“Do youevertake a single millisecond to review the shit that pops into your damaged head before letting it fall out of your mouth?” Sebastian grunts.
“No, because that would be boring,” Carson shrugs in response.
To be clear, Carson is a fucking lunatic. But then, so are the rest of us, at least to varying degrees. It's probably why we became friends in the first place, and why we still are over ten years later.
Ten years from starting at the bottom as damaged goods to being at the very fucking top of the pile.
If we’re being honest, the driving factor was me. Maybe it’s something I was born with, but the second I found myself part of the Syndicate and embraced by this strange, shadowy, old-world brotherhood of a family, there was no limit to my ambition.
I’ve always been like that. I don’t just dip my toes in. It’s all or nothing.
And that’s how a runaway from a broken home in McKeesport, Pennsylvania with drug addict parents went from packing baggies of coke and pills to being an enforcer. To joining the secretive intelligence wing of the Syndicate. To being invited to bigger tables at more important meetings. Until eventually I was second to the Marquis himself, which is the title given to the head of our organization.
The problem is, when you’ve spent your whole life in a certain world, with a found family you’ve bled and would die for, the one thing you can’t abide isrot.
And Étienne Veyrac, the former Marquis, was rotten to the core.
Corrupt. Self-serving. A poison running through the very organization that took me in and gave me a place in this world.
Plus, like I said, for better or worse, there is no limit to my ambition.
So I just…took it all.
A year ago, I had Étienne killed and assumed command of this ancient brotherhood. I brought my motley crew of psychopaths along for the ride to the top with me, and the three of them now act as my close advisors and inner circle.
Yes, at times it’s like trying to run an empire alongside leg-humping puppies.
I also wouldn’t change a single thing about any of it.
“Anyway, I feel the need to voice my displeasure, again, at your lack of concern for my pants.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Sebastian rumbles, rolling his broad shoulders as he shoots Carson a look. “Have you forgotten that you’re a multi-millionaire now?”
Multi-multi-multi-millionaire, if we’re keeping score.
“Just buy some new fucking pants and stop crying like a little bitch about it.”
“P-R-A-D-A, you uncultured bag of shit,” Carson grunts.
“Don’t give an F-U-C-K, shrimp dick,” Seb shoots back.
“Is that a desperate plea to see my hard cock, Seb?” Carson grins maniacally, grabbing his crotch and making a stroking motion.
“Try it and see what happens to your face,” Sebastian growls, starting to stand.
“You want me towhaton your face?”
Jesus fuck. Time to cut this bullshit short.
I plant a hand on Sebastian’s broad chest and gently push him back down. “You know he feeds off the attention. Just stop giving it to him.”
Sebastian’s jaw clenches, and he glares at Carson over my shoulder. “You take your dick out and I’m going to rip it off and beat you with it.”
“How aboutnobodytakes his dick out and we stop talking like we’re at a fucking football game.”
Christ.
The three of us whirl when we hear Gideon’s voice.
