PROLOGUE
Cyrus
September, 2010…
Cyrus Longfellow stared at himself in the foggy bathroom mirror. In between the drips of condensation, he liked what he saw: slicked-back blond hair, dazzling, icy blue eyes, sexy dent in his chin that drove women and men wild. Cyrus had it all going for him.Ifhe got lucky tonight, he was going to have it all goingintohim.
What the hell was he thinking? Cyrus always got lucky.Always. According to his dear mother, Alexandria, he’d been born under a lucky star. She, on the other hand, had been born under a bridge overpass in East Buttfuck, Texas, to a drug-addicted mother, who did her best to prepare her daughter for life on her own, just like that song “Fancy” by Reba McEntire. Thanks to making her own luck, Alexandria married far above her station, and contrary to popular belief, itwaspossible to turn a whore into a housewife.
Cyrus’s luck had continued all his life, thanks to his father, the coal baron. Lucius Longfellow had owned a string of mines out west in Wyoming. Daddy dearest spent most of his time running his empire, while his wife and son spent his money from a luxury penthouse in New York City.
His family history meant little to Cyrus. So long as his bank accounts were flush with cash, he couldn’t care less about his mother’s checkered past or about Daddy’s mines, which were passed down to him when Lucius died last summer. His only goal in life was to live the most hedonistic life possible. In his own humble opinion, Cyrus was off to a great start.
Leaving the bathroom, Cyrus pulled on his favorite black pants, which accentuated his juicy ass, and a black mesh shirt that showed off his six-pack abs. The last thing he needed for his night out was cold, hard cash.
Beside his bed was a leather satchel filled with cash. He preferred his stacks of Benjamins rolled up, just like the mafia. He stuck a roll into each of his front pockets. Ten thousand dollars would be enough for one night of debauchery. If it wasn’t, he had several platinum cards to make up the difference.
His plan was to hit the Jungle, a local strip club where, for a little extra cash, the strippers did a lot more than take things off. Some liked to slide down his pole, a few loved to gag on said pole, while others loved to stick their pole into him. Life couldn’t possibly get any better. Unless, of course, he could talk one or two of the hotties at the club to come back to the motel and party with him after hours, just like Marco had done last night. He’d been a tasty little snack, but what Cyrus needed was a man with more staying power.
Looking around his shitty motel room, Cyrus couldn’t help but think he should have gotten a room at one of the fancier hotels on Old Orchard Beach. Unfortunately, those hotels had video cameras, and he knew from experience how much money a snapshot or two of Cyrus Longfellow blowing some guy in a hotel corridor would go for online. TheNew York Postloved running pictures of him in compromising situations with men and women. For whatever reason, bisexuals were considered much more exotic than gay men. Or was it erotic? Either way, Cyrus didn’t want his antics captured on video for all the world to see.
Again.
This dingy little motel suited his needs perfectly. Opened in 1976, and not renovated since, the Four Star was anything but. What it had going for it was a killer view of the Atlantic Ocean, clean sheets, and a housekeeping department who, for a little extra cash, kept their lips zipped about his comings and goings. Pun definitely intended.
With one more look at his reflection, Cyrus noticed a hair or two was out of place. He grabbed a bottle of his favorite hair product but was stopped from using it by a knock at the door. It was a little late for housekeeping to deliver the extra pillows and towels he’d requested hours ago. He plastered on a smile and promised himself he wouldn’t lose his shit on the poor housemaid who’d been sent up with his delivery.
Forgoing the peephole, Cyrus yanked his door open. It wasn’t some poor member of the staff waiting for him. It was someone else entirely. A person he wasn’t happy to see. “What the hell areyoudoing here?”
Like a flash of lightning, the visitor’s right arm lifted over their head, reminding Cyrus of that scene fromPsychowhen Norman Bates’ wickedly sharp butcher knife came into view. Just like the movie, his visitor also held a knife, one that quickly stabbed downward, hitting him in the chest. Falling back a few steps, Cyrus stumbled to his knees. Bright red blood dripped from the wound. “Why?” he asked, his breathing labored.
Instead of answering his question, the would-be killer moved into the room and shut the door behind them. They went to the side of the bed and shouldered the leather messenger bag filled with a little less than one hundred thousand dollars in cash before returning to stand in front of Cyrus.
Falling to the floor, Cyrus reached for the knife and pulled it from his chest. He felt a gush of blood spray from the wound,splattering against the floor. The killer—that’s certainly what his visitor would be in a matter of seconds—picked up the knife with gloved hands and slipped into a black duffle bag Cyrus hadn’t noticed before. “Why?” Cyrus asked again, his world quickly going dark.
The visitor smiled. “Ialwaysget what I want.”
Up until this moment in time, Cyrus would have said the same thing about himself. Faced with the cold, hard truth, he understood his fatal error. With one last exhale, his eyes closed forever.
1
Jude
Jude Byrne felt like he was sitting on top of the world. He’d single-handedly changed the trajectory of his family’s end-of-summer fortunes with one phone call. Instead of spending the last week before school started sitting at Fitzgibbon’s pool, watching the kids splash each other while he drank ice-cold lemonade and ate his body weight in crab Rangoon, Jude and the rest of his family were off on one last crazy summer adventure.
To be honest, it was an unsolicited email that got the ball rolling. Usually, Jude wasn’t one for reading his messages at all, but on the particular day it had come in, he was home alone and bored off his gourd. Cope and the kids had gone to the library for story time, and Jude had been napping when they’d left.
Make your next vacation Four Star in every way! Check out our end of the season sale!the headline of the email read. Jude loved the idea of staying in the lap of luxury, dining on caviar and lobster tails. What hedidn’tlike was paying the hefty bill. The word “sale” caught his attention, making him click the link. For a moment, he’d worried that he’d fallen for a phishing scam, but when the page loaded, he was staring at a gorgeous hotel on Old Orchard Beach.
Jude had heard of the popular southern Maine beach town, but he’d never been. He’d checked out the available rooms and their low prices before sending the info to Ronan and Fitz, both of whom were surprisingly quick to jump on the bandwagon. It hadn’t taken much effort to convince his beach-loving husband to take some time off to spend with the kids before the start of school.
Jace had sprung for a fifteen-person passenger van, which had plenty of room for everyone’s luggage and things to keep the kids busy. It was presently half past one, which put the caravan half an hour behind schedule. Lizbet needed a diaper change, and when Cope was done, all the bigger kids decided they needed one more pee break, which led the adults to do the same. All the kids were belted into their seats. Fitz and Jace sat in the front, discussing the best way to get to the hotel, while Ten and Ronan necked like teenagers in the row of seats in front of Jude. Cope was still in the house, which stood with the front door open. “Christ, we’re air-conditioning theentireneighborhood! Meanwhile, Romeo and Romeo here are practically sucking each other’s faces off.”
“Jealous?” Ronan snipped.
“Bite me, Ronan!” Jude shot back just as Cope ran out of the house and down the stairs before rolling his eyes and heading back up the stairs to lock the door. He dashed back to the van and climbed inside, closing the door behind him.
“Ready spaghetti?” Jace asked.
