Page 1 of Killer Confections

Chapter One

Atlas

Chains rattle, the metal clanking together in a sharp, frantic rhythm as the man, bound to a random chair I found out back in the dumpster, thrashes fearfully.

His mouth is gagged, a tattered, disgusting hand-towel I also found in the trash serving to silence him.

Thank fucking god.

I don’t know how much more I could handle of this guy yammering about fantasy football. If he wasn’t fanning over men dressed in jerseys and shin guards, he was getting shit-faced at the bar of the high-end club we kidnapped him from.

Dominic, my right hand, pointed out Charles Bert as soon as we stepped foot in the establishment.

I was itching to attack right away. The middle-aged stout man that’s tied to the chair across from me, peering around the dark and dilapidated warehouse with wide, bloodshot eyes, holds all the answers I’ve been searching for.

I step onto the blue tarp spread out and covering a good portion of the warehouse’s dirt floor. My boots cause the canvas to crackle, sending Charles into a panic as he attempts to break free. His head whips side to side, emasculating whimpers leaving his bound mouth.

I probably look terrifying to him.

Father dearest didn’t have kids because it was his dream to be a parent. He didn’t dream of weekends full of soccer practices and going to recitals.

He bred to create the perfect killers, molded from hisimposing and powerful genes, mixed with the grace and litheness of our mother’s.

My older brother, Rowan, was raised to be a leader. He was always the voice of control and reason. He planned meticulously against our father, every move highly calculated and full of a silent strength I lacked.

Thalia, my little sister, was raised to be a strategist. She lost her sanity long ago, embracing the world we were born into as she perfected her manipulation tactics. She loves to lure victims in, gaining their trust before trapping them and watching the fear make their pupils blow as their hearts pound.

I feel I hold the most in common with my sister. Though her work is far messier than my own, we refused to keep our heads. We found succumbing to the trauma was our only way to give us power over it. Our father completely fucked us up early on, destroying our innocence and stripping away all morals until there was nothing left.

Most would have gone mad, my sister and I technically did, but we never let the darkness swallow us.

We lived in it, thriving and changing our environment to benefit us.

In all my twenty-seven years, there’s only been one constant I never wanted to change. There’s only one person I never wanted to bend to my will…

I stalk over to Charles, rolling my eyes as he tries to pull away, as if it’s going to magically free him from the chains.

I grab his face, squeezing his fat cheeks as my fingers bite into his flesh. I turn his head, forcing him to look at me.

“Charles,” I taunt, shaking his head. “I need you to listen to me. I know I’m not dressed like a fucking quarterback, but if you answer my questions, I’ll let you go.”

Not a chance in hell, but he doesn’t need to know that.

His bloodshot brown eyes bounce all over my face, looking for any signs I may be lying. I can hear his breath panting from him as his chest rapidly rises and falls. Thestench of potent stress sweat touches my nose, but I ignore it.

He hesitantly nods, more whimpers falling from him.

“Good boy,” I praise, releasing him and giving his cheek a condescending pat as I step back.

Movement to my right catches my attention and I peer at Dominic as he leans against the white fold-out table, his arms crossed as he watches me with a bored expression.

“What?” I ask, smirking. “You act like you have anything better to do on a Saturday night.”

He sighs, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But why are we doing this again? And why did we have to do it at night? You called me while I was in the shower.”

I figured it would piss my right hand off to call so late. He had just finished his nightly patrol of the syndicate compound, his eyes and feet heavy with exhaustion.

His dark brown shaggy hair is still wet and his outfit, loose black joggers and a Slip Knot t-shirt, is hastily thrown together. He looks out of place with his massive combat boots on, mysterious stains covering the black leather.