Chapter 1 - The Birthday Girl Who Challenged the Devil
At exactly 10:17 on the night of her twenty-sixth birthday, Penny Hayes spilled nearly six hundred dollars’ worth of whiskey down the chest of the most dangerous man in Boston.
Thirty seconds later, she poked him in the chest and told him to get out of her way.
Less than a minute after that, somebody tried to kill him.
And before Penny could decide whether she was terrified, furious, or simply too drunk to understand what was happening, Matthew Cole threw her over his shoulder and carried her through a storm of gunfire.
It was not how Penny had expected to spend her birthday.
Then again, almost nothing in Penny’s life had gone as expected.
The Lantern Room occupied the basement of a renovated brick warehouse near Boston Harbor. Officially, it was a private cocktail club with expensive membership fees, velvet booths, dim gold lighting, and a waiting list filled with lawyers, developers, athletes, and old-money families.
Unofficially, the club attracted the kind of men who never gave last names.
Penny had worked there for fourteen months.
She had learned early that invisibility was useful.
At five feet six and comfortably over two hundred pounds, Penny did not resemble the tall, narrow-waisted servers the owner usually hired for the VIP section. She had thick thighs, broad hips, a soft stomach, a round face, dark brown curls that never behaved, and warm hazel eyes that made strangers underestimate her.
Some customers stared.
Some pretended not to.
Some spoke around her as if a woman carrying a tray could not possibly understand conversations about shell companies, city contracts, crooked inspectors, or cash shipments.
Penny understood plenty.
She simply needed the paycheck more than she needed to correct them.
Her mother, Evelyn Hayes, lived in an assisted-care facility outside Worcester after a degenerative neurological condition had made living alone impossible. Insurance covered part of the cost.
The rest landed on Penny.
So she worked.
She smiled.
She carried bourbon to men who tipped hundred-dollar bills without looking at her face.
And when her feet hurt so badly she wanted to cry in the employee bathroom, she reminded herself that her mother was warm, safe, and cared for.
Tonight, however, Penny’s patience had died around eight-thirty.
Her manager, Gordon Pike, had promised she could leave early for her birthday.
Then a private party arrived.
Then two servers called out.
Then Gordon informed her that “birthdays happen every year.”
By ten, Penny had been on her feet for ten straight hours.
Her friend Jamie behind the bar had taken pity on her.
“Birthday medicine,” he whispered, sliding a shot glass across the service counter.
“Is that tequila?”
“Excellent tequila.”
“I haven’t eaten since noon.”
“That sounds like a future Penny problem.”
She drank it.
Then another twenty minutes later.
Then a third because the first two had convinced her she deserved it.
By the time she entered the VIP corridor carrying three glasses of eighteen-year Scotch, Penny’s exhaustion had transformed into something warm, reckless, and vaguely revolutionary.
Then the room changed.
Conversations stopped.
A dozen heads turned toward the entrance.
Matthew Cole had arrived.
Even Penny knew his name.
Everyone in Boston knew his name, though intelligent people rarely said it too loudly.
Cole ran a criminal organization built through shipping, construction, private security, gambling, and businesses Penny suspected were considerably less legal than any of those.
Rumor said men disappeared after crossing him.
Rumor said politicians returned his calls before answering their spouses.
Rumor said he had once bought an entire apartment building simply because someone he hated lived in the penthouse.
Penny had expected someone theatrical.
Instead, Matthew Cole looked almost restrained.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, perhaps thirty-eight, with dark hair, a hard jaw, and the kind of stillness that made everyone around him seem nervous.
His midnight-blue suit probably cost more than Penny’s car.
Four men followed him.
One, a scarred blond giant named Liam Cross, scanned the room without appearing to move his eyes.
Penny sighed.
She had drinks to deliver.
She stepped back beside a marble column to let Cole’s group pass.
That was when a nervous man in a gray suit slammed into her shoulder.
The tray tilted.
Penny watched helplessly as all three glasses slid.
Amber liquor splashed across Matthew Cole’s chest.
One glass bounced off his shoulder.
Two shattered at his feet.
The entire room froze.
Penny stared at the ruined suit.
Matthew slowly looked down.
Then at her.
Gordon Pike, watching from the host stand, turned the color of sour milk.
“Oh,” Penny said.
Matthew said nothing.
Penny waited for panic to arrive.
Instead, the tequila arrived first.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
A woman near the bar gasped.
Liam’s hand moved toward his jacket.
Matthew lifted one finger.
Liam stopped.
Penny put the empty tray down.
“You people had the entire hallway.”
Matthew’s eyebrow moved slightly.
Penny stepped closer.
“You come marching through here like a parade float while everybody else has to flatten themselves against the walls.”
Matthew looked genuinely puzzled.
That made her angrier.
She poked one finger into the center of his whiskey-soaked chest.
Hard.
Somebody whispered, “Jesus.”
Penny poked him again.
“You see that broken glass?”
Matthew looked at it.
“Yes.”
“You caused that.”
One corner of his mouth moved.
“No,” he said calmly. “You did.”
Penny narrowed her eyes.
“You’re arguing with me?”
“I’m observing.”
“Same thing with men who think they're always right.”
A few people nearby looked ready to faint.
Matthew glanced at the little silver birthday pin attached to her uniform.
“Happy birthday.”
Penny blinked.
That was not the response she expected.
“You know what?”
“What?”
“I don't like you.”
“I don't believe you.”
“You don't know me.”
“No,” Matthew said. “But you're standing six inches from a man you've been warned not to speak to, and you're still arguing. That tells me enough.”
Penny opened her mouth.
A sharp crack cut across the room.
The mirror behind Matthew's head exploded.
For one second, no one moved.
Then everything erupted.
Screams tore through the club.
Guests dropped beneath tables.
Glasses shattered.
A second gunshot punched into the wall.
Matthew grabbed Penny around the waist before she even understood what was happening.
She screamed.
“Let go of me!”
“Get down!”
“I can get down myself!”
“Apparently not.”
He dragged her behind a marble pillar as three more shots ripped through the room.
Liam and the other security men moved instantly.
Not chaotically.
Precisely.
They flipped tables, shoved terrified guests toward the rear corridor, and drew weapons.
Penny crouched behind the pillar, heart hammering.
“What is happening?”
Matthew crouched beside her.
His expression had changed.
The calm billionaire-looking man was gone.
There was nothing humanly soft in his eyes now.
“Someone wants me dead.”
Penny stared.
“That seems like a personal problem.”
He looked at her.
For the first time, something dangerously close to amusement appeared in his expression.
“You're funny when you're frightened.”
“I’m not frightened.”
Another bullet struck the pillar inches above her head.
Penny screamed.
“Okay! I’m moderately frightened!”
Matthew grabbed her wrist.
“Stay with me.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I work here.”
“Not anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
“You're leaving.”
“I can't leave. Gordon will fire me.”
Matthew stared at her as though she had said something incomprehensible.
A third wave of gunfire erupted.
Penny felt concrete dust rain over her hair.
Then she saw blood.
It was running down Matthew’s left hand.
“You're hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
“You're bleeding.”
“So are half the people in this room.”
Penny looked around.
A waiter was clutching his shoulder.
A woman had cut her forehead.
Someone was crying behind the bar.
The smell of gunpowder filled the room.
Then Matthew looked toward the service hallway.
“That's our way out.”
Penny shook her head.
“My friend Jamie is back there.”
“I'll get him.”
Matthew started moving.
Penny grabbed his sleeve.
“No. I’m coming.”
“No.”
“I'm coming.”
“Penny.”
She stopped.
“How do you know my name?”
Matthew glanced at the silver birthday pin again.
“Your coworkers have been saying it for the last hour.”
“Oh.”
Another burst of gunfire exploded.
Matthew made the decision for her.
He bent, hooked one arm around her thighs, and lifted her over his shoulder.
Penny shrieked.
“PUT ME DOWN!”
“No.”
“I swear to God, Matthew Cole—”
“You can complain later.”
“My uniform is riding up!”
“I am not looking.”
“You'd better not be!”
He carried her through the service corridor as bullets punched through the wall behind them.
Penny clung to his jacket.
“What kind of birthday is this?”
“The kind you're going to remember.”
“That is not reassuring!”
“It wasn't meant to be.”
They reached the kitchen.
Jamie was already being escorted toward the loading entrance by Liam.
“Penny!” Jamie shouted.
“I'm fine!”
Matthew lowered her.
She stumbled into Liam.
“Take her outside,” Matthew ordered.
Penny immediately shook her head.
“No.”
Matthew turned.
She pointed at him.
“I don't know why everyone listens to you, but I'm not a suitcase.”
Something in his expression softened.
Barely.
“Stay close.”
“I can do that.”
They moved through the kitchen.
At the rear exit, Penny stopped.
A strange scent drifted into the air.
Cedar.
And something sweet.
She looked toward the shelves.
One metal service door stood slightly open.
“Wait.”
Matthew turned.
“What?”
“That door.”
Liam looked over.
His expression changed.
He moved toward it.
Matthew held up a hand.
“Don't.”
Too late.
A red laser dot appeared on the opposite wall.
Matthew grabbed Penny and shoved her down.
A shot cracked.
The window behind them shattered.
Liam fired toward the darkness beyond the loading dock.
The building erupted again.
Matthew wrapped his body around Penny.
She felt his heartbeat against her cheek.
Fast.
Controlled.
Human.
When the gunfire finally stopped, Matthew looked down at her.
“You said you smelled something.”
“Cedar.”
His jaw tightened.
“Anything else?”
“Something sweet.”
He looked toward the open service door.
Then toward Liam.
Liam's face was grim.
“We've got a problem.”
Matthew straightened.
“What?”
Liam pulled a small plastic packet from behind the door.
Inside was a strip of red cloth.
A symbol had been stitched into it.
A black crown split down the center.
Penny looked at it.
She had seen that symbol before.
Not at the club.
Not on the news.
At home.
On an old photograph her mother kept locked in a wooden box.
Penny's breath caught.
Matthew noticed.
“You recognize it.”
She said nothing.
“Penny.”
Her face went pale.
“I don't know.”
“That was not the truth.”
Penny looked at him.
For some reason, the most frightening thing in that moment wasn't the gunfire.
May you like
It was the realization that Matthew Cole had begun to look at her as though her life had suddenly become part of his.
And she had no idea why.
Related Stories
