The Skull King (Skull 1)

I took a look at each girl, deeming them worthy of the auction. Some were crying, but I was immune to their tears. I was a man without a heart or a soul. All I had was a body with booze in my stomach. I moved farther down the line until I locked eyes with a girl with deep brown hair. She was shorter than the others, and judging by her frame and figure, she wasn’t as old as the rest of the lineup. “Jerome, how old is she?”

“Sixteen.”

I turned to him, wearing a look so terrifying I could see the fear in his eyes. “What did I say?”

“She looks eighteen.”

“She doesn’t look eighteen. And it doesn’t matter even if she does. I said no girls under eighteen.”

“The men like it—”

“I don’t give a shit. It’s fucking gross. Jesus Christ, she’s a child.”

Jerome stared me down. “I thought you didn’t have any lines, Balto.”

I didn’t have any lines. I was the most corrupt criminal in Italy. There was no crime too foul for me. “I don’t. But this is disgusting.”

“You want me to kill her, then?”

The girl probably preferred death over being a slave. “Return her to wherever the fuck she came from.”

“But she knows our faces. She knows where we are.”

“Trust me, this girl is too scared to say anything. She’s pissed herself while we’ve been talking—twice. Get her out of the lineup. And don’t let this shit ever happen again.”

I sat at the table in the private room of the prison. The table was screwed into the ground so it couldn’t move, and the metal bar attached to the surface was a secure place to hook up the handcuffs. I waited ten minutes before they finally brought him in.

Wearing a ridiculous orange jumpsuit, he had chains around his wrists and his ankles. The guards escorted him to the chair and removed his handcuffs so they could secure him to the metal bar on the surface of the table. The chains around his ankles were hooked to the floor. Then the guards walked out and shut the door behind them.

We were given complete privacy—something the other prisoners didn’t have.

Heath pulled his wrists and yanked on the chains. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“A bit.”

He sighed as he looked at me, his blue eyes full of malice. “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Most of his body was covered by the orange jumpsuit, but his strong physique was clear. He’d been working out a lot in his cell. It was obvious by the way the clothing fit him so snugly. “You look ripped.”

“I’ve got nothing else to do but work out and jerk off.”

“Haven’t found a partner?” I teased.

Heath narrowed his eyes until they were slits. “I’m going to kill you when I get out of here.”

“I’m your only chance of getting out of here, so I doubt that.” I had control over the police and the prisoners. Heath was in here because I’d put him in here—to teach him a lesson. “Are you done being in time-out?”

He pulled on his chains again, like there was a possibility he could break free.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“What the fuck do you want from me, asshole?” He had skin the color of pale snow and eyes the color of a shallow bay, and his soft features fit into an innately hard face. His beard was thick from not shaving, and the cords in his neck were thickening with his rage. He had my same height and muscularity, and he also had my same temperament.

“I want you to cut all the bullshit, Heath. Robbing banks and stealing cars is so amateur.”

“It pays the bills.”

“It’s pussy shit.”

He tested the chains again.

“You’re better than that. Join the Skull Kings. I will find something for you.”

“So I can be your little bitch?” he asked incredulously.

“So I can straighten you out. You can’t go around starting shit with everyone you see. I can’t make excuses for you to my allies, and I can’t protect you from my enemies. You’re a loose cannon. Join me or continue to rot in here.”

“And what if I don’t want to do either?”

“What is your other option? You’re going to make an honest living?” Heath was incapable of settling down in one place and being an honest man. He’d been a criminal just like me since the day we were born. He was just more temperamental, emotional, and uncontrollable. Once he got an idea in his head, he pursued it to no end, regardless of how stupid the idea was. He was like a dog off a leash—sprinting right into traffic.

“I want freedom. I’m not going to take orders from you.”

“I’m the Skull King—everyone takes orders from me.”

“Well, I’m not going to.”

“Then you’d rather rot in here?” I asked in disbelief. “You’d rather have your hand than pussy? You’d rather eat the shit they serve than a traditional Italian meal? What about scotch? You used to drink that every morning for breakfast. You don’t miss all those things?”