Chapter 4 ELIAS

ELIAS

My twin sister, Elaine, was as annoying as ever during my short visit to her place. She never missed a chance to needle me about "settling down," even while I bounced her youngest on my knee and pretended not to hear. The woman had a mouth like a whip and the subtlety of a jackhammer.

Annoying.

Her children were equally chaotic. I left with more hair pulled from my head than I cared to count. They're the only ones who could bring me to my knees-literally and figuratively speaking. I loved them, of course, but my tolerance had its limits.

So, I left earlier than usual.

I had work to do anyway-my bimonthly check-in at Allure, one of my more legitimate fronts, though anyone in Chicago with half a brain knew better than to think that was all it was.

"Where are we headed to?" Cathan asked as I entered the vehicle.

"Allure," I replied.

"It's time for our bimonthly checks already," he said, glancing at his watch. "Well shit, I didn't notice."

I ignored him and shut the door behind me.

"I managed to convince him," Cathan said while the car was still moving.

"Jakob Hunter?"

"Yes," he replied. "He seems a little bit shady but he would not disappoint."

"That's good," I said, nodding my head. "After what happened at Prague, I thought he'd be reluctant to work with anyone let alone us."

"We're here," the driver called from the front.

I stepped out and looked up.

"We don't have the time to admire your club, Elias," Cathan muttered, walking briskly ahead of me. "The man is waiting."

I frowned. "You should know by now that I wait for no one Cathan."

He laughed and we continued on our way.

I noticed something weird happening upfront. Like a fight or something.

"Cathan," I started. "Send some men to check what is happening there."

He nodded and with a flick of his hand, two armed men walked forward to stop whatever the fuck was going on.

Allure was beautiful from the outside and really impressive. But there were times like this where fights broke out.

"I'm sure it's just a scuffle started by a guy who probably lost his fortune today while betting," Cathan said.

I nodded absentmindedly. Somehow, I didn't think it was.

And I was right.

Tonight, one nearly did the same to mine.

A scream pierced the air and suddenly, the two men Cathan sent were down, blood pooling at their feet.

Immediately, I turned to my men. "Clear this place, now."

They instantly reacted and began sending everyone out, leaving me, Cathan and the men alone in the casino.

"Cathan," I growled, heading toward the assault area with my gun cocked and ready. "What the fuck is happening?"

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, punching one of the guys that ran toward him on the nose. "It must be Alonso. I'm sorry don, I should've looked into it more."

I turned to face him. "Should've?"

As much as I thought the man I could've trusted Alonso, an old business acquaintance of mine, I've been in this business long enough to have been too stupid to think he wouldn't try anything rash.

Suddenly, the bastard's thugs started firing. We returned their fire and the casino became a blood bath.

"Don," Cathan yelled, but it was too late.

I felt a searing pain at my side. Quickly, I turned around, grabbed the man's hand and twisted it so far, I heard a snap before I hit his forehead with my knee and shot him in the head.

I could feel the blood seeping out of the knife wound.

I ignored it and turned around. My enemies were all gone and an additional two of my men were down, but it was fine.

I walked to Cathan who was giving orders to the men to look for Alonso when my vision began to fail me.

Before I hit the ground, Cathan caught me.

"Don," he called, muttering something like shit under his breath. "Fuck, we need to get you to the clan's doctor."

"There is no time for that. I need this sorted now," I said with a grunt, trying in vain to come out from his arms. I let out a pained groan.

Thank goodness my men weren't here to see this sliver of humanity.

I needed to go somewhere underfunded and unnoticed. Cathan helped me get to the car parked right outside and when I entered, I spoke to the driver.

"Take me to the South Side," I gasped. "The old county hospital."

It was a small place. Nameless, anonymous and forgotten. Like I was supposed to be.

By the time we arrived, the bleeding had not stopped. My sight was fogged, and even the ache in my bones-the one I'd grown used to carrying-seemed sharper.

They rushed me in through a back door, past the objections of underpaid staff. My men cut through the silence, boots echoing down the antiseptic, dimly lit corridors.

And that's when I saw him.

I hadn't expected anyone to be in the room.

The boy was sweeping, humming something soft under his breath, head down, back to me. Blonde curls dropped low over his brow, and though the janitor's uniform was baggy, I could see the way it clung to a lean, wiry body. He moved with practiced ease, as though he had learned long ago how to be in a place without taking up space in a room.

When he turned, his cornflower-blue eyes caught mine.

And time... shifted.

I don't remember how I stumbled forward. All I know is that when he tried to step aside, my arm instinctively extended, catching his arm for support.

"Don't," I whispered. My voice was raspy, like gravel.

He stood there, immobile and surely uncertain. Those bright, wide eyes darted from my wounded side to my face, and then back to my side once more. Not afraid of me, but afraid of what I was. It was clear he could perceive the sort of man I was. The kind who brought corpses into places like this.

Smart boy.

And yet he helped me. Gently. Without asking questions.

"You need to sit," he said softly.

I let him guide me to the chair, though my legs tried to fold. My suit was shredded, and my wound burned, but I watched him-this boy with shaking hands and eyes that were much too old for his years-cross the room to pick up a towel.

With the towel in hand, he went down beside me.

Up close, I saw the bruises. Tiny yellow and purple flowers just above his collar. The line of a scar tracing the side of his neck like a disappearing story. And even though his trembling fingers pressed the towel to my side, he did not avert his gaze. Not in the blood. Not at me.

That was something heart-wrenching.

I should have asked for a doctor. I should have told my men to leave the room. I should have done a dozen things differently. But I didn't.

I just stood there and stared at him.

"Your name?" I asked, not sure why it mattered.

"Louis," he whispered, so soft his voice was hard to hear.

Louis.

Even his name was delicate-like a breath you didn't dare let go of for fear of losing.

I leaned back in the chair, the agony of my wound somehow keeping me grounded. My heart thudded against my ribcage, and still, I couldn't look away.

He gazed back at me, something unreadable flickering across his face.

But at that moment, I felt something begin in us.

Not love. Not yet. I wasn't going to ever dwell on that again. But the quiet, terrifying prelude to it.

I couldn't allow that to happen, so with a rude shrug, I stood up, leaving him to take his electrifying touch away from me.