A Book of Spirits and Thieves

One hundred million dollars of his grandmother’s vast estate, left to him in her will—with a stipulation: He didn’t get his hands on it until he turned twenty-one.

Only 576 days till he finally had the freedom to do as he pleased without being caught under his parents’ thumbs, totally dependent on his monthly allowance.

“Suzie . . . Stephanie . . . Sexy . . . come back over here, whoever you are,” he said, patting his knee. She did as requested, smiling now.

Her tongue tasted like rum, he thought absently. And Diet Coke.

His phone vibrated and he glanced down at it. It was a message from his kid brother, Adam.

im in big trouble can you come get me

It included an address to one of the seedier neighborhoods downtown.

Another text message swiftly followed: never mind im fine

Yeah, right. Farrell slipped the phone into the inner pocket of his jacket. He grabbed the bottle of vodka and took a swig from it, feeling the pleasant burn all the way down his throat.

Fun was over. Duty called.

“Got to go,” he said.

Stephanie’s eyes widened with surprise. “What? Where?”

“I need to deal with a family thing.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No thanks,” Farrell said without hesitation.

“Oh, come on.” She traced her long fingernails up his arm. “We’re having such a good time. You really want it to end so soon?”

“I really couldn’t care less.” He kept his smile fixed as her expression fell. “What? You thought this was an open casting call for the role of Farrell Grayson’s girlfriend? Sorry to disappoint you.”

Her surprise faded and her eyes flashed with anger. “Asshole. Everything they say about you is true.”

She got up from his side and stormed out of the lounge, shoving the curtains out of her way, but her arms and hair still got caught in them in her furious need to make a dramatic exit.

Fine with him. He’d never liked the taste of rum anyway.



Since having his license suspended four months ago, Farrell had had to get used to having a chauffeur. It was either that or take public transit—and both of his parents were appalled by the thought of a Grayson riding the subway.

Not that any of this was their fault; it was entirely his. Wrapping his Porsche around a tree had totaled the car, landed him with a DUI the family lawyers were still sorting out, and sent him into the hospital with a serious concussion.

You’re damn lucky you didn’t hurt anybody else, the voice of his conscience snarled. It sounded exactly like his older brother, Connor. All their lives, he’d been the one offering up such pearls of wisdom, whether Farrell wanted them or not.

When the limo reached its destination, Farrell, unsteady on his feet from the amount of liquor he’d consumed, approached a low-rent apartment building.

Out front, several of the streetlamps were broken, casting the treeless area in darkness, apart from the light of the nearly full moon. Shadows moved to his left across the concrete parking lot, but he paid them no attention. He wasn’t looking for trouble—not tonight.

“Wait here,” he told his driver.

Farrell went upstairs and knocked on the door to the apartment number Adam had texted. After a moment, it opened a crack.

“Sorry, we didn’t order any,” the kid said with a smirk.

Farrell smiled at him, then kicked the door open, breaking the security chain. “Where’s my brother?”

The kid scrambled backward. “Hey, I was just kidding around. I was going to let you in. Farrell, right? I’m Peter.” He nodded toward the corner. “That’s Nick.”

The other boy, Nick, watched the two of them warily, taking a shaky step backward as Farrell fisted his hands and moved menacingly toward the first kid.

“Where is Adam?” he growled. “Don’t make me ask again or you’ll regret it.”

“Back room,” Peter said, then cleared his throat. “It’s cool you’re here. You’re welcome to join the party. We don’t mind sharing.”

Farrell moved through the small apartment toward the closed door at the rear. It opened before he reached it, and Adam’s nervous face greeted him.

“Oh, hi,” Adam said.

Yes, his brother definitely looked nervous. Nervous and guilty. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Adam rubbed a hand through his light brown hair. “I mean, everything’s fine. You should go back to whatever you were doing, and I can . . . fix this.”

“Fix what?” When Adam didn’t answer, Farrell shook his head. “I’m taking you home. It’s after midnight. Isn’t that your curfew?”

Adam scowled. “I’m too old for curfews.”

“Our beloved parents might disagree with that. I know they did when I was sixteen. Let’s go.” He blew out a breath. Maybe he was taking the wrong approach. “I got the latest KillerMan movie all loaded up. I know you want to see it as much as I do.”

One thing the brothers shared was their love of Korean action movies. Never dubbed, always with subtitles. They watched at least one a week together in the Graysons’ home theater.