Page 1 of Killer Confections (Syndicate Killers #1)

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 his imposing 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. The stench 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.

His arms are bare, showing off both of his full sleeves. Red and black ink show well on his pale complexion, swirling designs along with a few Greek gods he commissioned the syndicate tattoo artist to create.

I shrug. “You know I do my best work at night.” I throw my head over my shoulder, giving Charles a reassuring look. “Not that we’re working. I just need answers.”

The man pants, nodding his head as wide eyes stare back at me.

I turn back to Dom, languidly slicing a thumb across my throat, sealing Charles’ fate regardless of the information he gives me.

My right hand pushes from the table and pulls his backpack off his back as he sets up the butcher block.

I pull the folded picture from my pocket, thanking the internet for my find. I open it, the middle-class apartments that rest in downtown Columbus blown up on the paper .

The building is nothing extraordinary. It’s vintage, with its beige stucco outside and black wrought iron guardrails. The path leading to the building is thick with flowers and bushes; the vines cluttering the walkways. It adds to the building’s harmony, giving it a look lost in time.

I hold the picture up to Charles and he flinches away from me, turning his head as his eyes slam shut.

I grab his cheeks, forcing him to look. “I’m not gonna hit you… again .”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dominic curses, shaking his head.

He’s reminiscing about when we shoved Charles’ limp body into the trunk of his Audi. The fucker wouldn’t fit, so I used my foot to shove him down as far as I could into the small opening before slamming the deck lid down on him.

Then I realized the guy’s fingers were still poking out of the trunk, peaking through the cracks and looking mighty fucking broken.

“Look at the picture,” I command, my deep tone causing the man to jump before he studies it. “You know this place, don’t you? You’ve been here every time you’re in Ohio.”

His brows furrow, a muffled sound coming from him in realization of what he’s looking at. He attempts to thrash again and I slap a strong hand across his cheek before grabbing his jaw.

“Don’t piss me off. It’s a yes or no question.”

He’s hesitant, not wanting to give the location of his mistress away.

It’s fucking sad. The man has a wife and two kids back in Seattle. He has the whole white picket fence shit going for him, but he still doesn’t feel fulfilled.

It makes me sick .

I’m growing bored with his fear. Unlike my sister, the entertainment of enticing terror in my victims grows tiresome for me. Thalia could play with her victims for days . Meanwhile, the begging and whining just agitates me .

“Yes or no, big man,” I grit, shoving the picture closer to his face. He still tries to deny it and I look at Dom. “Get the fucking pliers.”

Dom pulls them from his bag, a flash of steel in his grip as he lazily holds the red handle.

Charles attempts to scream against the gag, shaking his head as he begs me with watery eyes.

Oh, god. Is he fucking crying?

I release him, my shoulders shaking as I pull my phone out of my back pocket. “Hold on. I have to save this one. Smile for the wife and kids.” My camera flashes and I admire the picture of the bound and gagged CEO on my phone screen.

“Seriously?” Dom asks. “Are you really sending that to his wife?”

“Not if he gives me what I want,” I lie before pocketing my phone and showing Charles the picture.

“You know this place?” I ask.

He’s quick to respond, nodding his head.

“Your mistress lives in unit twenty-nine, right?” I know the answer, but this is a test. Will he lie out of his ass, or give me what I’m looking for to save himself?

His eyes close as if he’s in pain. Another sob wracks him as he nods again. His whole body is shaking with his adrenaline and despair.

“Good,” I crumple up the picture, throwing it to the dirt floor as I crouch down in front of the man. “You’ve been in and out of that apartment countless times. You know the people who live on the third floor. Unit number thirty. Who lives there?”

I reach out, grabbing the gag and ripping it away before I curl my fingers past his lips, gripping his bottom teeth as I drag him closer to me. “You scream and I’ll extract your organs while you watch. Tell me the name of the woman who lives in unit thirty and you can go home.”

He nods quickly, blinking back the sweat and tears from his eyes. I release him, standing to my full six-foot-five inches height as I give him a second to collect himself.

“L-Loxley!” He stutters, his voice rough. “Her name is Loxley! Please don’t kill me! I-I have a family and—”

I slap a hand over his mouth, giving him a faux gentle look. “You did great. That’s all I needed to know.”

I let my hand fall away before I turn, meeting Dom halfway and grabbing the knife from his hand. I keep my back to Charles as I grip the handle tightly, my mind thrumming with excitement.

My elation isn’t with the kill. This is more of a job, but my senses buzz knowing that she’s so close.

After all these years…

“That’s it?” Charles asks, his grating voice ruining my moment. “You got your answers. Can I go home now?”

I run my thumb along the blade, smirking when I gash my flesh. The blood wells, but I switch my grip, enjoying the sting and using it to center myself.

Get this done, then find her.

“Sure,” I shrug, making my tone light. “In a body bag.”

I turn before grabbing the top of Charles’ head to hold him still. He’s surprised by my attack, his mouth open, but before he can speak, I plunge the knife past his teeth, feeling the slight resistance when the long blade touches the back of his throat.

I keep pushing, holding him still as he gargles a scream and tries to pull away.

When there’s resistance, I move my hand like I’m cutting a steak, sawing into the fleshy tissue until I reach the base of his skull.

As I hit bone, I draw the knife back, watching the red essence as it spews from his mutilated mouth, dripping all down the front of his white button down.

He’s still alive— barely —but he’s filtering in and out of unconsciousness as he chokes on his own blood. If I don’t kill him, he’ll drown.

Decisions, decisions .

“Just kill him!” Dom yells, shaking his head as he packs his bag. “I forgot you’re almost as insane as your sister. ”

“Thalia is fucking nuts,” I agree, as I watch the blood pool on the tarp.

“Put the old man out of his misery and let’s go,” my right hand says, sounding like he’s not having as much fun as I am.

Weak .

I sigh, slicing the knife across Charles’ neck and hitting an artery. Blood squirts, spraying Dom as he attempts to walk around us.

“I hate you,” he grumbles as he stomps out of the warehouse.

“Call for a clean-up crew!” I yell. “This is fucking sick.”

I leave Charles to bleed out, giving his body some time to drain his life force.

I’m smiling when I get in the car. I have to cram myself into the passenger side, my long legs looking ridiculous as they touch the glove box.

I adjust the seat, the buzzing of the controls filling the car as Dom watches me with an austere expression.

I give him a shit-eating grin as I slam my door.

“What’s got you so happy? Who’s Loxley?” He asks, starting the car. He pulls out of the abandoned lot, following the dirt road surrounded by a thicket of trees on either side.

“Don’t you worry about that,” I say. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

My skin crawls with the need to see her— touch her .

It’s been years, but I’ve kept tabs on her. The syndicate was under chaos when my dad ruled, making strict rules of no outsiders allowed into our organization.

About twenty families of highly trained assassins live in widespread homes across the two-hundred acre property.

Most keep to themselves, but we function as a unit.

As hits get released, we decide who takes them.

Most of our jobs take us far away from home, but nothing long-term, unless Thalia is involved.

If we don’t pick up the hit, another syndicate across the states will. We often run into the fuckers on missions, enjoying the challenge of who will get the kill first .

But this is different. I haven’t taken a bounty in a while. Since Rowan, Thalia, and I killed our father, we’ve spent the last year making hard changes.

Rowan is the default leader, taking on the paperwork and implementing the new rules with strict guidelines. Thalia and I are more like the enforcers, ensuring everyone listens, and no one does anything stupid.

One of those new rules, recently passed, allows for outsiders to join us. They have to pass extensive background checks and they have the option to not join the syndicate work, so long as they keep our compound a secret.

We haven’t gone public with the rule change yet, because I had my own stipulations. I wanted Loxley to be the first. She deserved that title more than anyone else.

She was the light—the only person who showed me that, despite what I was born into, life could still be full of happiness. She was everything, consuming my thoughts for the next eleven years after we were separated.

Every move I’ve made within my last years holding influence over the syndicate was for her .

She’s my obsession.

She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and could never have.

She has no idea, but she’s mine .

And I plan to take what’s mine, whether she wants to come willingly or not.