| BOOK FIVE | THE LONDON CRIME KING | A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE NOVEL |
This book contains adult language and subject matter, including graphic violence, drugs and explicit sex that may be disturbing to some readers.
This series is NOT a typical romance...
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Club 11's underground rooms shared semblance to the convoluted catacombs of Paris. But, instead of showcasing the human remains of deceased Parisians, damask coverage and expensive paintings concealed Warren's victims. You'd unearth enough bones to congest a morgue if you jackhammered through these concrete walls, these very floors, the torture chambers.
For the men, if we listened carefully, to souls lost, we heard their canned pain, the hollowness in their voice as they wept from beneath. You could still see the sanguine drainage in their eyes every time you laid to rest at night.
Those macabre incidents kept us awake at night. Not because we cared. We are unremorseful. Free of sin. But it never left you, the responsibilities of another's death, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.
The eeriness of their disembodied whimpers were brutal reminders of what's in store for me—what's waiting for me. I am an atheist. I disbelieved the existence of deities and gods because if the almighty reined so much power, why is there hell on earth? I believed in the afterlife, though—the stream between life and death. And the ghosts of my past, well, they couldn't wait to get their hands on me and deservingly so.
I killed people for sport. I took lives for the sheer wealthiness of a gangster's life. It is what I deserved, money and power. I did time for penury. I paid my dues as a penniless nobody. And whilst murder guaranteed wealth and riches, I will continue to slaughter my way through London because life before was no life at all, and I had no intention of going back there.
Before reaching the conference room, I paused outside the door to give myself a short breather. I had millions of concerns in mind. "How do you do it?" I wondered aloud, doing my utmost to stay strong, to take the methodical approach. "I used to envy him."
Five Hundred and Thirty-One looked up. "Sir?"
He alternated with Two Hundred and Twenty-Three. Both men worked a tight shift to guard the chambers. It is a strictly prohibited area. It is where people went to squeal truths before a member of the syndicate discarded their bodies. Someone had to stand watch at all times just in case uninvited busybodies decided to venture beneath the club's surface.
"I am not Warren." A toothpick wedged between my teeth. "I am second in command."
His Adam's apple bobbed. "Command."
"Warren," I said, and sadness crossed his features. "I used to envy him. But he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. I don't know how he did it."
He held my stare. "Are we having a conversation?"
"No, I don't want your advice or opinion." Spearing a hand through my hair, I glanced from him to the door. "Just a moment of wonderment, I guess."
"Of course." He gave me an insipid smile. "I understand."
Emotionless mask falling into place, I opened the conference room door and listened to instructions.
