Savage Sinners (Elites of Macedon High 3)
“Where?”
He turns to shoot me a shocked expression. “California, of course.”
“I see.”
“Many summers were spent running through hallways much like these.” He pauses to laugh, holding his stomach while shrugging with his amusement. “Well, there weren’t any dead bodies in our home.”
I arch my right brow while watching him wander into the foyer, gesturing wide. “My sister insisted on continuing our family investments.”
“Family investments?”
“Yes, our wealth comes from many different channels.” He winks as though sharing a great secret between us. “You’re familiar with that, I’m sure. Keeping every possible channel open is the key to success.”
The more I watch him, the more curious I get. Though he’s slaughtered my security and probably a few servants in the process, the man is glib about his memories with his family and doesn’t seem to notice—or care—how few fucks I give about his past.
Still, he continues, “Our interests tend to be one and the same.”
“How big is your family?”
“Large enough to be prominent. Not a household in California is unaware of the legacy the Parks have built.”
I tighten the strings of my robe and walk toward the door. “I think it’s time for you to leave. You’ve made your request.”
“Yes, of course,” he states proudly while wandering after me. “You’ve been a gracious host.”
“Well, I can’t see how. I wasn’t expecting you.”
He chuckles. “No one ever expects the Persian to show up at their door.”
“No one expects twelve dead bodies in their home either.”
The Persian cackles and touches my shoulder lightly. “Always the joker, Mr. Somerville. Very good. I do hope you have a wonderful evening.”
He bows at the waist and leaves, the stunning silence in which I stand far too deafening for me to handle on my own. I grip the doorknob to keep myself upright, refusing to close the door as I watch the man climb into a black Mercedes and take off. Other than the tracks his tires leave in the gravel, there’s no sign he was here.
I shut the door and lock it, turning around to face the god-awful fucking mess the Persian left in my home. I’m willing to bet the security team at the entrance is dead, too. I sigh with annoyance as I head for the stairs and ascend, hoping to find one of the maids to get started on cleaning the chaotic crap below. Who the fuck is going to work for me now?
When I reach my bedroom, I notice dried blood on my feet. I grab my phone from the charging station, shoot a text to my head of security, and then wait for him to respond before shucking my clothes. I hear movement downstairs as I head for the shower, intent on washing the stress of the day from my skin.
My encounter with the Persian leaves me feeling shaky. It’s not like me to get scared, but the man is dangerous—and it’s obvious how easy it is for him to get from point A to point B with little resistance. If he had wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be in the shower right now.
He wants me to kill his henchmen. But I can’t do it alone, and I need something to lure them in without them getting suspicious about it. I’m sure they’re as keen on killing me as I am on killing them. I have to stick to my usual routine and wait. Acting out of character will draw the kind of attention that will prompt my failure.
And I never fail.
Once I’m clean, I return to my room in a fresh robe and grab my phone from the nightstand. I need a plan—and I also need bait.