Prologue
Six Years Ago
Bronx
I’m handcuffed to a stripper pole wearing only my boxer briefs when I look up and see nothing but ass and pussy twirling expertly above me around the shiny metal rod and headed straight for my greedy face.
What did I do in a past life to deserve such a gift?
I can’t believe my damn luck as I stiffen in excitement. It feels like I haven’t tasted a woman in months as I hungrily wait for the skilled dancer to drop down closer, and my wrists in handcuffs only heighten the anticipation.
I lick the corner of my mouth as the flexible bronze goddess spins her exquisite flesh down the pole and the moment I stick out my tongue to take my first taste; I am jolted by an unwelcome sensation.
Cold fucking water.
“Time for you to wake up, little Masterson.”
A heavily accented command and a splash of fishy smelling water against the side of my face forces me to pry open my eyelids, which for some reason feel like two heavy pieces of steel soldered together.
What the fuck?
I’ve been high on a lot of shit, but right now my head feels like two fat chicks are sitting on top of it and not in the good way.
“Where am I?” I say to the vertically challenged stranger standing in front of me with a pot belly poking through an outdated Nike track suit that should be in someone’s Red Cross giveaway pile. “And what the fuck did you give me? I literally thought I was in the Rainbow Room… not wherever the fuck this is.”
As the fuzzy edges around this situation start to come into focus, I realize that I am in the middle of some deep shit and one of my father’s many long instructional car rides starts to kick in. He was always worried (in his uniquely intense way) that something would happen to one of his kids, so he made sure to prepare us if something ever did.
Step one, assess your immediate surroundings.
Based on an initial scan of the room, I don’t think I’m anywhere near campus because it’s eerily quiet and I’m sitting in the middle of a rustic cabin. The kind of cabin I remember staying at in the Pocono Mountains when we went skiing as kids; not the type of structure I’ve noticed anywhere near the University.
There are two men in the room. One doesn’t look that much older than me, but he’s sitting quietly in the corner looking particularly menacing, wearing a biker jacket with eyes that are as cold and dark as his skin. He’s sitting next to what appears to be the only exit out of here. And the main guy, standing in front of me, is gnawing on a toothpick with a smug expression across his weathered face. He’s enjoying this. Obviously, this is personal for him.
Then it hits me.
Step two, identify your enemies and your allies in the room.
I’ve identified the two obvious enemies around me, but my number one ally is no where to be seen. My twin brother Seven isn’t here, but the little voice inside me assures me that he’s not in danger.
It’s true what they say about connections between twins. If he were in this cabin, I would know it. If he were in trouble, I would feel it. That fact that he isn’t here is a plus, but knowing my brother, he is probably losing his shit right about now, wondering where I am. We’ve spent very little time apart since the moment we were born.
The last time I was awake, Seven went back to our dorm room to grab some more quarters for the laundry room. We were doing some late night laundry because it’s the only place where you can smoke pot in the dorm and not get caught.
I never heard these douchebags coming. The machines were too loud. My older brother, Knox, is going to kill me for being so careless. He already thinks I’m a fuck up and I’ve just proven him right.
“What do you want?” I ask, trying to remain calm.
The asshat squints his eyes at my question then turns and says to the stoic dude, “Demanding like a Masterson, ain’t he?”
My blood starts to rise from a low simmer to a high boil.
“You got a fucking problem with my family?” I ask through gritted teeth.
I’m totally blowing step three, do not show any emotion. Instead, I’m getting upset and forgetting that I’m the one in a vulnerable position and zip tied to a chair.
I remember my father’s instruction and take a beat, then change my approach.
Step four: try to get into your enemy’s head.
