7th Circle (Hades Book 1)

by Tate James

  When I had confirmations from all the gang leaders in the general vicinity—including a terse message from Cass asking why I'd been uncontactable all afternoon—I sent a quick message to my aunt Demi.

  Aside from being a kickass lawyer, she was also heading my information department. She had access to some of the best hackers in the world, and with enough time and money, there wasn't much she couldn't uncover for me.

  Zed glanced over at my phone while we were stopped at a red light, then arched a brow at me. "What are you texting Demi about?"

  I scowled. "None of your fucking business." Then rolled my eyes. I had no reason to keep secrets from Zed. "I'm asking for a full background check on Lucas, okay?"

  His brows raised. "I thought you didn't care about his clearly fake name?"

  I glared at the side of his head. "I don't. But like you said, he's been to my home. With this weird shit going on and angel dust resurfacing in my territory... You know I don't believe in coincidences."

  There was a note of bitterness to my voice that I knew Zed heard too. But so what? I was bitter. I’d finally met a gorgeous guy who seemed totally into me—not Hades—and it was starting to look like a set up.

  Fucking hell. I really was going to have to kill him.

  "You gonna kill him, boss?" Zed asked, with curiosity.

  Was I? My natural instinct was to eliminate the potential threat, and if Lucas turned out to have any ties to Chase Lockhart, then he was already a dead man walking. Yet somehow, it just wasn't sitting right in my gut.

  I breathed out a long sigh. "Probably. I dunno. I’ll wait and see what Demi comes back with on him, I guess." I let my gaze wander out the window and chewed on the edge of my nail as I thought about it. Lucas seemed so innocent, so totally unrelated to all these gangs and feuds and bullshit. But that in itself was too good to be true. Wasn't it?

  "Stop that," Zed scolded, tugging on my wrist to pull my nail out of my teeth. "Talk to me about what you're thinking. It's not the Lockharts; we know that."

  I snorted a bitter laugh. "Not unless he's risen from the dead."

  Zed shot me a frown, his eyes returning quickly to the road in front of him. We were in his Ferrari, driving almost double the speed limit, but he was fully in control as per usual. "It has to be someone associated, though. Doesn't it?"

  I wasn't so sure. It could just be an opportunistic shit coming in from another state who saw a gap in the market for selling PCP. It certainly wouldn't be the first time someone had tested my laws within the tri-state area. But Zed was clearly thinking the same as I was... that this was more than someone breaking my rules. They were flaunting their disobedience in a way that deliberately sent a message to me.

  "Yeah." My sigh gusted out, and I rubbed my temples. "It sure feels like it. But who? We left no one alive to seek revenge." The Timberwolf massacre had taken out more than just my father’s dirty, low-life followers. It'd also cleaned up anyone he'd been colluding with in the sale of young girls stolen from their families and traded to equally depraved men—and women—who used them in ways no human should be treated.

  The entire skin-trade operation had been eliminated in one blood-soaked night, and within that had been a small crime family who'd made their name primarily in the import and sale of PCP. It was a drug I particularly abhorred thanks to my own personal experience with it and the state I'd found Seph in after she’d been forced to take it.

  "The Lockharts are all dead," I said out loud, needing to hear those words. "Every single one of them. You and I know that better than anyone else."

  Zed was silent, but his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He and I had personally delivered the killing shots on the key players of that family, but the ones we'd intended to spare, the innocent children of the Lockhart family, they'd been collateral damage when the Lockhart mansion exploded from a damaged gas line.

  We had a lot of blood on our hands and didn't regret much. But those kids... that was a guilt Zed and I both carried with us even now, five years on.

  "Yeah," he murmured after a long time. "Yeah, I know. Hopefully some of these other assholes have more clues for us to piece together."

  I grunted a sound of annoyance. "If they don't, they're fucking lying. There's no way Sonny-boy's death was the first incident. No way in hell. Our little rats have been keeping things from me, Zed."

  He gave me a sidelong look, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a grin. "Should I have lined up a cleaning crew in advance?"

  I just shrugged and ruffled my fingers through my loose curls. "Probably."

  Because as a woman holding as much power as I did in a man's world, I could never show weakness or vulnerability. I could never let anyone think my rules were negotiable or optional. The punishments for disobeying me were swift and bloody; it was the only way I could stay on top. It was the only way I could confidently keep Seph safe and give her the future she deserved.

  I'd do fucking anything for my little sister. Anything.

  The old church was a mess of construction when Zed and I walked in, but we bypassed the scaffolding and drop cloths, heading straight for the basement door. Timberwolf headquarters had been where my father had acted like a god, playing with his subjects’ lives like they were no more than an amusement for him, things to be owned and used as it suited him. The fact that he'd chosen a church was the epitome of his arrogance, but I, weirdly, hadn't been able to get rid of the building itself since taking over.

  It wasn't until recently that I'd accepted the fact that it was still a pillar for my organization, and I should treat it as such. So we had started work to renovate and rebrand. Soon, the old Timberwolves HQ would reopen under Copper Wolf branding as Timber, a hot new nightclub with a dark and sexy lower level for high-stakes poker games.

  Nothing laundered blood money easier than a successful business. None of this dodgy laundromat bullshit for my crew.

  "New roof is looking good," Zed commented as he followed me down the staircase to the basement. We'd needed to replace the entire cathedral roof over the sanctuary because my father hadn't believed in regular maintenance and it’d leaked like a sieve.

  "It does," I agreed. "I'm excited for this club. It'll be our best one yet, I think."

  We shared a grin, the buzz of our new project tingling through my body. Zed and I had come up with the idea to open bars and nightclubs about a year before taking over the Timberwolves, back when I was still in high school and sneaking out to dance clubs with Zed and Chase. It had turned into a passion project for us just as much as a front for our Timberwolf finances.

  We walked through the main basement room, the one that would turn into a bar with lots of seating areas and low lights, then passed through a short corridor to the back room. The crypt. The room that would become our high-roller room.

  Four dangerous-looking men covered in ink already waited at the table set up in the middle of the old crypt, and they watched us cautiously as we entered. Or me. They watched me because I was the one who held their lives and their gangs in my grip. Part of my Timberwolf inheritance had been a whole stack of leverage, documented crimes that could see most of the men running the local crime world put away for life, should it be sent to the right people.

  Better than that, I controlled all the money laundering through my territory. The one thing all these fuckers valued more than their pride, was their money. When I couldn’t kill the people who pissed me off—for whatever reason, usually because they were too useful—I simply taxed their respective gangs as punishment.

  Given the choice, though, I’d rather just shoot them. It was easier that way; people understood death.

  "Gentlemen," I greeted them in a cool tone, "thank you for coming on such short notice."

  The oldest of the group grunted an annoyed sound that made my eyes narrow. "Did we have a choice?" he asked and met my glare with his beady-eyed gaze.

  I held his eye contact as I made my way to the head of the table, and he looked away before I’
d even sat down. Pussy.

  "No, Maurice, you didn't." My voice was glacial and my glare withering. "But it doesn't hurt to use our manners every now and then, does it?"

  The leader of the Riverstone Vipers was an older guy, somewhere in his mid-fifties if I were to guess, and had never been particularly pleased to be beholden to a woman. But, as he'd learned very quickly, if that was a problem, he could kiss my perky ass. I wouldn't stand for any disobedience in my zones, and sadly for him, Riverstone was within Timberwolf territory. The only reason I—and my father previously—allowed other gangs within the entire tri-state area was that they served a purpose by doing the shit I had no interest in doing and paying me a tithe for the privilege.

  He gave me a tight, bitter smile, but ducked his head in acknowledgement. "I suppose not, Hades."

  The other gang leader who'd arrived before me—Vega of the Dogwood Death Squad—snickered a laugh, shooting Maurice a mocking smile. "A man your age should know better, Maurey. What would your old lady say if she heard you disrespecting Hades like that?"

  Maurice was old school crime, with his Vipers closer to an MC than a gang, and had some real deep-seated misogyny to overcome. So he just glared daggers at Vega across the table for implying his wife had any say in what he said or did. There was no love lost between them, but hell, none of us were friends. We just maintained a careful tolerance for one another as long as it was beneficial to all parties. Sooner or later, one of them would get greedy and start shit, but right now everyone was behaving.

  Before Maurice and Vega could get into an argument, though, another inked-up gangster walked in with his backup. I sighed inwardly, recognizing Skate, the leader of the Shadow Grove Wraiths—a real piece of work. I almost missed Charon D'Ath when I had to deal with this slime bucket. But for the most part he'd been smart enough to stay off my radar, so he was still alive. For now. At least he’d made good on the tax I’d imposed on the Wraiths after Zane double-crossed someone I liked.

  Skate paused at the far end of the table, glaring at me like I was the one who'd killed his mentor and father figure last year. He was barking right up the wrong tree on that, even if I had given protection to the real murderer.

  "Sit down, Skate; I don't have time for theatrics." My tone brokered no arguments, and I all but dismissed him from my mind as I shifted my gaze to the backup he'd brought. I didn't recognize this gangster, and that in itself set my warning bells ringing.

  I made it my business to recognize anyone important enough to even possibly attend one of my meetings, but this punk was a total stranger.

  "Who's your friend, Skate?" I asked in an empty, emotionless voice. They'd get no tells from me.

  The Wraiths’ leader just sneered as he leaned back in his chair. "Does it matter? We're all permitted to bring an associate per your own rules, Hades."

  The silence that fell over the room was so thick I was actually a bit surprised when Vega shifted awkwardly in his seat and let out a nervous laugh.

  "Been sampling a bit of your own product, Skate?" he joked weakly, shooting a curious glance over at me, then back to the Wraiths’ leader. "Attitude like that could see you walk outta here with one less finger."

  He wasn't wrong.

  Skate just glared at me, fuming, and I raised one brow. It was the only chance I would offer him before providing a physical reminder that I was in charge for a reason.

  "My apologies, Hades," he finally growled out. "This is Joseph."

  The unknown guy met my gaze unflinchingly as he gave me a nod of greeting. Instantly I knew Joseph was no normal Wraith. Fuck no. His eyes were too sharp, too calculating, and I'd already caught the way he'd assessed and cataloged every square inch of the room.

  Either Joseph was a cop or he was a spy. Or both. Either way, Skate had brought a snake into my lair.

  "Joseph," I repeated.

  The dude just shrugged, exuding way too much confidence. "Never got around to picking a cool gang name."

  Bull. Shit.

  Before I could poke the snake with my verbal stick, the rest of my guests entered the room and took their seats around the table. There were only enough seats for gang leaders, their backups left to stand against the walls behind them as they always were.

  "Ezekiel, you made good time," I observed, giving a small smile to the most unassuming of the men around the table. He looked, for all appearances, like a mild-mannered accountant. I knew better, though. Ezekiel ran a syndicate of muscle for hire. He had aspirations of one day rivalling the mercenary guild, but he had a long way to go yet. Still, he was smart enough to have a real shot at it. Aim for the stars and land on the moon, my mother used to say.

  He was also located the furthest from Timberwolves HQ, so must have taken a helicopter to make it here in time.

  "Wouldn't miss a summons from you for anything, Hades," he replied with a wide, slightly lecherous smile.

  I respected Ezekiel as an asset to my territory and a formidable ally, but goddamn, he needed to stop leering at me. He'd never tried to take it any further, though, so I ignored it.

  A deep, rumbling grunt came from Cass, who was sat directly opposite Ezekiel. Based on the way he was glaring down the unassuming assassin, he wasn't a fan.

  I ignored him too. Instead, I turned my focus to the last man who'd taken a seat at my table. While not technically a gang leader, Archer D'Ath held enough power in Shadow Grove to be granted a place in this room of criminal kingpins.

  "Archer, good of you to come." I gave him a pointed look, silently conveying the question I couldn't ask. He hadn’t brought anyone else with him, which was a power move in its own way. He was showing the other players that he was unafraid.

  He gave me a small nod in response, and I knew he was answering my look and not my words. Yes, Seph was safe. She'd been at his house visiting Madison Kate when I'd put out the summons, and she'd be safe there until we were done.

  We had plenty of history, Archer and I. After all, I never could have usurped my father’s throne without his invaluable help. Out of everyone in the room, Archer and Zed were the only ones I trusted not to put a knife in my back the second it was turned. Not even Cass—no matter how badly I wanted to fuck him—had earned that trust from me.

  "Let's get down to business, then," I announced. Zed shifted slightly behind me, a subtle move to reassure me that he was fully ready for anyone who wanted to test my authority. It was something that happened more often than I'd like, but not all that surprising considering my lack of male genitalia.

  Apparently, it could be triggering for the old-school gangsters to take orders from a woman. It had taken a few dead “back up” gangsters before they finally got the point that I wasn’t to be pushed. Zed’s trigger finger was just as twitchy as my own, and he was a deadly quick shot.

  "Someone has been breaking my rules, and I want to know what you all know about that." I cast my eyes around the table as I said it, and the silence that followed was deafening. "Let me elaborate for you, seeing as we're all playing dumb today. Someone has been importing and, I'll guess, selling angel dust within my zones."

  Ezekiel's brows rose, his thin-framed glasses moving on his face with the gesture. "That sounds like a supremely bad idea, if I might say so, sir. I assure you, I haven't seen or heard anything of the sort in my area. Sounds like someone wanted to diversify their portfolio." He cast his eyes over the other gang leaders, giving pointed looks at Cass, Skate ,and Vega. Their gangs were the ones who ran the most recreational drugs.

  Archer just kicked back in his chair, watching everyone with guarded curiosity. I knew he didn’t have anything to do with it, but he would want to know what was going on, if only to keep his family safe.

  Then again, considering I'd previously handed him a forty-nine percent share in the import-export company that facilitated literally all of the drug trade in Shadow Grove, maybe he had heard something I hadn't.

  "You already know everything I know," Cass rumbled, his hand balled in a fist wher
e it rested on the table. "I actually had the balls to own up when I found out about angel dust in Shadow Grove." He arched a brow across the table at Skate.

  "Screw you, Cass," the rival gang leader spat back at him. "One of these days you'll kiss Hades’s ass so hard your head will get stuck up there."

  "You wanna pretend there's no dust floating around Wraith territory, Skate?" Cass all but sneered the Wraith's name. That was new. He was usually so stone-cold emotionless, but there was real disdain in his tone.

  Skate's eyes narrowed as he glared back at Cass. "The fuck would you know about Wraith business? You got spies in my house, friend?"

  Cass's lip curled. "I'm no friend of yours." But he also didn't answer the accusation... How curious.

  But they could take their Shadow Grove bickering elsewhere; I didn't want this meeting lasting any longer than it needed to.

  "Skate, this is your one and only chance," I told him in a flat voice. "Tell me what you know about who is responsible for this breech, or the Wraiths will be taxed for insubordination."

  I couldn't always kill people who disobeyed. How would they ever learn if no one was alive to carry the lesson forward?

  Archer, at the opposite end of the table, shot me a sly grin. He had a fair idea what I meant when I said the Wraiths would be taxed. It meant that the cost of imports on cocaine and MDMA—the Wraiths’ primary money earners—would triple in price indefinitely, something that directly lined my pockets and Archer's. It also meant I would take a higher cut of any money they laundered through my businesses during the period of their punishments.

  Where death and violence didn’t always motive obedience, threatening their bottom line usually worked.

  Skate glared at me, his nostrils flaring with anger and indecision flickering in his eyes. It was a tiny movement, barely even noticeable for how quick it was, but I spotted the second his eyes flicked to the side. Like he was fighting the urge to look at Joseph for permission.

  Motherfucker. I knew it.

  My instincts had carried me this far in life. They'd kept me alive when the whole world had been against me. I trusted them, but if they ever steered me wrong... well... too fucking bad.