MADDOX
Nearly everything we tell children is an outright lie.
People aren’t more mature after high school.
We do, in fact, bite others. And we like it.
Santa isn’t real. The boogeyman is a guy in a three-piece suit who will shoot you for a late payment.
And coloring and life are better outside the damn lines.
Pushing limits, hurdling boundaries, skirting borders—it all pays off.
Not a fan of working the system? That’s okay. It’s not for everyone.
But the people we put on pedestals—those who make history, those whose bank accounts are the size of a small country—rarely secure that spot by being meek.
They got a seat at that table because they beat down a door.
Or stabbed the guy blocking it.
Rule breakers become just that—rulers.
Lucky for me, obliterating barriers is my personal specialty.
The hatchet sinks into the bull’s-eye with expert precision, and my staff groupies erupt in cheers. This is how we begin ourmeetings, gathering at the lanes for shooting and such. And we often draw a crowd.
“Every fucking time. That’s a hell of a way to kick off our day, sir.” Brasi holds up a cup of red eye coffee and my butterfly knife—also known as a balisong.
He likes to kiss my ass.
I’m not opposed. It’s part of the royalty gig.
My siblings and I own a resort and casino that caters to the country’s most nefarious groups, a safe haven for the criminal underworld. There are six of us, my four brothers—Axel, Ryker, Cash, and Jax—and the youngest is my sister, Rena. She’s married, off living her life, and about to pop twins out very soon.
We operate by our own set of rules, and the people most notoriously known for breaking those pesky things elsewhere fall in line here. When you’re sitting on a gold mine, even other royals are willing to bow.
La Lune Noire is my kingdom.
Most would say we inherited it, so we’re simply reaping the harvest of what our ancestors built. I’d argue that we’ve smashed through some hefty doors and burned others to ash to come out on top. We’ve earned the godlike status. And I have no qualms about indulging in the perks.
“It has been every fucking time, hasn’t it?” I swing two fingers to another employee, Gentry, silently telling him to snatch my coffee and knife as I strut down the lane and grab the hatchet out of the wooden target. “What do you say we make things interesting, Brasi?”
His breathwhooshesout, but he keeps his features impassive. “I have no doubt you’d hit the mark, but I’m not sure we have time for that today.”
Smart guy. He saw where I was going right away. I didn’t even need to tell him to kneel. Or get an apple. That deserves an accolade. He certainly exceeds his nickname.
A few years ago, he got drunk at one of our employee parties, right next to the koi pond. One aggressive roll, and he could’ve been a goner. His real name is Steve. He doesn’t think I know that, but alas, I am a wealth of knowledge. Anyway, since he slept with the fishes that night, I figuredTheGodfathercharacter Luca Brasi fit better. And I found his reckless stupidity endearing.
He started as my assistant the next day. Hungover as shit. I worked harder that afternoon than at any time in my life, jogging from one end of the resort and back a half-dozen times for useless shit, just to watch him sweat out alcohol. He vomited in a lobby plant when he thought I wasn’t looking, but he didn’t fucking quit. And he doesn’t get plastered anymore either.
I dip my chin in respect and return the hatchet to the wall rack. “It’s those sharp instincts that will keep you from really sleeping with the fishes.”
That’s code for being dead, in case that isn’t obvious.
Gentry’s lips twitch, battling against a smirk. He knows I wouldn’t throw a hatchet at a person’s head. Unless I intended to take it off. Which I don’t because I’m fond of Brasi. Gentry is primarily my brother Ryker’s assistant, but he’s also the hinge betweenusandthem—them being the employees.
Due to the delicate nature of the amenities we extend to our exclusive members, we’re hands-on owners. And the employee-satisfaction piece is my chief domain. Another reason hurling hatchets at them wouldn’t be my best idea.
