Page 2 of A Knight’s Revenge: The Complete Series

CHAPTER ONE

JOLIE - PRESENT DAY

T he sun was just rising over the dark waters of the Obsidian River as I made my way through the familiar streets of Olde Town toward the Boathouse.

It was already muggy though it wasn’t even six in the morning yet, the swampy heat of the late Mid-Atlantic summer lingering and doing nothing to improve my sour mood.

I sighed in annoyance at the trickle of sweat that dripped between my boobs, my black sports bra growing damp as I ambled along the old cobblestone streets.

I passed by the blocks of colorful eighteenth-century homes, the ancient rowhouses a stark contrast to the expensive, modern cars smashed together along their curbs at weird angles because the rich were apparently much worse at parallel parking than those of us living on the Southside.

As my twenty-minute stroll came to an end, I reached the Boathouse—a two-story wooden monstrosity built on a pier on the banks of the Obsidian where it bordered Olde Town to the east. Its sloping roof jutted out several feet on either side of the building, creating a tall covered walkway along the sides of the pier.

The navy-blue doors were open even though it was hot as shit out here, and its large, white-framed windows beamed in as much of the morning light as possible—which was good, since Bruce was a cheap ass who didn’t turn the lights on as long as he could see six inches in front of his face .

“Hey, Bruce,” I called as I breezed through the front doors.

He was in his usual spot at the front desk, bent over a newspaper like a senior citizen, his long gray hair pulled into a haphazard ponytail and his reading glasses on his head instead of his face where they would actually do something for him.

“Hey, Jojo,” he replied, not taking his eyes off his crossword or whatever he was engrossed in. “Need you back by seven. I’ve got a middle-school crew starting at seven-thirty.”

“Got it,” I replied as I ducked into the hallway to commandeer a spare locker. I shoved my ratty backpack inside, hanging onto the earbuds that were already in my ears and my phone that I slid into the pocket of my rowing trou.

I headed for the back door, intent on grabbing my favorite scull from the rack at the dock, when Bruce called out to me again. “So, you’re really leaving tomorrow?”

I paused, turning to find him frowning at me. His soft blue eyes were full of worry, and while I appreciated the fact that he was among the very small number of people on the planet that truly cared about me, I didn’t need this shit right now.

The doubt .

“Yes,” I replied, my tone firm as I met his blue eyes with mine—violet today with my current choice of colored contact lenses. “Max is helping me move into the Academy dorms tomorrow. I start classes on Monday.”

He sighed, picking up on my prickliness without fail.

Bruce had known me since I washed up onto his doorstep like a drowned rat when I was eleven, and I’d been working for him since I was fourteen.

“I know this is what you need to do, Jojo. I wouldn’t have given your name to the crew coach up there for the scholarship if I didn’t have faith in your mission.

I just…. I hope you’re being careful, that’s all. ”

“Of course I am,” I said, deadly serious. “I’ve had years to prepare, Bruce. I am not going to fuck this up.”

“Right. I believe you. I’ll just…. I’ll miss having you around here, though, you know? I’m getting too old to scrub the boats like you do.”

I forced a laugh, ready to lighten the mood. “It’s not like I’m going far. It’s a ten-minute train ride into the City. And I’ll be here during winter break to use your ergs, obviously. Lord knows Dom still won’t let me try to fit one in our apartment. ”

He chuckled. “Leave your uncle alone. He loves that little apartment.”

I loved it too, and I would miss it as much as my fucked-up heart could miss a thing in this world.

“Okay, I’m out,” I said, turning back to the door. “I’ll have my scull back before seven.”

“Or when you’re good and ready,” I heard him mutter.

Ten minutes later, I was where I felt the most centered—rowing alone in the middle of the miles-wide swath of the Obsidian River.

It had taken years of work for me to be able to relax out here, but Dom and Bruce pushed me to conquer my fear of the river as a part of working through my trauma.

So, Bruce taught me to row, and I’d worked myself to the bone to own this fucking water.

I’d gotten so good at it that it became my ticket into the nation’s most exclusive college.

Holywell Academy.

It was also going to be my ticket into ferreting my way into the dark corners where the Families kept all their secrets.

I could just make out the Academy from my spot out on the river as I rowed east, heading away from the Boathouse.

The stone turrets of the main academic building and the highest floors of the largest dorm were just visible above the lush green trees and brick walls that obscured the rest of the campus from view.

It sat atop a hill just to the west of the thriving metropolis of Saint Gabriel City, and it was where anyone who was anyone or ever hoped to be anyone in this hellhole attended school—assuming their family could buy their way in.

Or if you were like me, and you were able to land one of its few coveted scholarships.

Reach, pull, reach, pull.

I turned my scull south and began to pull harder.

I was now staring straight at the opulence that was the City itself as I rowed upstream.

The City center sat on an enormous peninsula of sorts, with the wide stretch of the Obsidian forking into a Y shape around its borders, its multitude of shiny modern skyscrapers glittering in the morning light.

The skyline was like Manhattan on steroids, and the worst offenders were the four towers belonging to the Four Families. They loomed over the rest—a fitting position for the homes of the people who had ruled the City for generations.

The top of each tower housed the penthouse and living quarters for the members of the Family. Underneath them were the various business enterprises the Family owned and deemed important enough to be housed in its tower. Other Family businesses were spread around the City.

Beneath the Four Families in the City’s rigid hierarchical strata were the bevy of its very richest citizens—what we called “Tier One” families—their extreme wealth and business successes dependent on keeping favor with the Families and with each other.

Their money flowed downward to the rich-but-not-Tier-One-rich (called, you guessed it, “Tier Two”) families.

These people and their vast network of businesses made their homes in other lavish buildings around the City and in its wealthier suburbs.

The City was considered the largest concentration of wealth in the western hemisphere. Even the newest Tier Two families were worth seven or eight figures—achieved only with the blessing and the influence of the Families, of course.

I ran my violet gaze over Spencer Tower, a shiny blueish-silver skyscraper topped with an asymmetrical triangle sporting the Spencer’s trident crest that sat front and center of the City skyline, just a block off the riverbank.

Spencer was the white-collar empire, controlling the banks, hedge funds, investment brokers, credit companies, and the largest law firm in the City—with James Spencer, Esquire as managing partner.

What the public at large did not know about the Spencer Family was its many less-than-legal activities. We suspected their involvement in all manner of things like fraud, money laundering, gambling, and insider trading.

The black-paned Ferrero Tower was located a few blocks north of Spencer Tower, easily identified by the open square structure on its roof that glowed red at night. Ferrero controlled the entertainment industry—bars, hotels, restaurants, concert venues, and clubs of all kinds.

The Ferrero’s other enterprises were lesser known, involving—that we knew of—illegal fights, weapons trafficking, and procuring all kinds of stolen shit for rich buyers, like priceless artifacts that belonged in a museum.

A few blocks further north of Ferrero was Hargraves Tower, a cool gray structure that was designed to look like it was always leaning to the left.

The Hargraves empire was in healthcare—hospitals, insurance companies, medical tech, wellness centers, even gyms. You couldn’t spend a dollar on a Band-Aid in the City without eighty cents going into a Hargraves pocket.

And of course, because one didn’t maintain the wealth and power of one of the Four Families without a lucrative criminal side gig, Hargraves appeared to have its hands in the drug trade. Prescription pills, coke, heroine, you name it—if it was sold or consumed in this City, Hargraves profited.

Reach, pull, reach, pull.

I sucked in a breath, finally daring a glance at what was still being called Knight Tower.

It sat on the City’s eastern shore, its white panes creating a sleek, simple design.

My dad’s business—the Knight empire—was technology.

On the West Coast, there was Silicon Valley. On the East Coast, there was Knight.

Knight owned or had a stake in dozens of booming tech companies—computers, phones, software, apps, even electric cars.

It was generally understood that Knight still operated as it had before my family’s “tragic demise in a plane crash while on vacation in the Bahamas,” but now the Knight empire had been split between Spencer, Ferrero, and Hargraves—the spoils of a war my dad apparently hadn’t known he was fighting until it was too late.

I felt my blood boil as I stared at the beautiful building that had once been my home, then I sucked in a deep breath and let the familiar numbness consume me—an exercise I’d perfected after seven years.

Reach, pull, reach, pull.

I was now sweating profusely as the sun rose higher in the sky and roasted my exposed skin.

My loose white tank top stuck to my back, and I regretted not tying my long hair, currently dyed so dark brown that it almost looked black, into a bun instead of a ponytail, as it was now sticking to my sweaty neck.

The song blaring through my earbuds transitioned to “The Artist in the Ambulance” by Thrice, and I ignored the twinge of pain I felt every time one of my favorite old emo songs hit my ears.

My dad had loved this stuff, and I had so many memories of us rocking out together in our living room when I was a little kid, or of him tinkering with whatever computer or tech thing he was working on while his Warped Tour playlist was blasting on repeat in his office.

I kept him alive with my own playlists, and now even Max was a convert.

Reach, pull.

I finally turned my scull around, giving the City my back like it deserved, and I began to pull toward the Boathouse.

I rowed west, the river’s eastern border now in my line of sight.

To the east there was only a sprawling semi-vacant no-man’s-land of dilapidated warehouses and shipping containers that we all referred to as Industrial City—even though calling it a “city” was a bit of a stretch.

It was the only blight on the otherwise perfect City aesthetic that surrounded the Y shape of the Obsidian.

The trains didn’t even run over there, though Max and I had once taken a kayak all the way across the wide river to get a closer look at it.

Bruce had bitched at us later, but it hadn’t been very exciting, so we never did go back.

As I headed home, I was once again reminded that “home” was a place the City would never again be for me. I hadn’t been back since that night.

And I couldn’t wait to watch it all burn.