The Titan's Empire

THE TITAN’S EMPIRE HEINOUS CRIMES UNIT™ BOOK SIX DANIEL SCOTT This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both. Copyright © 2017, 2023 Daniel Scott & David Beers Cover Art by Jake @ J Caleb Design http://jcalebdesign.com / [email protected] Cover copyright © Marlow & Vane Marlowe & Vane supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Published by Marlowe & Vane an imprint of LMBPN Publishing PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy Las Vegas, NV 89109 Previously Published as The Titan Version 1.00, February 2023 ebook ISBN: 979-8-88541-375-6 Print ISBN: 979-8-88878-218-7 THE TITAN’S EMPIRE TEAM Thanks to our JIT Readers Wendy L Bonell Kelly O’Donnell John Ashmore Alison Kelly Jan Hunnicutt Editor SkyFyre Editing Team For Heather. You and I both know the tremendous effort it took to edit this book. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. CONTENTS The FallChapter 1Chapter 2Letters from a KillerChapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Letters from a KillerLetters from a Troubled SoulChapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26The Book of TitanChapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31Chapter 32EpilogueLetters from a KillerConnect with The AuthorBooks by Daniel Scott THE FALL CHAPTER ONE Please, see him clearly, as I do. He steps out of the shower, water dripping from his body as well as from the faucet behind him. Fog hangs around his face, filling much of the bathroom. He stands still for a second, not moving as he looks down at his feet. They are clean and free of scars. His gaze moves up his legs, seeing more smooth skin. He looks at his hips and groin, everything appearing as it should. The door to the bathroom is open and the fog is lifting. The man goes to the mirror. He takes a small towel from the rack on the wall and wipes away the moisture, seeing himself clearly. A long scar cuts across his torso, ending at the bottom of his ribs. It’s receded, but it still stands out like a craggy mountain ridge. Scar tissue, less deep, decorates the rest of his chest. Small strips of skin that had been torn away by a leather whip are now rough tissue. There is a large circular pucker on the lower left side of his stomach, where a red flower once bloomed. The man stares at himself. He looks at his shoulders and sees where the whip carved up his back, ripping off the flesh there. His eyes move to his face, which had once been young and full of hope. Now it holds another scar, the raised circle on his cheek covering a hole that should have killed him. The man stands looking at himself, at a body that had been born beautiful and was now the product of a sadistic artist who decorated with pain and torture, his paintbrush a weapon. The man swallows and meets his eyes in the mirror. This is his body, the only one he has. The only one he will ever have. Broken, scarred, but not beaten. Not yet. He turns from the mirror and walks into the hotel room. Christian Windsor exited the bathroom and moved to the bed. His clothes were laid out before him, a crisp white button-down shirt and freshly pressed pants. The suit’s jacket hung from the bathroom door. “Thank you,” he said, not looking at the person on the other side of the room. “You’re welcome,” the woman said. Veronica, Christian thought. It’s Veronica, not a strange woman. Which was true, and yet it wasn’t. He didn’t have time to consider that now. He threw on his boxers and undershirt, then grabbed the button-down from the bed. It covered the scars, hiding most of them from the world. The one on his face couldn’t be hidden. Christian turned to the mirror and continued dressing, his fingers dancing up the shirt’s buttons. “Are they here?” Veronica asked. Christian glanced in the mirror and saw the Other lying on the bed behind him and staring at the ceiling. His eyes were bleeding, the large red drops dripping down the side of his face and staining the bed linens. Christian would have to sleep in that blood later tonight. “One is. The other isn’t,” he said. He hadn’t seen the mouth in a day or so. He wouldn’t delude himself into thinking it was gone. He knew only one way to make them disappear for good, but that couldn’t be accomplished at the moment. Christian tolerated the Other. There was a certain sad truth to him, even if he hated to admit it. The Other was his negative, something Luke’s presence had created. Yet the Other was now in a similar position to Christian. Perhaps an even worse place. The Other wanted nothing more than to be freed, which was another way of saying he wanted to die. The mouth was a monstrosity Christian couldn’t stand, but as with the Other, there was no ridding himself of it. A thing created of black shadows, a Cheshire cat grin with huge, jagged teeth. He was glad it wasn’t here right now. He didn’t know where it was, but it would be back. “Do you think they’ll interfere with the hearing?” Veronica sat at a small table across the room with a cup of coffee in front of her. She had been staring out of the hotel window since five this morning. “You can tell her I won’t interfere with anything. I’m not even