The Dangerous Son (Coalition Collection Book 1)

by Zoe Hill

  “Dad needs you at the cooler,” my twin snaps. There’s a sharp rebuke in his tone when he adds, “Stop avoiding his messages and get your ass to work. Shit’s hitting the fan and it’s your damn job to fix it.”

  He ends the call without waiting for my response. Tucking my phone back into its holder, I return to my call with Eitan as I gather my things ready to leave. My already interrupted plans have been punted out the window. It’s time to pivot on the fly.

  “Work faster, Eitan. I need everything on the MC and every single person connected to it by tonight.”

  “Listen, Trigger,” he interjects. I pull on my boots and stare at the toes as I wait for his unwanted advice to drop. “Sometimes, information needs to be found the old-fashioned way.”

  “And what’s the old-fashioned way?”

  “Infiltrating the motorcycle club and getting to know the members organically. If you could provide me with some specific information, I’ll have somewhere to start. A name and some bland details aren’t going to be enough to do this job.”

  Scowling at the way my stomach lurches when I think of getting to know Poppy organically, my reply is sharper than necessary when I concede his point. “Fine. I’ll work it out myself, then. And, while I do half your job for you, could you concentrate on removing Poppy’s tail and making sure she’s suspended at eleven tonight or just after? I’ve got to deal with a new situation, and I can’t have her on the move again until I’m able to intercept her before she reaches 34th Street. If she makes it there, I might lose her.”

  My skin crawls with the thought of entering another subway terminal. This mess that Dad and Stirling so desperately need me to clean up better not run late. Bumping into Poppy can’t be rushed because it needs to come off as fortuitous. If I’m sprinting down the platform after her, I’m going to look more like the stalker I am and less like the accidental savior I’m pretending to be.

  “Consider it done. I’ll message you once I’ve confirmed.”

  “Good.” I end the call before he can reply, then pull the door to the suite shut behind me.

  Closing my eyes once I’m in the elevator, I breathe my way as I mentally count to twelve half a dozen times in a row. Inhaling through my nose and exhaling through my mouth, I work to steady my nerves and bring forth my greatest weapon. I visualize my exterior hardening into an impenetrable shell until my game face is on and the nimbus cloud of hypersensitive mania I exist beneath has dissipated into the ether.

  It’s time to get to work.

  The elevator lurches to a stop too soon. I lift my eyelids and glare at the couple that try to enter the confined space with me until they squirm on the spot and allow the doors to shut on them. Jutting my chin once I reach the lobby, I saunter across the foyer of the Plaza, infusing murder into my expression and lethal intent into my posture as I go. Every person I encounter moves out of my way, and anyone stupid enough to make eye contact, looks at the floor in the next heartbeat.

  “Crystal Black Bentley,” I snap at the valet. Turning away from the couple at the front of the queue, he manages to act defiant for a few seconds before he capitulates and walks over to me. Since he’s not the one who took my vehicle when I arrived, I throw him a bone. “It’s listed under Greaves.”

  Recognition flares in his eyes. He ducks his head and trots off to bring me my Bentley. The queue treats me like a snake coiled to strike and silently drift out of the danger zone. I bite back a smirk. Being by myself, untouchable and recondite, is how I like it when I’m forced to don this persona.

  I might have a real-life twin, but I also have a twin personality. Dissociative identity disorder, my therapist calls it. Whereas some people with the disorder have multiple personalities, I have two.

  There’s the broken man, Spenser Ingram. He hides from the world and prays for an easy death or vengeance... whichever comes first.

  Then, there’s the other half. He’s a contract killer known as Trigger Greaves. Identifiable by the mangled corpses with missing fingers that are left in his wake—if the body is ever found. Trigger is a compilation of traits taken from the two men I hate the most. My father and my uncle. Letting this side of me loose empowers me. Unfortunately, he also takes a little longer to shake off each time I let him loose.

  When I’m Spenser, my morality hampers me. I can’t bring myself to hurt other people because I feel their pain. As Spenser, my value to the Coalition would’ve been negligible, and I would’ve been disposed of the second I refused to finish a job. I should blame my father for Trigger’s presence, considering he first appeared when Stirling was tortured in front of me to gain my compliance in a plan to murder an innocent seventeen-year-old girl.

  Yet, blaming him means I should also thank him.

  Trigger saved my life.

  He separates my existence into two palatable portions.

  One good and ready to die. One bad, willing to kill to live.

  When Trigger comes to play, I’m no longer a victim—of my past or my principles.

  I’m the villain in this city.

  A cold-blooded murderer in a pricey suit.

  ***

  The drive to Coalition headquarters takes me over an hour, and I use every minute of the journey to pump myself up for what’s to come. They obviously need someone dispatched, otherwise, they wouldn’t need me.

  My role in the Coalition isn’t brainstorming, it’s bloodletting.

  “One-two, one-two,” I announce my code into the voice activated box attached to the steel gates that serve as the first layer of protection. Once the box buzzes, the gates swing open. As I drive forward, a guard emerges from his bulletproof hut with an automatic weapon slung across his body. Rolling to a stop, I hit the button to lower my window and pop open my trunk. A second guard searches through my car then runs a mirror underneath while the initial man scans my retinas followed by my fingerprints with his handheld device. After the machine beeps and the screen turns green, he peers at me with expectation. “When you play the game of thrones, you win, or you die.”

  “They’re waiting for you.” He gestures for me to drive on.

  Pressing the accelerator, I make sure I’m out of view before I give into the urge to roll my eyes that’s been itching within me since he wordlessly requested today’s security quote. I’ve never watched the TV show, and I refuse to read the books until the series is finished, but I guess someone in the Coalition’s hierarchy is a hardcore fanatic of one or the other. The security quote when I visited to finish off Theo five days ago was, “The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

  I’d come close to pissing myself with laughter after I’d been forced to recite that with a straight face.

  Although the irony would be lost on the hierarchy of the Coalition, it sure tickled me pink.

  Apart from my dad, I’ve never seen one of the upper echelon families—Averell, Zidane, or Du Croix—stain their hands red. They’ve passed plenty of sentences, though.

  I park, leaving the keys in the ignition since the forty-five acres of wooded grounds that surround the Coalition’s complex are bordered by an eight-foot concrete wall and then sprint over to the side entrance that’ll take me down to the basement level where the infamous cooler is located. I don’t have time to waste if I want to be back in Manhattan in time to catch Poppy as she leaves work... hopefully in tears and sufficiently amenable to leaving willingly with a near-stranger.

  Reaching the insulated door that leads into the cooler, I pause to mentally pierce the balloon-like craving to see Poppy that’s inflated within my chest. Desire sufficiently deflated, I enter the change room next to the cooler entrance. The refrigerated and soundproof underground bunker is kept well below zero, so I strip down to my boxer briefs to don one of the thermal coveralls that hang on hooks along the wall. Sitting down to lace up a pair of polar boots, I notice that, at least, one pair is missing.

  “Wonder-fucking-ful,” I groan.

  No doubt, my father is here to supervise
the clean-up he’s ordered.

  I’m really not in the mood to see him today.

  After taking a moment to compose myself, I press in the code that unlocks the door to the cooler, then pull the hood over my head as I walk in. The door seals behind me with a satisfying whoosh. A muttered greeting is lobbed at me by Stirling, but I ignore him to survey the welcome party lining the wall that holds my killing tools.

  The head of each family that rules the Coalition is present. The older men are grim. My brother seems cowed as do the other sons. In addition to my brother and myself, it seems that every male heir has been summoned to this impromptu meeting. And apart from my father, I’m the only one dressed for the cold. Things are obviously going to get messy, so I calculate exactly how bad this is going to get by checking how many of the hooks hanging from the beam that runs across the far side of the ceiling are occupied.

  Four hooks; four barely breathing bodies. The four shrouded silhouettes are accompanied by a dead body lying slumped in the corner. The corpse is recognizable as the man currently known as the Governor of New York City, Matthew Payne.

  Although, he’ll be the former Governor once word of his untimely demise gets out.

  Shit. This is beyond messy. It’s close to being declared a disaster. Hopefully, it’s a quick dispatch job because if this turns into an information collecting exercise, I’m not going to make it back to Poppy on time.

  Annoyance courses through me. I swallow it down before it invades my expression.

  Rolling with the punches is part of my job description.

  Despite my efforts at maintaining my aloofness, I still move away from my twin when he tries to touch my shoulder. He sighs when I glare at him to let him know that I’m pissed he wasn’t completely forthcoming when he called. When he tries to lean in to speak to me again, I shoulder past him. With steady footsteps that don’t belie my growing unease, I approach the Head of the Coalition.

  It’s time to kiss the ring.

  My dad stares back at me when I glance at him. He dismisses me with an angry glare that has me suppressing a snort. Screw him. He’s on my shit list along with Stirling right now, although in Dad’s case, I’m sure the lack of information he provided when he texted me about this job was a deliberate tactic. If he’d told me that Roman Averell was waiting, I would’ve left straightaway, and Dad knew that.

  Next, I meet the cold eyes that belong to Anderson Zidane and return his nod of greeting. His sons, Luca and Axel, offer me a fist bump. Gritting my teeth, I bump my knuckles against theirs. As far as the snotty, over-privileged offspring that occupy my family’s network go, they’re the most palatable. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, and built like tanks, they do their best to dodge embracing their father’s Aryan beliefs.

  Once I’m finished with the Zidane’s, I offer my hand to Damon Du Croix. He’s alone because he’s only managed to father girls so far. The archaic traditions of the Coalition dictate that his family will lose their place at the table with the other heads of the group if he doesn’t produce a son or marry one of his daughters off to a Zidane, Averell, or Greaves’ son. Since both Averell boys are already married, as is Stirling and Axel Zidane, that chore will fall to Luca since I’m out of the running—for obvious reasons. Damon touches my proffered hand for the bare minimum time it takes to be polite. Once he lets go, I bounce my teeth together as I silently count to twelve.

  With my duty almost over, I stop in front of Roman Averell—the man my brother and I sarcastically refer to as our supreme leader—and wait for him to hold his hand out. When he extends his arm, I take hold of his fingers and bow. Bile rises in my throat, and I choke it down as I fight back the flames searing my skin where our fingers are connected.

  Prostrating myself in front of this asshole always gets to me.

  Roman Averell is evil personified and spends most of his time inventing new ways to be insulted.

  I’ve murdered hundreds of innocent people because they inadvertently pissed off this man.

  He makes my father’s dirty deeds look like gifts from Santa Claus.

  My reaction to Roman this evening is worse than normal since I’m technically in the wrong. When the big boss calls, I’m supposed to come running. If I don’t play this right, it might be my turn to hang from a hook after I’ve dispatched the current occupants.

  Funnily enough, being disemboweled by my protégé, Axel Zidane, wouldn’t have worried me a week ago.

  To be honest, I probably would’ve pushed Roman until he snapped just to fulfil my death wish.

  Right now, I have plans, and expediting my passing is no longer one of them.

  “My apologies for keeping you waiting, sir. I was on another job,” I explain in the most apologetic tone I can muster. Lifting my gaze to meet his dark-green eyes, I wait for him to incline his head before I continue, “If I’d known you were waiting, my priorities would have shifted immediately.”

  “In this instance, you’re excused,” he replies, his breath visible in the cold as he speaks. “This mess was unexpected and, quite frankly, unnecessary. If I wasn’t concerned by the potential fall out, I’d make the fools responsible clean up after themselves.”

  The look he gives his youngest son, Gareth, as he speaks, is noxious enough to peel paint. His son’s face reddens, and he turns to stomp out of the cooler. My eyebrows draw together when Edward, the oldest Averell, takes off after his brother. Nicknamed the Terror Twins, even though they’re actually eleven months apart in age, the Averell’s are the public face of the Coalition along with Stirling. While Axel and I specialize in underground dealings, the other four wine and dine the legitimate connections, the Coalition cultivates to power their plans for world domination.

  Once the cooler door has shut behind his sons, Roman cocks his head in the direction of the deceased Governor. “Zee will deal with him. I’d appreciate you dispatching of the ones hanging. They’re witnesses. I want everything burned, no traces left, nothing to link us to this. No liabilities.”

  “Sure thing.” I draw blood from biting my tongue to stop myself from asking why Dad is getting his hands dirty with the Governor. Cleaning up a high-profile mess like this would be solely my responsibility. “Do you have questions for them?”

  “Just get rid of them.” When I grin at the confirmation that I’ll make it back to Poppy in time, Roman stares at me. I school my features into Trigger’s blank countenance, ignoring Axel’s light chuckle. Spenser just popped free... something that never happens in the cooler since this is his domain. “There will be a debrief at Oaklands tomorrow. Be there at noon, not a minute later.”

  “Of course.”

  Once I’ve agreed, I’m dismissed with a sharp nod, then Roman marches out of the cooler. Anderson Zidane beckons Stirling and his sons to follow, and I’m left alone with my father, one dead governor, and the four men I’m about to kill.

  A prickle of awareness dances over the side of my face. I shoot a look at my dad. He’s glaring at me with the fiery bowels of hell burning in his eyes, and I decide that—plans to meet Poppy aside—it’s in my best interests to get this over and done with before he lets loose.

  Something’s eating at him—I can probably guess what—but my care factor is nil at the moment.

  His dented ego is his problem.

  “Is she all the way under your skin yet?” His voice is low and gruff, menacing yet smooth all at once. Nostalgia hits me. When I was a boy, I wanted nothing more than to sound like him when I grew up. I also wanted to be him. Nowadays, I can’t think of anything worse. “I’m sure she feels safe. Familiar. Awakens your need to protect. I bet you’re not quite so untouchable around her.”

  Dad snickers when I shove past him to rip the first shroud free. I pat down the unconscious man and empty out his pockets. Then, I flick through his wallet and check his identification. It’s futile and unnecessary, but it’s a distraction to help me remain silent. My father’s spoiling for a fight and I’m not willing to be his target.

 
For once, I’ve got better things to do.

  After I drop the first man’s belongings into a plastic bag, I repeat the same steps with the other three men. They’re all security guards at the Capitol Building. Men who’d normally be exempt from our wrath since their silence would be purchasable. Whoever killed Matthew Payne has dragged these family men, who earn next to nothing to protect the corrupt, into our orbit. The least I can do is make their death quick and painless.

  I’m screwing on the silencer, ready to finish this job, when the door opens, and Gareth Averell drags a flailing blonde woman inside. Her hair is loose, sticking to her face as she sobs.

  “Roman said nothing about a woman,” Dad barks. “What needs to be done with her?”

  “She’s here to learn what’ll happen if she ever opens her mouth about us.” Gareth shoves the slender woman forward and she lands on her hands and knees at our feet. Her sobbing becomes wailing as she touches my knee, then peers up at me with panic in her eyes. “Back off, Lilly Pilly. Trigger’s liable to take one of your fingers for touching him.”

  “Emmaline?” I ask. With her makeup streaking her face, it takes me a second to identify Gareth’s wife. The kind and classy woman who always ensures I have something to eat whenever I’m forced to socialize within the elite ranks uses her eyes to plead with me to help her. I swallow down the vomit that invades my mouth as Spenser attempts to take control again and lift my gaze to her husband. “What the fuck, G? She’s not part of this.”

  “She is now. Emma saw me kill Matthew Payne and she was there when the clean-up started.” Gareth crosses his arms over his chest when I frown at him. I tighten my grip on the butt of the gun I’m holding, uncertain whether I should use it on him or the guards. Roman’s rage makes sense. Gareth killed the Governor, and it must not have been a sanctioned kill since his wife witnessed it. We stare at each other, my gaze angry while he tries to fight back the hopelessness that crosses his face as his usually cynical façade cracks, piece by piece. “Dad’s given me one chance to make her understand that she needs to keep her mouth shut. Eddie suggested I have her watch you finish the others... so here we are.”