Page 17 of Ravage

It echoes through the years like a gunshot in an empty room.

The Glock 19 I used that night sits in my desk drawer, a reminder of where I came from, what I'm capable of.

I've killed seventeen men since then, but I remember every detail of my first authorized hit.

"Say that again."

"The judge's daughter. Someone at the victim advocacy center mentioned the club. She's been making inquiries ever since." Vincent sits across from me, studying my reaction with eyes that have seen too much. "She got hold of a card."

I lean back in my chair, mind racing behind a calm exterior.

Selene Deveraux.

The fifteen-year-old girl whose bedroom light haunted me for months after that night.

"How old is she now?"

"Twenty-three."

Eight years.

Has it really been that long?

The memory surfaces unbidden—me at twenty-seven, hungry to prove myself to my father, desperate to show I could be as ruthless as him.

More ruthless, if needed.

The judge had to die—he had evidence that would have destroyed our entire operation.

RICO charges that would have put my father and his entire crew away for life.

Judge Deveraux was the only incorruptible judge in the city, the only one who couldn't be bought, threatened, or blackmailed.

So, he had to be eliminated.

My father gave the order, but I insisted on taking care of it personally. My first sanctioned kill as his successor.

I spent weeks planning it, studying the judge's patterns, his security, his family's schedule.

The wife was supposed to be at her sister's house in Connecticut.

The daughter was supposed to be at a sleepover.

I wore a mask that night.

Black leather that covered everything but my eyes.

The weight of it made me feel invincible, anonymous, like death itself walking through their perfect suburban home.

The judge was in his study, reviewing case files—probably the very ones that would have destroyed us.

He looked up when I entered, and I saw the moment he understood.

Not fear, not at first.

Just resignation.

"Please," he said, standing slowly, hands visible. "My wife, my daughter, they don't know anything?—"