev would have never thought it possible. That someone could bring together the best of the worst under one roof and not have a clusterfuck of death and destruction. Yet somehow, the Boss had done it, which only went to show how much power they wielded in this city. One of these days, someone might actually meet them or, at the very least, see them.

  The elevator pinged, and Dev tipped the operator before heading for the bar and lounge. The Anonymous was his favorite place to hang out. It was the only place where he never had to look over his shoulder.

  When he was between pickups, he could catch a show, play some pool, or maybe play a game of poker. On really good nights, he’d hook up with someone in one of the private rooms.

  He spotted Cat at the bar throwing back a shot of something. Knowing better than to sneak up behind her, he took the empty chair next to her and leaned in.

  “Is your name Google? Because you’re everything I’ve been searching for.”

  Cat choked on her drink, and he laughed, patting her back.

  “I’m that smooth, huh?”

  “That terrible,” she wheezed. “Please tell me you’ve never actually said that to another human being.” She waved at the barman. “Just for that, you’re opening a tab.”

  With a chuckle, he ordered himself a top-shelf whiskey. He’d just taken a delicious sip of the smooth spirit when his phone pinged. He accessed his secure messages and threw back the drink. Damn, that was good. Shame he didn’t have time to enjoy it.

  “Looks like I have to cut our evening short.”

  “Where you heading to?”

  “Banetti’s Bar.”

  Cat thanked the barman and then turned to him with a frown. “Yikes. That can’t be good.”

  Maybe not for whomever Dev was picking up, but certainly good for his bank account.

  “I’ll be back. Try not to drink my life savings away.”

  “No promises.”

  Dev smiled and buttoned up his suit as he returned to the elevator.

  Time to get to work.

  TWO

  There was something seriously off about Old Defiance.

  Remy couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but since he’d moved here, he’d felt it. He had no idea why he felt the way he did, considering how welcoming everyone had been since his arrival. And yet….

  Maybe he just needed to explore the city and give it a chance. He’d only moved here a few weeks ago, and most of his time had been spent setting up his new apartment and finding a job, which he’d started right away. The bar he worked at was great, the patrons friendly, his coworkers fun, and his boss a nice guy. So what was the problem?

  Nothing. There was no problem. He was in a new city where he didn’t know anyone. It would take a little adjustment, but soon enough, he’d make new friends and grow to love the place. Yep. Everything would be fine. Starting over was never easy.

  Part of him still couldn’t believe he’d left, but what choice did he have? He’d built a life with a man he thought he’d spend the rest of his days with, only to have it all come crashing down around him.

  Marcus had seemed perfect. Kind, intelligent, handsome, and funny. Their life together had been wonderful. Until the day Remy discovered the late nights at work, the constant texting, and the growing silence between them equaled someone else had come into their lives, someone who’d forged an intimate connection with Mark on a more “emotional level.” Guess what, Mark. It’s still cheating. And then, before Remy could wrap his head around everything, he’d been dumped.

  Not that it mattered now. That part of his life was over. He finished his closing duties and wiped down the bar again before tossing the towel into the small hamper. Everything had been put in its place, the dirty plates and used glasses having been picked up and taken into the kitchen an hour ago.

  “See ya tomorrow, Remy,” Shaun said, waving at him as she headed for the kitchen and the backdoor the staff left through.

  “See you tomorrow,” Remy replied, rounding the bar and picking up the stool someone had forgotten to put up. Scanning the upscale bar that was all slick dark wood, black leather seating, and brass accents, he headed for the employee lounge to grab his stuff from his locker. Other than Mr. Banetti, on most nights, Remy was usually the last one out the door.

  Inside, he found Sergio, one of the bar’s security guards. He’d been the first one to make Remy feel welcome at the bar. He was nice, even if he was intimidating. A brick wall of a guy with dark hair and dark eyes. He looked good too, in his brown leather jacket, white T-shirt, and snug black jeans. Sergio closed his locker and smiled widely at Remy.

  “Hey there, sweetheart.”