Kings of Blood and Money (Underworld Kings)

This is not a story of love.

This is a story of revenge and the bond created from it.

Preface

The Ruin: The Ruin is a syndicate of high-ranking individuals in the criminal world.

A Ruin Meet: A collective organization where criminals have access to organizing hits, gun and drug trade, trafficking, body clean-up, etc.

Desolation: Desolation is a fictitious city within the state of New York.

One

Freya

Seven years old...

The day my family died, I was given a new one. One that didn’t want me…

Shouting, just like the night before. Loud. Angry. Scary. It’s too close to my bedroom. Mama usually closes her door when Daddy gets mad. He’s always so mad lately. The words he uses always makes Mama cry. Mama said they’re cruel lies used to hurt people. It made me sad he wanted to use bad words to hurt Mama. She’s so nice. I love her so much. Why doesn’t he love her too?

The thumping in my chest makes me breathe weird. It hurts. The pounding in my ears helps muddle the screams coming down the hallway.

Mama…

Poking out from under my blankie, my fingers cling to Midnight, the kitten Mama gave me for my birthday last week. It was such a special day. No shouting. No crying. I blew my candles out on a giant cake, making a wish that didn’t come true. I didn’t want Daddy to hurt Mama anymore.

Midnight’s black fur, soft and warm, wiggles in my grip. His meows distract me from the shadows creeping into my room from under the door.

“Mama?” I call out, tears burning my eyes, soaking my cheeks. I don’t hear anything. The shouting has stopped.

Midnight squirms against my hold, his tiny nails scratching my hand. Wincing, I release him. He jumps from the bed just as the door swings open. I throw myself back onto my pillow, pulling my blankie up over my head. I can’t breathe. I try to suck air in, but it’s painful. Panic twists my tummy as my body jerks with the shivers.

I’m scared.

I want Mama.

“What have you done?” A new voice I don’t recognize fills the room. I don’t know if he’s talking to me. My sobs fill my ears.

I want Mama. I want Mama. I want Mama.

“Fuck you, you piece of shit. Think you can take from me?”

That’s Daddy.

The voices go silent. Only the sound of feet shuffling can be heard in the room. So close. Too close. The blankie is pulled away from me, and I scream out, “No, I want Mama, Mama, Mama!” I thrash, squeezing my eyes closed.

“Come here, Freya.” Daddy’s voice. His hands tugging on me.

My throat hurts. “Where’s Mama?”

His hands squeeze my arms too tight. “Ow, Daddy. Stop. That hurts,” I cry. He lifts me from the safety of my bed, tossing me over his shoulder. “Midnight,” I cry out. Midnight’s bright eyes glow as he stares up at me from beneath my bed. “Midnight,” I scream so loud, it hurts my ears. I reach out for him, fighting, but Daddy’s too strong and my kitten is scared. Like me.

We move through the house. Mama’s hair is coming out of her bedroom door. She’s on the floor. Mama?

“No, please, Daddy.” I wiggle in his grip.

“Back the fuck up.” Daddy’s words are bad and aimed at someone else. Not Mama. Walking through to the living room, he slides me down his body. My legs feel weird. It’s hard to stand on my feet. My body is made of Jell-O. Daddy crouches in front of me, his brown eyes dark, like my nightmares. There’s something on his skin. Red paint? His face twists and blurs as he spins me around, pulling my back against his legs, stroking a palm down my hair. There’s red paint on his hands too. It sticks to me when he touches me.

“You took everything from me.” The man’s voice sounds like Mama’s when she’s in pain. He’s in the shadows. I can’t see his face.

“You deserve worse,” Daddy says. Something scrapes against my skin, burning, then there’s a sting up my neck. It hurts so much, I might die. Everything in the room goes fuzzy. My legs are too soft.

“Daddy?” I blink a couple times. I’m so sleepy. “Daddy?”

“Don’t.” The voice is far away as I fall, my eyes closing as the carpet races up to me. Blinking heavily the figure comes closer. There’s the man. He’s upside down. In his hand is a knife.