Extraits

A few sets of eyes turned our way. Most were abnormals with clear signs they were exactly that. Feathers, claws, strange-textured skin, extra limbs. I didn't need to smell them to know what they were. But also saw a human here and there. I paused mid stride behind Simon. The humans were all washed to poles driven into the ground near tents. Slaves? Or pet? Or worse...food?

I didn't want to try and explain to him that I knew, like a gut instinct, when people were lying to me. At least, when I was willing to look for it. I'd never looked at Justin and questioned him once we were a couple. I wanted too badly to escape my past that I let my guard down and all the lies that had been there, waiting for me to take note of them, had slipped by me. I pressed the heel of one hand against my eyes one at a time. A fool, I'd been a fool in love and I'd paid the ultimate price by losing both Justin and Bear.

Hope was deadly disease in my world; it represented too many deaths. Hope, when twisted and used to control, could get you killed faster than a speeding bullet.

He talked too much, he wanted to be my friend, he wanted to analyze me and figure me out. And occasionally, I think he wanted to fuck me. And the last thing I wanted when I was hunting Romano's business, money, and power, and doing all I could to take them from him, was a nosy abnormal with tracing abilities, questionable loyalties, and a hard-on for my body.

"He gave me a wink and I close my eyes. Simon thought he was quite ladies' man, and his charm would've made it easier to deal with him if not for one thing. He was an abnormal, a hired assassin not unlike myself.

But I didn't fuck abnormals

I killed them.

"Dirty deeds and they're dont dirt cheap."

They stood there, eyes locked. Two powerhouse men in their own rights. One born to that power as an abnormal of incredible strength and influence, and the other strong because he'd been willing to sell his soul to the devil in exchange for strength and influence.

CHAPTER ONE

“Romano, you disappoint me, yet again. You were supposed to kill your daughter, and as far as I can tell, she is still very much alive.” Mancini sat in his chair behind a large dark walnut desk. His hands were clasped and his elbows balanced on the armrests.

Solid gray hair marked him as aged, but his face was not heavily lined, and his features gave the impression of a kindly man, a man of compassion. That is if you didn’t look too closely at his eyes and the way the irises danced and jigged as if they were a living creature that had taken up residence within the orbs.

If one looked long enough, his eyes seemed to have eyes within them, looking back at you. Judging you, weighing your value.

Luca Romano stood with his hands tucked behind his back, fingers interlaced, not a drop of sweat running down his spine underneath the ten-thousand-dollar suit. “I’m well aware that Phoenix is alive. It was never my intention to kill her.”

Mancini smiled at him, the edges of his teeth showing. “I want her dead, Romano. She took my money and destroyed the only manufacturing plant in North America that had Diva up and producing. Genzo and his Yakuza are not happy that they didn’t get their shipment. It was meant to be used in conjunction with their production of a new myst, which they have yet to discuss with me.” He frowned and then went on. “They will be even unhappier when they realize their shipment isn’t late, but will not be arriving at all. I do not need another turf war.”

Romano dipped his head. The last turf war between Mancini and Genzo was something out of legend if the tales were to be believed. The damage done to the abnormal community was still healing, and yet they’d managed to keep the worst of it from the humans. Yes, the humans knew that abnormals existed, but they were considered peripheral to human society and more of a nuisance than a threat.

That was going to change if Romano had his way.

Romano smiled slowly. “I know we can use the Phoenix to our advantage. As much as we both want her dead for her crimes, we also must admit she is a weapon, a valuable weapon, that if used correctly, could help us . . . manage . . . Genzo and his Yakuza. Thus, preventing another war.”

Mancini leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening, Romano, but understand this is your last chance to impress me and the Collective. You’ve fumbled the ball in the end zone far too many times. Only your connections have kept you afloat.”