Prologue
Royce
Red and blue lights whirled through the deepest night, reflecting against the heavy clouds that hugged the city in a hazy glow.
I raced down the dank alley, my footsteps pounding through the black puddles and dirt and debris. Maybe if I ran hard enough, I might be able to escape.
Jagged panting rose into the dense air, aggression and fear and hatred a pulsing ache in my arteries.
Thunder rumbled, a dark, ominous warning that twisted through the heavens, and I lifted my face to the tiny droplets of rain that began to pelt from the sky, burning cold against my heated skin.
What had I done?
I pushed harder, desperation seeping all the way to my bones as the sound of sirens grew louder.
Agony clutched my spirit, time slipping as I darted through a tunnel of hopelessness that I knew led to a dead end.
I skidded out of the alleyway and hit the sidewalk.
My ribs were gripped in a searing blaze of pain from the blows I’d sustained.
I sucked for breath. For relief.
It didn’t matter. It had been worth it. There’d been nothing that could have stopped me from seeking this revenge.
The taste of vengeance still danced on my tongue.
Violence lighting a path through my veins.
Whirling lights closed in from behind, and another cruiser came at me from ahead. Blocking me in. Nothing left to give, I dropped to my knees in the middle of the street.
I tipped my head up to the rain that began to pound harder, and I roared.
Roared in surrender and anguish.
But with it was a shout of victory.
Blood dripped from my mangled, torn knuckles like evidence signed on the pavement.
I had no place to go.
No place to escape.
I’d already been convicted.
The reason didn’t count.
None of it mattered, anyway, because I’d do it all over again.
A thousand times.
Give up everything like an offering.
Condemning myself was the one sacrifice I could make.
One
Royce
Present Day
I crossed an ankle over my knee where I sat in the high-backed leather chair situated on the far wall of the office, focusing on readjusting the cuffs of my button-up rather than the rage that blistered across my skin.
Tension radiated through the massive room that was as pretentious as an eighty-dollar bottle of water, all carved wood and original first editions and the pungent stench of arrogance and BS.
I angled my head at the man who sat on his pompous throne on the opposite side of the desk.
He wore a suit and a tie, as per usual, hair perfectly styled and parted to the side, though his stomach was beginning to paunch, like it was trying to keep up with the pride that overtook his conscience.
Karl Fitzgerald.
Owner of Mylton Records.
Prick extraordinaire.
My piece-of-shit stepfather.
Yeah, my mother hadn’t had hearts in her eyes. She’d had dollar signs.
“Royce,” he said, like he was giving me permission to speak.
I cracked a grin. “Father. So nice to see you.”
The words dripped with sarcasm and disdain.
I couldn’t stand the sight of the bastard, which was an unfortunate circumstance considering he was my boss.
But it was all part of the plan.
You know what they say—Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Believe me, I was right on his tail until the moment I overtook him and trampled him underfoot.
He’d stolen everything from me, crushed it in his fat, greedy fist.
I couldn’t wait to return the favor.
“I just wanted to be sure we were clear on the situation. I wouldn’t want there to be any further . . . mistakes,” he jeered.
“I think you made it plenty clear.”
“Did I?” he shot back, angling his head. “You failed the task the first time. I won’t accept a repeat.”
Incredulous laughter rumbled in my throat, and I turned my attention out the window to the sprawling grounds of his estate, the lawn meticulously manicured and a negative-edge pool stretched over a cliff like it touched the tops of the skyscrapers in the city below.
I tapped my tattooed fingers on my knee that was bouncing at the speed of light, agitation curling through my senses and setting fire to my veins.
Slowly, I swiveled my focus back to the man who overshadowed this family like a wraith. A monster at the helm.
“There was a . . . difficulty.” I refused to gift him with more information than that.
He scoffed. “A difficulty? Your job is to eradicate difficulties. Your job is to seal the deal. Get it penned in ink, in blood, or whatever the fuck it takes. Taking no for an answer is not acceptable.”
Bitterness tightened my chest in a fist. Of course, he would think no wasn’t a sufficient answer. Money the solution to every obstacle. To every reservation and fear and question.
To every crime.
Cover it up with a little dough.
I just wondered how deep it went. The depravity. The sickness he poured into the world.
Slowly, I pushed to my feet, unable to stop the aggression that lined my bones. I prowled across the floor until I was standing at his desk and planting my hands on the gleaming wood. “I am very aware of my job description. But I do it my way, and I’m fucking good at it. You have a problem with it? Feel free to cut me loose.”