The Devil I Hate (Devil's Knights 1)

They sure looked fucking cozy.

A strange emotion stirred in my gut. Was it jealousy? No, it couldn’t be. I had never been jealous of anyone, let alone my younger brother.

My father stood at my side, his hand on my shoulder. “Every war has casualties, son.” He tapped his long fingers on my upper back, his heavy serpent ring hitting my shoulder blade. “Go protect our legacy.”

I dialed Marcello and raised the phone to my ear. He answered on the first ring. “Put Roman on Alex’s door and meet us downstairs.”

I hung up and shoved the phone into my pocket. Another loud bang followed by a ripple of gunfire rang through the air.

“Let’s go,” I told the Knights.

I led the pack out of my office and down the hallway, leaving Carl and my father behind. With our guns raised, we kept our backs against the wall as we crept down the stairs to the second floor. Alex’s bedroom was at the far end. I poked my head into the hallway and saw Roman out front of Alex’s room, arms crossed over his thick chest.

Marcello ran toward us, meeting us at the top of the landing. He took control, guiding the group downstairs. My younger brother was better at tactical planning. He was the muscle, and I was the brains. We ascended the stairs to the first floor. In his element, Marcello issued orders under his breath. He tipped his head, telling Sonny and Drake to head toward the back of the house.

It sounded like our men were doing their best to eliminate the threat. Everyone in Devil’s Creek would hear the gunshots. It was a good thing the cops were in our pockets. Our connections had saved my life last year and kept Alex out of jail.

We moved as a unit down the main hallway, and as we passed one of the smaller formal dining rooms, glass shattered. Entering with caution, we surveyed the room. Glass and burnt scraps of fabric scattered across the hardwood floor. Dark smoke clung to the air, sweeping across the room like fog.

I grabbed my jacket and covered my mouth.

Marcello turned to me. “Looks like a homemade bomb.”

“We haven’t had our enemies bring the fight to us in a long time,” Damian said with an evil grin.

I could see the wheels turning in his sick head. He was looking forward to making these assholes bleed. But so was I. There was something magical about taking a life, holding it in your hands. For a few seconds, it gave me the power of a fucking god.

“It has to be the Albanians,” I pointed out. “They stole from us. They obviously have a death wish. And they’re still trying to list Alex for auction at Il Circo.”

Why would they attack us at home, where we could see them coming? We had the advantage on our turf. This was a distraction, a ruse to get us away from the real prize. My heart thudded in my chest, racing so fast my pulse clawed at my neck.

I grabbed Marcello’s shoulder, and he turned to face me. “How many men are on Alex?”

“Just Roman,” he said with a hint of confusion in his voice. “Why?”

“Because they’re here for our queen.”

I ran down the main hallway beside Marcello, and we bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. As we raced toward Alex’s bedroom, she screamed for help, and a chill spread down my arms like spiders crawling over me.

Mind racing a mile a minute, I thought of all the horrible shit my enemies would do to Alex. My heart pounded because I knew what I would do. They would torture and kill her if they got their hands on her. After promising Carl his precious granddaughter was in good hands, I had already fucked up.

It should have occurred to me sooner that Alex was the target. The Albanians owed The Devil’s Knights a lot of money. We took the wife of their leader as collateral, and I knew they would retaliate.

Damian and Bastian appeared at the top of the back stairwell, but we were closer to Alex’s bedroom. Roman wasn’t standing guard. None of my men were anywhere in sight. The walnut floor shone from a distance with a thick substance, and as I stopped in front of Alex’s bedroom, I realized it was blood.

I stood in the doorway with Marcello and stared in horror. Roman was on his knees, clutching his side. He hissed in pain as blood seeped from his wound and onto the floor. A lanky man with dark sleeves of tattoos pointed a gun at Roman’s head.

Directly in front of me, a muscular man held Alex with a blade to her throat. One wrong move and he would filet her like a fish. Another man stood behind them with his gun aimed at the back of Alex’s head. They dressed in dark blue camouflage, half of their faces obscured by black bandanas.