Chapter One
There’s a perk to being a crime lords right hand man, well several perks actually.
But none feel quite as good as this.
Blood runs in rivers down my fingers, my hands and arms, like red serpents slithering over my skin as I pull the knife out of the guy’s hand, reveling in the scream that rips from his throat.
The satisfaction of causing him pain only tempers my rage slightly. It’s been a long couple of months of waiting, watching and listening, a game of patience as the traitors within the organization give themselves up. Malakai, my best friend, brother, blood or not, is this organizations king, the leader by right and thesefuckers dare to question him, tobetrayhim.
Not only is this torture personal, it’s also revenge. Revenge for going against my brother, revenge for going after hiswife, for hurting her the way they did. Olivia Farrow, Malakai’s wife almost died because of them. She was used like a pawn in their sick little game to try and overthrow Malakai’s power. They wanted his seat, believing he was not fit enough to lead.
Sure, we weeded out the men who started the little act of treason against this hundreds of years old organization, and they paid the price for it with their lives but neither Malakai nor I were stupid enough to believe they acted alone. There were others, and no matter how quiet they tried to be, we found them anyway.
Where Malakai leads this organization built on death and corruption, I, as his right-hand man handle the dirty work. I deal the consequences, punish and maim to enforce our rule.
And this man, bleeding and crying ahead of me is the last of the traitors to be caught. The organization is run with the support of a council and an inner circle, and while the inner circle is small, only containing me and two others, not including Malakai, the council is made up of twenty or so men. Men whose families helped build this empire only to turn their backs on it for more power and greed.
No fucking way was I letting that stand.
“It’s been a blast,” My voice is a purr as I take in the man before me, he’s nothing but mangled and swollenflesh, saliva and blood dripping from his mouth, half his teeth missing. They’re beneath my feet somewhere, scattered with the dirt and debris on the floor of the cells.
We could have just killed him outright, got it done and over with but where was the fun in that? People always underestimate me. I’m the playboy, the pretty one with jokes and laughs but that’s just a mask. To keep them unassuming, a ploy for them to get comfortable enough as I wait for the opportune moment to strike. It always comes you see; they always show me their true colors. And when they do, it’s game over.
“P-please,” He stammers, “I’m sorry.”
“He’s sorry,” I turn my head over my shoulder, looking toward Malakai as he leans casually against the wall. A cruel grin pulls up his mouth as his eyes flick to the man chained to the table.
Mercy isn’t a thing we know or understand. Mercy doesn’t exist here.
“Anthony,” I look back to the traitor, “You’ve been sitting on the council, for what? Eleven years now?”
“Yes,” He pleads, “Eleven years and I swear, I swear it won’t happen again. I’m loyal to the Farrow’s. To the organization and all it stands for.”
“Where was this loyalty when you were trying to overthrow Malakai?” I question.
“You have to understand,” His words come out rushed and garbled through the blood pooling on histongue, “Mr. Farrow is young. There were doubts but we were proven wrong. P-please. Let me prove it.”
“If your eleven years for the organization have shown you anything,” Malakai steps forward, a quiet rage lining his every word, “Then you will know how we treat traitors.”
Horror twists Anthony’s features, the kind of horror I’ve seen countless times before. It’s a man facing death, who can see it, feel it, taste it but is powerless to stop it.
The chains rattle as he thrashes in the chair, but they hold tight and cut into his skin, mangling him further. It’s funny, but not surprising, even a rat will chew its own leg off to get free.
I pull out the gun tucked into the back of my slacks and level the barrel to his forehead.
“Please!” He screams one last time, “I have a son!”
It doesn’t stop me from pulling the trigger.
The bullet slices through his head like it’s little more than butter, silencing him as he goes slack in the chair, his brain matter splattered across the floor and wall behind him.
“Messy work,” Malakai clicks his tongue.
I grunt my agreement, the cooling blood on my hands and arms turning sticky, some patches already dry and crusted, like rust on a pipe. Despite the amount of blood that has stained these hands, I never havelearned the right way to get it completely out from beneath my nails.
“Have the clean-up crew come down here,” Malakai orders and I bring out my cell, sending the order through as we walk down the long corridors deep beneath the estate and headquarters of this organization. Malakai presses open the door at the top of the narrow staircase, and we exit the cells, stepping into the warmth of his office.
“Done already?” Killian flicks his eyes up from the cell in his hand, “Five minutes quicker than last time.”
