Touched - The Caress of Fate

PROLOGUE

Detroit, Michigan

March 17, 1:45 a.m.

The shadow of fate was waiting, hidden in the night, wrapped in its coils of darkness that were at times protective, at times menacing. Cold, like the heart of he who ruled it.

It would continue to wait, because he would arrive.

An ice-cold wind blew from the north, filling the streets with an ominous hiss. It carried with it the pungent odor of vice that seeped through the cracks around the windows, slipping past the thick curtains drawn to conceal the secrets within: a lost paradise veiled by a lethal cocktail of white powder and sated appetites.

The roar of a car engine mingled with the muffled sound of the wild, rhythmic music coming from inside. A Ferrari pulled up to the opulent entrance, its red body gleaming in the dark night.

Icy, liquid-silver eyes glimmered in the darkness, sharp as a knife, the eyes of a feline that has spotted its prey, as an arrogant-looking man with coppery hair got out of the car.

The wind blew harder as a sly smile hid in the semidarkness.

"Hey!" the man barked, beckoning with two fingers to the valet in the gray suit. "I mean you."

The valet immediately obeyed, walking toward the man and bowing his head with reverential courtesy before catching the car keys tossed at him. "Mr. Mason, welcome back to Royalty Pleasure. It's an honor to have you with us again."

Without bothering to reciprocate, the man ordered, "Take care of my lady." He ran a finger over the car's polished body. A mocking smile lit up his face. "I'll already have far too many other ladies on my hands tonight." He opened the passenger door with a smirk.

Two long, bare legs swung out from behind the red door and a woman clad in a scanty black dress stepped out. To snub him for the insult, she ignored the hand he held out, striding past him and leaving him with his hand in midair.

The man blinked, his pride wounded, and closed his mouth a second before shutting the car door. He walked over to the valet who was staring at him, back straight and chin raised, and grabbed the nametag on the young man's chest, leaning over to scrutinize it in the dim neon light coming from the club behind him.

"Byron Sullivan," he read slowly, as if having difficulty making out the writing. He straightened the valet's lapel, smoothing it down carefully as the young man continued to stare at him, expressionless. "Make sure you bring her back without a scratch," he warned, nodding at the car. "I bet all your worldly possessions wouldn't be enough to pay for it," he sneered, perhaps wanting to take the woman's slight out on the valet.

"Jasper! Are you coming or do I have to go in alone?" the woman whined, standing near the entrance.

The wind blew harder, forcing her to hold down the wisps of cloth that skimmed her legs. A sudden shiver made Jasper's blood run cold. The spine-chilling sensation made him look over his shoulder. Just then, an old lamppost flickered and went out. His eyes ran past the empty sidewalk to the opposite side of the street, partially hidden in darkness, as if the danger he sensed were coming from there, but was only the wind. He frowned and shook his head, chuckling. "Weird. I haven't even started partying yet," he mumbled to himself. "No more than usual, at least. Must be this place, that's all."

"For crying out loud, Jass! I'm freezing!" the woman insisted.

Jasper shook his head to drive the strange thoughts away and wrapped his arm around the woman's neck as he tucked some rolled-up bills into the pocket of the tall, brawny man who towered over them at the entrance to the nightclub. The muscle-bound bouncer barely reacted, as if he hadn't even seen them.