7th Circle (Hades Book 1)

by Tate James

  So long as we were careful—more careful than we'd already been—then he could remain safe.

  With a long yawn, I checked my phone for the time and groaned. It was already midafternoon, and I had a bunch of missed calls and texts. There was just one that made me smile like an idiot, though.

  Wild Card: Good morning, H. I dreamed about you...

  He'd sent it hours ago, and I yawned again before replying with a single heart emoji. It made me feel like a total dork but also gave me belly flutters of excitement, so I went with it.

  The rest of my messages were just normal Saturday updates, plus a few from Zed advising me that he and Alexi were having a friendly chat with a certain Detective Sambal. He’d been one of the major beneficiaries of Wraith money in the past, so it was safe to assume he was currently on the take for this new player.

  I texted him back, telling him to meet me at Anarchy later with an update, then went to shower.

  When I was clean, my hair washed and blowdried, I wrapped up in a robe and went out to the kitchen to make coffee.

  The TV was on in the living room, and after filling my mega-mug with caffeinated goodness, I wandered through to find my sister moping.

  "What's up with you, brat?" I asked her, shoving her legs off the sofa so I could sit down. "You've got that sulky face going on."

  She pouted at me, then turned her attention back to the TV.

  I didn't push her for information, knowing perfectly well that she'd talk when she wanted to talk and not a moment sooner. This time it only took about five minutes of watching Julie and the Phantoms before she let out a melodramatic sigh and sat up.

  "I don't think Lucas is interested in me," she admitted, and I stiffened. She misinterpreted my body language, though—as she often did—and threw her hands up in the air. "You totally warned him off, didn't you? Goddammit, Dare, I thought maybe, just maybe, this time you'd let me make my own damn decisions. He's not like other boys! Surely, even you could see that?"

  Oh, I whole-heartedly agreed with her on that statement, but not for the reasons she was thinking.

  Taking a careful sip of my coffee, I schooled my face into that neutral mask I wore so often and met her eyes. "What happened?"

  She scowled at me, then shrugged. "I asked if he wanted to see a movie tonight with me and some of the other Shadow Prep girls." Her cheeks pinked, and she looked away, picking at the frayed sleeve of her sweater. "He made some total bullshit excuse about needing to work tonight."

  I frowned, confused. "So? Maybe he needs to work." I didn't know why I was trying to placate her; I should be agreeing that he wasn't interested. But I hated seeing my sister upset...

  She scoffed a laugh. "He goes to Shadow Prep, Dare. Not on a scholarship, either. Pretty sure he doesn't need to work. Also, he got super evasive when I asked where he worked and wouldn't even say what time he got off. So, yeah, pretty sure he's lying to blow me off."

  I sipped my coffee again, silently disagreeing with her. Maybe he worked as a stripper in her sister’s club and didn’t want his whole class to know about it. Maybe he didn't get off work until three in the morning but couldn't say that without betraying what his job was.

  Maybe. Maybe... he was blowing her off because he was already involved with someone else. Maybe.

  But instead, I just shrugged. "Guess he is like other boys after all. Besides, didn't you say he had a girlfriend?"

  Maybe I should just tell Seph that Lucas was stripping in one of my clubs. Surely that would be a good enough reason why she shouldn’t be pursuing him?

  Seph pouted. "I figured maybe she's still in Colorado or something. He only moved here like three weeks ago. But whatever. We're seeing that remake of the old witchcraft movie from the sixties or something."

  I rolled my eyes. The movie she was thinking of came out in '96, but I couldn't be bothered to argue with her.

  "Well, enjoy," I said, taking another sip of my coffee and standing up.

  She cocked her head to the side as she looked up at me. "Your hair and makeup are on point, Dare. Got a hot date tonight?"

  I gave a small laugh. "I wish. Just need to stop by Anarchy to check on things."

  Her smile turned knowing, and she nodded. "Oh, I see. Gonna see Zed there too? You should wear that crimson satin lace-up skirt with the black corset top. He's always checking out your ass and tits when you wear that combo."

  Ignoring her, I drained the rest of my coffee on the way back to the kitchen, then headed to my room to get dressed. It was nothing more than a coincidence that when I emerged from my room again, I was wearing the outfit Seph had suggested. I mean, sure, she hadn’t specified that I add a black leather shoulder holster for my gun, but that went without saying. No way in hell was I wandering around unarmed right now.

  She let out a catcall when she saw me, and I flipped her off. Little shit.

  My skirt—which laced up in a corset pattern from knee to waist—was way too tight to even consider riding Bob, so I slid into my Corvette instead. I still had several hours before I was due to meet Zed at Anarchy, so I drove across to Rainybanks to catch up on some office work. One of the end of night reports had hinted at inventory discrepancies—a polite way of implying someone was stealing—and I wanted to review the last few weeks’ figures.

  There was a magazine stand near the front entrance to the skyscraper Copper Wolf HQ was located in, and I grabbed a newspaper before heading inside. It never hurt to run my eyes over what was making headlines, just in case my people were being noticed. But I also had a slightly morbid fascination with reading the obituaries.

  Saturday newspapers always had the most, and they were so varied. In some of them, love for the deceased person rang true with every word, while others were cringeworthy in how little care was put into the composition. I liked to think it spoke to what kind of person had just died. Were their surviving relatives grieving their loss or dancing on their grave? It always made me curious what would be written about me.

  The Copper Wolf offices were mostly empty. Just a couple of desks were occupied by the women who ran our reservations and events team, and they gave me friendly smiles as I passed.

  I let myself into my office, flicked on the lights, then sat down in my overly masculine leather chair. Crossing my legs, I flipped open the newspaper and scanned over the headlines quickly. I didn't need to read the articles about a giant fish being caught off the coast by a ten-year-old or a head-on collision that killed six. I just needed to make sure nothing was raising red flags about the continued existence of the Tri-state Timberwolves.

  Anonymity to the general public was working for us, and I was dreading the day that changed. To be fair, though, I was amazed it hadn't already.

  Finding nothing alarming in the news, I flicked over to the obits.

  They were in alphabetical order, and I was pleasantly surprised at the sincerity of the first few I read. Then I reached the Ds.

  Darling, I miss you more with every passing day. Five years has gone in the blink of an eye, but we'll meet again soon. I promise. I'll chase you.

  I read the simple obituary six times before throwing the newspaper across my office.

  "Motherfucker!" I shouted. Rage and fear coursed through me in equal measure, making my hands shake as I pulled my phone out of my purse. It took me three attempts to open my camera app, then I needed to go and retrieve the scattered newspaper to take a picture of the obituary and text it to Zed.

  Fuck reviewing inventory; some bastard was trying to make me think Chase himself was still alive. Little did they know I had been the one who’d personally fired a bullet through his face.

  Zed called me as I was stalking back to the elevators.

  "You're shitting me," he said when I answered.

  My fingers tightened on my phone, and I needed to resist the urge to throw it. I was so angry, though.

  "I'm at Copper Wolf," I snapped, my voice threaded with fury. "I'll be at Anarchy in an hour."

  "Unde
rstood, boss," Zed replied, all business. "I'll be waiting."

  I ended the call and dropped my phone back into my purse before I could break it. Paranoid didn't even begin to describe how I was feeling as I exited the building and made my way back to my car. It felt like a million eyes were on me, watching my every step. A million people just waiting for me to slip up.

  I wouldn't, though. I wouldn't fall. Because the second I did, someone would be there to slit my throat and toss me to the sharks. After all, it's what I would do.

  24

  Anarchy was buzzing with life when I arrived, despite how early in the evening it was. I bypassed the big top—the fight arena—and headed straight for the Fun Zone where I knew I'd find Zed waiting.

  We had a VIP lounge area set aside in all our venues, and most nights they were kept for either visiting celebrities or just stinking rich party girls who could afford to rent it out. Tonight, though, it was totally empty except for my second-in-charge.

  "Boss," he greeted me, indicating I take a seat at our favorite table. It was one that overlooked the main club, same as we liked to sit at all our venues. He sat opposite me, hooking his arm along the back of the seat and giving me an intense stare. "It's not him."

  Him. Chase fucking Lockhart. As if he hadn't tried enough to break me in life, he was still messing with my mind five years after his death.

  "Of course it's not him," I snarled. "I shot him in the face with a .44 caliber bullet from four feet away. Chase is currently worm food six feet under. But that message was personal. Whoever this is, they want me to think Chase is alive."

  Zed nodded, his gaze still glued to my face. "There's so much personal information being used. First the Darling design, then knowing you read the obits for fun? Who the fuck else knows you do that?"

  I grimaced. "No one. Just you." I let out a bitter laugh. "I don't suppose you're behind this, are you?"

  His brows dipped in a deep frown. "You—"

  "I'm joking," I assured him with a wave of my hand. "You and Seph are literally the only people on this whole fucking planet above suspicion." I arched a rueful smile at him. "But I wouldn’t entirely put it past Seph to think something like this was funny. So you're the only person I trust, Zed."

  His eyes tightened, and he started to say something before shaking his head. He shifted his gaze out to the club below us, which was about a third full of patrons already, and for several minutes we just sat there in silence.

  One of the bartenders from the main bar came by and delivered drinks for us both, and Zed gave him a tight smile of thanks.

  I sipped my drink, an aviation, and watched my friend carefully. He had something on his mind, that much was obvious, but something was making him hesitate to confide in me.

  "Whatever is eating away at you," I said after placing my drink back down on the table between us, "you know you can tell me." It wasn't a question, it was a fact. He did know. So why was he hesitating?

  His gaze returned to mine, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You know I'd never do anything to put you in danger, don't you? I'd never hurt you."

  I frowned in confusion. Was this about my joking suggestion that he'd submitted the creepy obituary?

  "Of course I know that," I murmured, squinting at him.

  He gave a small nod, the lines of his face still tight and his fingers clenched in a fist. "I love you, Dare. More than anyone. Ever."

  I smiled. He didn't even seem to notice that he'd slipped and used my nickname. "I should fucking hope so; you're my best friend. We've literally killed for each other."

  His brow seemed to draw tighter at my response, though, like that wasn't the answer he'd been looking for. Then his gaze flicked away from mine once more to look out over the crowd below us.

  "Is it just me, or is Cass lurking around a whole lot more than he used to?" Zed punctuated his change of subject by sitting back in his seat and unclenching his fist. It was a very obvious, forced shift in his mood, and that worried me. Had he really thought I suspected him of being behind the fake-Chase messages?

  Still, I followed his line of sight and groaned when I spotted the big, tattooed Reaper staring up at us from his position at the bar.

  "Miserable bastard," I muttered under my breath when his eyes locked on me. He raised his drink in a small salute, like he'd heard me and agreed.

  Zed coughed a laugh, then smirked. "Come over here for a second? There's something I want to see." He beckoned for me to join him on his seat, and I did so without hesitation.

  "What's up?" I asked, perching on the velvet lounge beside him. A brief memory of Seph telling me that Zed liked this outfit flashed across my mind, but I shoved it aside. Zed was my friend, nothing more.

  He leaned closer, a teasing smile on his face as he brushed my hair back from my shoulder. "Dare... is this a bite mark?" His fingertip stroked a line down the side of my throat, pressing against the tender spot Lucas had left behind, and for some reason I let him. I didn't smack his hand away or lean out of his touch. Hell, I liked it.

  Seph was officially messing with my head. All her teasing about me and Zed fucking had made me start reading too much into every interaction with him. Now I was getting turned on by an innocent touch? Yeah, I was going to kill her.

  "Maybe," I murmured, letting a smirk cross my lips. "None of your business, Zayden."

  His brows rose in surprise, then he laughed.

  "Well, if it's not my favorite niece and her gorgeous partner in crime," a woman said, and I jerked my head around to meet my aunt Demi's amused gaze. "I thought I might find you two here."

  "Because I texted you and said to meet us here?" Zed offered, his tone dry as he leaned back in his seat again.

  Demi just shrugged and sat down opposite us, in the seat I'd just vacated, so I stayed where I was.

  "That too," she agreed with a smile at Zed, then shifted her attention to me. "Darling, you look flushed."

  I winced. "Please don't call me that."

  Demi cocked her head to the side in confusion, and I pulled up the picture of the obituary on my phone, then handed it to her.

  "Oh, shit," she breathed. With a frown, she read it over, grimaced, and handed it back. "I see."

  Zed leaned forward to sip his drink, then settled back once more, propping his arm on the back of the sofa behind me. "Boss, I hope you don't mind. I thought Demi might help us in the research department."

  I nodded. As badly as I wanted to keep my aunt clear of Timberwolf business, I wouldn't trust information from anyone else.

  "Will you look into the Lockharts for me, Demi?"

  My aunt nodded, folding her hands in her lap. "What am I looking for?"

  I shrugged and sat back in the seat. My back rested against Zed's arm, but I was okay with that. "Anything. Anyone even slightly connected that might have motive to attack us now."

  She pursed her lips, thinking. "Someone has to know a whole lot about you to leave a message so personal and to know you'd look there and find it. I don't suppose your ex-fiancé liked to keep a journal?"

  I snorted a laugh. "As amusing as that mental image is, no. Chase wasn't a journaler."

  Zed grunted a sound that seemed close enough to disagreement that I shifted to look at him.

  He grimaced when he met my stare. "Look... no, he didn't have a journal. But he did... sort of have something similar. I don't know. Maybe that's where this personal information is coming from."

  "Explain," I demanded, shocked beyond belief that he'd kept something a secret about Chase.

  Zed ran a hand over his face, then sighed. "He had a hidden camera in his room."

  "What?" I spluttered the word, rising halfway out of my seat. Zed reached out, his fingers circling my forearm like he wanted to stop me from fleeing... but that wasn't even remotely in my nature. I was much more likely to shoot first, ask questions later, and flee fucking never. He knew that. So why the fuck was he touching me?

  "You know what?" Demi interje
cted. "I'm going to leave you to this. It's starting to look like a conversation above my paygrade." She picked up her handbag and blew me a kiss before making a quick exit.

  "Dare—" Zed started, and I shook my head.

  "Do not try to manipulate me right now, Zayden de Rosa." My voice was pure fury, and he must have known he'd pushed too far. He cleared his throat and released my arm carefully, then drew a deep breath.

  "My apologies, boss," he said in a clipped voice, like he was angry at me. "I guess I forgot my place for a moment there."

  That statement almost cut me deeper than the revelation of Chase having a hidden camera in his bedroom.

  "Fuck you, Zed. Don't fucking do that. Just tell me what the hell you mean about Chase's goddamn camera. I can't..." I trailed off, shaking my head in frustration and disbelief. My emotions were all over the damn place, my shoulders tighter than a bostring and my hands shaking.

  If I were with anyone else, I'd never ever let them see me so damn weak. But it was just Zed. So I tucked my hands under my thighs and tried to calm myself.

  "Zed... his bedroom?" my voice was no longer murderous, just stricken.

  He nodded, his lips tight. He knew. I knew that he knew. Whether he'd seen the footage himself or Chase had told him... bragged... it didn't matter. Fact was, he knew something I’d hoped had gone to the damn grave.

  "I destroyed it when I found it," he told me in a soft voice. His gaze wasn't pitying, and that was the only saving grace. It was just regretful. What the hell he had regrets about, though, I had no idea. "I burned all the tapes too. But... I don't know if anyone had already seen them. It seems like a long shot, but I can't think of anything else."

  I swallowed hard, letting my gaze drift over the club below us in an attempt to detach from the memories clawing at their cage in my mind.

  "You're sure you burned them all?" I asked in a hoarse, far too vulnerable voice.

  Zed leaned forward, blocking my line of sight to the club. He raised a hand to my face, stroking my hair away from my cheek with the backs of his fingers in a gesture that made my chest tight.