Page 1 of The Devil's Playground

PROLOGUE

THREE YEARS AGO

ROYCE

It’s moments like these that I understand why no one else wants the gig as Devil’s second: it’s a pain in the ass to be responsible for the man.

Case in point? He’s missing.

Again.

With Lincoln “Devil” Crewes being one of the most powerful men in Springfield, I know that while ordinary civilians passing him by on the street probably won’t see the dark-haired, dark-eyed brawler and recognize who he is, anyone with ties to the seedy side of the city definitely would. Hell, if a Dragonfly caught him off-guard without a Sinner to have his back, good chance he’d end up with a bullet between his wide shoulders and, somehow, it would be all my fault.

I’m his right-hand man. The underboss for our syndicate, my job is mostly as a liaison between the mafia leader and the rest of our guys. I do more than that, obviously, but as I’m cruising toward the quieter part of downtown Springfield, I can’t help but think that my most important task is babysitting our volatile boss.

Link would put a bullet in my back if he ever knew that’s how I think of it, but what can I say? The man’s five years older than me, the head of the Sinners Syndicate, a fierce bastard who is icy cold during a business meet with our suppliers, then raging hot whenever he gets wind that our main rival is stepping foot on our turf. I know his moods better than most and, over the years, I’ve learned to avoid the minefield that might end with him blowing up and reaching for his trusty Sig Sauer.

Those are all reasons why he probably gave me the underboss title when he first cobbled the syndicate together all those years ago—and the fact that I’ve kept it despite my age just proves my point. None of the other Sinners want it.

Sometimes I’m not so sure I do, either, but then I remember how he had my back that summer when everything went to hell and shit. Devil already had my loyalty. Now Link Crewes has my total devotion, and my honest friendship.

There isn’t anything I won’t do for the boss after he saved my ass—including keeping his secrets for him.

I don’t know for sure where he is tonight. If it wasn’t for a problem we have with one of our gun runners, I’d let it slide, but Romeo will only deal with the Devil of Springfield. That means I’ve got to track him down or lose our next supply of weapons if Romeo decides to peddle his wares on the East End instead. It would trigger World War Three between us and the Libellula Family if he tried since guns belong on the West Side, but Romeo’s only loyalty is to the almighty dollar.

I’d call the boss if I thought that would do anything. I gave it a try earlier after the message from Romeo’s crew came in. No surprise: he didn’t answer. And despite knowing that Link carries a second phone on him that never seems to ring, the one time I asked to have the number, the cold look he gave me had my breath catching in my throat.

Right. One phone for business. The other for… well, it can’t be personal. Devil doesn’t do personal, not like so many of the rest of us.

And I’m one of the few Sinners who know the reason—which is exactly why I’m coasting my nondescript two-seater down a deceptively suburban street on the edge of our big city.

It’s a hunch. Normally I’d ignore it, leaving Link to the ghosts of his past. Lord fucking knows I have my own; in my case, that’s literal, too, since Heather is dead. The woman who haunts Link?

She’s very much alive.

Ava Monroe is a schoolteacher. First grade at Springfield Elementary, if I’m getting the details right—and I am. Of course I am. That’s my job, to know details like that. Just like I know that she grew up in the same tenement that Link did, his childhood sweetheart and first love back when he was still Lincoln Crewes and not quite the Devil yet. That was about twelve or so years ago now. The night he committed the kill that earned him his nickname was the same night he walked away from the woman he once affectionately called Saint Ava.

He doesn’t talk about her anymore. It took years of me wondering if he was gay or just the type of guy who won’t get involved with any of our products—guns, gambling, or girls—because he thinks it’s a conflict of interest. Could be. He always carries the same weapon, hasn’t gotten laid in all the time I’ve known him, and refuses to make a sneaky bet in our nightclub-slash-casino-slash-brothel that the Sinners call home.

So, basically, he’s the opposite of me.

I swap out my piece whenever we get a new shipment. I don’t shit where I eat, so the girls upstairs are off-limits, though the ones who visit the Playground aren’t. And when it comes to gambling… well, they don’t call me “Rolls” for nothing. You might think it’s because of my hoity-toity given name—haha, Rolls Royce, get it?—but, if so, you’ve never seen me at the craps table in the back of the Playground.

Link has his reasons for the way he is, same as me. And maybe I’ve gotten worse since Heather, but can you blame me? Nah, just like I can’t blame the boss for the way he turned out.

It all started when I got wind of Ava and dug a little deeper. That eventually led me to realize that Link’s not gay, and while he runs our business with an iron fist, he doesn’t use his position as mafia leader to get women because—in his mind—he already has one.

She just doesn’t know that.

He’s the boss. As his second, I support him. If that means I try to hook him up with one of our waitresses or a clubgoer just to work out some of his repressed need, I will, even if he’s refused every last girl I put in front of him. One of them might snag his attention away from the timid teacher who moved on and is currently in a long-term relationship with one of her colleagues—and if Link decides to make a move on her at last and take out his competition, I’ll help him with that, too.

I’m not just his babysitter. I’m a fixer, and one hell of a clean-up guy.

Link’s Catholic. He’s big on this penance thing. I might be agnostic myself, but I get the gist of it. He thinks he fucked up big, breaking some imaginary rule back when he was a hotheaded twenty-year-old, and keeping his distance from Saint Ava is his way of making up for it. Me? I’ve never pulled the trigger on any of my guns—at least, not at a living target—but I have blood on my hands regardless. Penance or whatever, if cleaning up other Sinners’ messes after Link cleaned up mine allows me to get some closure over what happened with Heather, I’ll fucking do it—just like I’ll sneak around this quiet neighborhood so that Devil knows I’ve got his back.

I purposely park my car two streets away from Ava Monroe’s house. If Link’s out there, I’d rather not draw attention to either of us by pulling up alongside him.

My black suit blends into the shadows. My blond hair doesn’t, and I keep my head bowed, hands in my pockets in case any of Ava’s neighbors are out and about at this hour.

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