Chapter 1 - Wyatt Hayes

Wyatt POV

“Come on, man, it’s not rocket science,” Jagger says, and I roll my eyes as I listen to the bickering coming through the earpiece I am wearing.

“Yeah, fuck you, come and do it yourself then,” Dash lets out in frustration and I can’t help but take an exasperated breath. They are my best friends and twins. We grew up together, and we went to a university in England. They spent their time sleeping around while I took my education seriously. Sleeping around was never a priority for me.

Fuck that, relationships were never a priority for me. Women are a distraction I can’t afford, not when I have so many secrets to hide, and many people depending on me. “Okay, can you two ladies stop the bickering and tell me what you see?” I bark.

“I don’t know what you expected, but it’s empty, nothing here, man,” Dash says and I frown. That’s not the information we got. I was told that was the place we could find the hidden supplies. I shake my head, rubbing my forehead as a headache threatens to take place.

“Okay, get the fuck out,” I say, but before they can reply, I hear their guns blazing. “Fuck,” I hear Dash curse. “Jag, bro,” I hear Dash calling for his twin, but no reply.

“What is going on? What the fuck is going on?” I ask as I stand up, looking at the screens. There are no cameras inside the fucking warehouse they are in. “Someone fucking talk to me!” I shout. I keep my eyes on the screen but I can’t see anything and that’s when I realize the image has been messed with. The tree in the corner is moving the same way every couple of seconds. The image is on a loop.

“Get the fuck out, we’ve been compromised, Dash, Jag?” I let out as I slam my hand on the desk. A knock on the door makes me jump out of my skin, bringing me back to where I am. I am standing in the middle of my office at Hayes Enterprises.

“Dash, Jag?” I let out once more, but the communication has been cut and I open the second drawer from my desk, grabbing my clock and shoving it in the back of my pants before I walk out of my office.

“Mr. Hayes, your nine o’clock is waiting in the conference room,” Catia, my Portuguese secretary, says. I look at her and she immediately knows what to do. She knows I am not a man of many words and when I rush out of my office, something is going on. She knows better than to ask any questions. She knows I am a busy man, and she knows I don’t have time for stupid questions.

“Taking my private elevator that takes me straight to my side of the garage, I can feel my hands trembling. I should’ve known that this was too easy. The information fell on my hands and I should’ve known.

“I keep the line free trying to connect to Dash and Jagger, but nothing is happening. My heart is beating fast as I enter my car. The line we are using to communicate is untraceable as we use burners.

“Fuck, Fuck.” I curse as I slam my hands on the steering wheel of my brand-new BMW. I should’ve known.

Suddenly I can hear Dash laughing loudly through the earpiece and my heart almost jumps out of my chest. They are like my brothers. We were raised all together, our parents were friends, and we were forced to play with kids. We didn’t really like each other. I thought they were weird because they looked alike and it was like they didn’t need to use verbal language to communicate.

“What the fuck?” I let out as I kept driving.

“Those bastards thought they had us, but we’re smarter than them,” Jagger says, and I close my eyes for a couple of seconds while I am waiting in a red light.

“Were you scared you weren’t going to see us again?” Dash asks while he laughs once more.

“He was definitely scared. I can even imagine his knuckles white while he drives because of the strength he is using,” Dash says. “What about the brows? I bet they are furrowed,” Jagger adds as the two pricks keep laughing.

“Fuck you,” I growl, turning the car around to go back to work.

“I’ll see you two bastards later at the safe house. I want an extensive report on what happened and who’s responsible,” I bark, and they both laugh. If I didn’t love those two guys like brothers, I know I would hate their guts. They have a special talent to annoy the fuck out of me, and they know the buttons to push. They are the only people in this world that know me, the real me, my real thoughts.

As I enter the garage, my phone rings, and I answer straight away after seeing the caller. “Darling, why haven’t you called?” I hear Sandrine’s high-pitched voice on the other side of the line and immediately regret answering it. I am engaged to her, but it’s all business for me at least. I know she has feelings for me, or she thinks she does, and even though I warned her she would never get the same from me, she is okay with it. She wants the fame and fortune and I want her father’s business. Seems like a fair deal to me.

“I am busy. What do you want?” I reply dryly. My patience is wearing thin for her. The woman is extremely clingy and sometimes I think if the deal is worth the suffering, she will be putting me through.

“Wyatt, today is our engagement dinner with my family, surely you didn’t forget that,” she moans and I roll my eyes as I rest my forehead against the steering wheel. I know I am not a good person, but I know no one is bad enough to deserve this. How can people do this for fun? Have to give someone their undivided attention?

“I haven’t forgotten Sandrine, but I think you forgot I have a job to do, and I am the one paying for the extravagant dinner party you are planning, and for that, I have to get busy and make money,” I let out as if I am talking to a child. Because that’s what she deserves, to be treated like a child.

“Okay darling, I lov…,” she says and I shake my head, pressing the red button before she finishes the sentence. I am not going to entertain this stupid idea she has that she loves me. She loves my money, she loves my power, and she loves the social presence I have. She can’t love me because she doesn’t even know me.

Sandrine is the heir of the Italian mafia and the bastards are so old school they would never allow a woman to take over, and because of that, her father is marrying her off to the highest bidder, me. What can I say? I love a good business deal and she was a part of it.

To Sandrine and her father I am Wyatt Hayes, CEO of Hayes Enterprises, Billionaire and single, never seen parading women, a man that keeps to himself but enjoys the good things money can buy, good cars, expensive watches, tailored suits, eating in expensive restaurants. What they don’t know is that I am The Reaper. The man her father fears the most, the man every man has nightmares about.

The Reaper, that’s how I am known in the underworld, in the mafia world. Not a lot of people in my private life know about my connection to the mafia and that’s how I want to keep it. I make sure to wear a mask when I attend meetings with the other mafia families hiding my real identity. Obviously, there’s a lot of talk about my real identity, but so far I have managed to keep it a secret.

I have been targeted several times, and each time I was made aware of the danger. Everyone has a price and I have the money to pay that price, not to mention the reputation of ending people for fun. No one really dares to cross me, because if they do, they will end up the same way my father did, beheaded and six feet under the ground, buried somewhere anonymously where no one will ever find their body.

Most men would say they are not proud of the crimes they commit, but I am not one of them. Everything I do is meticulously planned, and everything goes according to the plan, except today, I was too eager to find out what was inside that warehouse. I allowed my ego to suppress my judgment, but never again. I would’ve never forgiven myself if anything had happened to Dash or Jagger.

As soon as I am back in my office, my burner phone rings and I answer on the second ring. “Talk to me Easy,” I let out.

“She’s in New York boss, she arrived yesterday and she has been sniffing around,” Easy says, and I nod as I smirk.

“Thanks, keep me updated, don’t be seen, and I want full details,” I let out before I ended the call and sat back in my chair. I cross my legs and close my eyes.

There’s a journalist who has been sniffing around my deals. She has done an outstanding job taking down some very important people from the organized crime in L.A. and Vegas. It’s been three months since she started sniffing me around. I have grown fond of her. She’s like a little pet that I feed little crumbs and she comes after them, leading her to dead ends. I am very good at my job and I am not going to be taken down by a little girl who can’t cover her tracks. I am going to enjoy watching her squirm because I will get her killed before she has a chance to find out who I really am. Good luck, sweetheart.