Then, there’s nothing but the haunted, sickening silence.
Rage surges through me, and I let myself fill with hate and violence.
The scar on my cheek throbs, and I labor an inhale before releasing it, because hatred is strength. It’s fuel for my day. It’s what feeds The Antihero Syndicate—also called The Syndicate—and our vow to eliminate The Association, the perpetrators of my family’s massacre.
The vilest men in expensive suits.
I clench my lighter, its sharp edges jabbing my skin. Another box closed.
“It’s time,” I tell John.
“Do you want me to—”
“No, keep the car running.” My voice is flat. This should be quick. Exact revenge and get the kill ledger. Two things that have eluded me for decades.
Quietly, I step out of the car, coat collar up, and pull on my black leather gloves.
Never leave prints behind.
Raucous laughter reaches my ears. The café door opens. The asshole from earlier and a few of his buddies spill out.
The men freeze when they spot me, their faces paling as recognition dawns in their eyes.
Too late, motherfucker.
A slow grin splits my lips, and I advance toward them, a different obsession—revenge—teeming inside me.
I crack my knuckles. The harsh sound ricochets through the air.
Good men don’t get obsessed.
But too bad for them. I’m not a good man.
And in a few moments, they’ll learn what that really means.
Chapter 2: GRAY IS A COLOR
I sit in theback of the car, watching the dark clouds hang low, a heavy weight pressing on my chest. The city seems off, like it’s holding its breath.
Hurricane season. Stormy weather.
Everything’s fine.
But a chill lingers in my bones, the same restlessness shadowing me for the last few months.
At first, I blamed it on my looming thirty-fifth birthday, and while my siblings were all paired off, I was still alone.
I told myself I was missing a passion to spark me from the inside.
But deep down, I knew that wasn’t it.
About three months ago, I got the sense I was being watched.
I thought I was paranoid because every time I’d look around, everything appeared normal.
No strange flowers or voodoo dolls delivered to my doorstep. No shadowy figures lurking about. I still had our security team double-check the cameras and sweep my building.
They found nothing, but the wrongness in my gut wouldn’t leave me.
