Page 1

PROLOGUE

SHOTGUN

The metal bites into my raw, chafed skin as I naively try to jerk my wrists free from the rusty cuffs that bind them together, but it’s no use. There’s no breaking free. Grinding my molars, I slam the back of my head against the steel pile, sweat and blood dripping from my face as a guttural sound rips from the back of my throat. It echoes off the concrete walls, bouncing through the decrepit pipes until it fades, and the only thing I hear is the pitiful moan of the man I consider my brother. The one who gave me a safe place to land when I was a child and a seat at his table when I became a man.

It's the first sign of life he’s shown since the cunts who captured us came in and took his eye out.

That was after they beat us both senselessly and took three of his fingers, testing our loyalty not only to our club but to each other.

“Irish,” I croak, my eyes darting to the corner where he lies. Like me, he is shackled, but he can no longer hold himself upright. Every second that passes a little more life drains from him. “You gotta hang in there, man. Please.”

Another groan sounds from him, and I try like hell to think of what I can do to keep him with me. To keep him fucking talking. I put myself in his shoes like I’ve done a million times before, and picture all the things he has to live for. His sons, Legend, and Killian, and the third that’s on the way.

His wife.

My eyes involuntarily close as an image of Jade works its way into my mind. I don’t make a habit of thinking about Irish’s woman. Hell—I do everything in my power to keep my distance. On occasions where it can’t be avoided, I don’t even look at her.

People can say a lot of things about me, but they can’t say I don’t learn from my mistakes.

My fists ball, and I tug against the metal cuffs. The sharp pain reroutes my train of thought for a moment, and I focus back on the task at hand. But there’s no way to keep Irish alive without bringing her up. She’s the one thing that will keep him fighting.

“I’m begging you, man. Do not make me be the guy who tells Jade you’re gone.”

A gurgling sound rips from the back of his throat as he hangs his head. His long hair hangs in sheets around his face, all matted and covered in blood.

“Jade.” Her name comes out as a whisper.

“Yeah, man,” I rasp. “You gotta make it out of here for her. For your kids, and for the club. We didn’t suffer through all of this not to come out and seek revenge.”

That last sentence falls flat for me. I started to lose track of time after they took Irish’s eye. It feels like we’ve been trapped here for days and every second that passes, I lose hope in the idea of us getting out of here alive.

“You’re not stupid, so stop acting like you are,” he growls. I watch as he rolls onto his side. Spitting blood, he lifts his head. Bile rises in my throat as I stare at his mangled face. All the plastic surgery in the world won’t fix him, and if I, a grown fucking man who has seen his fair of carnage, can’t look at him—how the hell are his kids ever going to?

“One of us is going to die, and it’s gonna be me.”

Swallowing the acid gurgling in my throat, I shake my head. I understand why he’s come to the conclusion that one of us will live and the other will die—they’ve taken their jabs at me, but it’s been clear they have a hard on for Irish. Out of the two of us, I’m the weakest link. They figure if they beat and torture him, I’ll eventually cave and give them the intel they desire. But if the Kings don’t come for us soon, they’ll be nothing left of Irish. They’ll have no choice but to kill me next.

However, what Irish is suggesting isn’t something I’ve considered. These motherfuckers are more calculative and vindictive then I give them credit for. Maybe the plan has always been for one of us to watch the other die. The surviving brother becomes the messenger, sending a clear fucking message straight to the Kings.

If that’s the case, the fallen brother can’t be Irish. I’m the better choice. I got nothing to lose. No wife. No children. Nothing. No one will grieve me.

I return my focus to Irish.

“Jade—”

He cuts me off. “Stop mention Jade and look at me! They took my fucking eye, Shotgun. They slashed my face and chopped off my fingers. In a little while those cocksuckers will come in here and take some more from me. Even if I hang in until the club comes for us, the damage is already done. I’ll never be the man Jade married. She’ll never be able to look at me again. You think she wants to spend the rest of her life fucking a monster every night?” He spits again, but holds his head upright, forcing me to keep my eyes pinned to his face. It’s almost as if he’s daring me to turn my head and prove him right. I don’t know how long we remain like that, but when I finally blink, he lowers his head. “Brother, if your hands weren’t tied behind your back, I would’ve begged you to put me out of my misery already.”

He could’ve begged all he wanted, but I never would’ve done it. I’m not sure what that says about me. I call myself a loyal man, I’ve kept my mouth shut and watched these animals maim and tortured my best friend, protecting our club, and honoring the oath I took. But if he asked me to take his life, I wouldn’t do it. I’d continue to watch him be tortured because I’m a selfish fuck and I know the guilt of taking his life would ultimately lead to me taking my own.

“The Kings will take care of Jade and the kids financially,” he says gruffly, drawing my attention back to him. “It won’t be enough. She’ll need help on a daily basis and my mother is in no condition to help her, especially when the baby comes.” He pauses, an unintelligible sound ripping from the back of his throat. “Boys are going to get older. They’re going to need someone to teach them how to be men.”

“Irish, c’mon man, let’s not do this,” I plead. “Biggie isn’t goin?—”

“You’re not listening to me,” he roars, using every ounce of strength left in his body. “I’m not making it out of this, and I need you to tell me you understand what I’m saying.” He peers at me with his one eye. “She’s going to hate everything and everyone. The love she has for me will turn to hate, and the resentment she feels will become the force that guides her in all she does. She’s going to blame the club. She’s going to push you away. Now, you stand here today as a man loyal to your word and the patch on your back and I’m asking you to treat Jade with the same respect. That no matter how far or hard she pushes, you stick with her. You look out for her and those kids and treat them the same way you’d treat your own.”

He has no idea what he’s asking of me and confessing that I’ve been pining over his wife since we were sixteen years old while he’s on his deathbed would make me an even bigger piece of shit. It doesn’t matter that I saw her first. Jade was his, and she always will be.

“Promise me,” he demands. “Promise me you’ll take care of them. That you’ll push Jade to move on when the time is right. Don’t let her waste her years mourning a man who never deserved her in the first place.”

I swallow thickly, no part of me wants to make any promises—certainly not ones that pertain to Jade but denying a man when he’s on the brink of death is just as inhumane as chopping pieces of his body.

“I’ll look after them,” I say hoarsely. “You have my word.”

Dropping his head, a sigh escapes his lips. “That’s good as gold.”

He wouldn’t be saying that if he knew how many nights I’ve laid awake thinking of his wife, wishing she were mine and not his.

The steel door opens, and the masked man who appears to be in charge of this butchering enters the cellar, flocked by two of his minions who are also masked. Only a pussy fucking wears a mask.

Won’t save them though.

I’ll figure a way to hunt them and I’ll take everything from them. This cocksucker and his cronies might think they have the upper hand now, but soon they’ll learn no one fucks with the Kings.

“I gotta say I admire your loyalty,” he croons, making his way toward Irish.

“Fuck you,” I spit, hoping to derail his attention. I’m not even sure Irish is alive at this point. He hasn’t made much noise since he made me promise to take care of Jade and the kids.

Even so, I ain’t going to stand by and watch them chop off another part of him. I can’t fight with my hands, but I can use whatever strength I have to piss these fucks off with my words. “You’re going to regret every fucking thing you’ve done when I find your family, and make you watch as I cut them up into pieces.”

A sinister chuckle echoes throughout the damp room, and the masked leader turns to me.

“That’s not very nice to say after I’ve spared you,” he tsks. “And here I was about to grant you some good news.” He takes another step toward me, then comes to an abrupt stop. I watch as he reaches behind him, pulling out the long, serrated knife he used to hack off Irish’s fingers. He lifts it between us like it’s a trophy, examining it carefully before swiping at a spot of blood that lingers along the sharp edge. “Seems Biggie has come through, and my superior has ordered for your immediate release.”

I don’t trust this motherfucker one bit.

“I promised him one living King, but I never specified whom I’d deliver.” He turns to one of his minions. “Is he still alive?”

My gaze darts to where Irish lays, and I watch the black clad figure bend in front of him, touching his fingers to Irish’s neck. He turns slightly and nods.

“There’s a pulse.”

The masked man’s gaze flits back to me. “Quite impressive, wouldn’t you say?”

“Leave him alone,” I growl. “You need a body. Take mine.”

He laughs wickedly. “That’s not your decision to make.”

“You have no fucking idea what a grave mistake you’re making. Nothing and no one in your circle will ever be safe after this. If you don’t kill me, I’m going to make it my life’s mission to come after you. And I’m going to make everyone you know and love suffer. Your wife. Your kids. Your fucking parents. No one will be off limits. So make the right choice, motherfucker. Choose me.”

Keeping his eyes trained to me, he orders his men to bring Irish over to us. They unchain him and lift him from the ground. Irish moans faintly and they drag his limp body toward us. I inwardly flinch when I get a glimpse of his face, but I don’t stare at him for too long. I don’t want the last memory of him to be like this.

The masked fuck glances from me back to Irish, and I feel my adrenaline spike. I tug my wrists, and oddly enough I don’t feel any pain. My wrists are raw and bloody, and I still fight with everything I got.

“Let him fucking go,” I roar, the metal cuffs clanking against the pipe as I continue to tug.

Then, before I can even blink, the masked cunt lifts his knife and drives it straight across Irish’s neck. Blood spurts from his jugular, and the two men holding him remove their hands from under his arms. A feral noise rips from the back of my throat as I watch my brother fall forward, his blood pooling around his lifeless body.

“You tell Biggie there is only one King of New York City, and it isn’t him. The next time he makes a move on the seaport, I’ll take more than just his vice president’s life.”

It’s a declaration of war.

But for me it’s a warrant for his death.