Page 1 of Savage Revenge (Savage Sins #1)

Cash

I WILL AVENGE YOU

One week ago…

Revenge.

Vengeance.

Retribution.

Call it what you want—it all means the same: Someone is going to bleed for their sins.

Las Vegas is blistering today. The dry, dusty wind blowing against my tailored suit does nothing to relieve how sweltering it is.

Sweat trickles down my spine as my father’s gleaming gold casket is lowered into the ground, dragging a piece of my soul into the dirt with it.

I don’t move. I don’t blink. I don’t even breathe.

Every inch it moves is a vise growing tighter around my throat.

I won’t look away until I see him covered in his final resting spot beside my mother, God rest her soul.

Sadness should be the only thing I feel today, but it’s not.

The only emotion I’ve experienced since I saw my father’s bloody body under a tarp in the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard is the unrelenting need to find the person responsible.

To make them pay. To exact the revenge that is inevitable when you fuck with my family.

Maybe I’ll have time to mourn later. Or maybe my version will be violence instead.

All the respectable and not-so-respectable men and women who have known my father over the years showed up in their droves for the service inside one of the oldest and grandest churches in Las Vegas.

The same church my parents got married in nearly fifty years ago.

Where they had all of us christened when we were babies.

Where we held my mother’s funeral, and now his. And one day, my own.

Everyone offered kind words and condolences over our loss. They told us what a great man he was. How generous he was. How kind he was, and for the most part, a pleasure to do business with.

They said all the things that my brothers and I already know. Because while Jack Savage wasn’t a perfect man—not even close—he was a damn good one and the best father we could have ever asked for. Those people had met him, but they never truly knew him like we did.

They didn’t see him teaching us how to fight in the backyard after school.

Or see the way he would have poker nights with us every Friday, using gummy bears instead of poker chips, then eating all of them with us at the end of the night.

They weren’t there when he was sitting with me late in the evening, while sipping espresso together, so I wasn’t all alone while struggling with my chemistry homework.

None of those people saw him taking care of his ailing wife with delicate care until the day she died in his arms.

My brothers and I held it together during the ceremony.

We kept our heads bowed during the service.

Stoic. Silent. Watching every person in that church.

Any one of them could be his killer. We trust no one except each other.

In this life, we always have to be careful.

This is a dark reminder of how dangerous it is to be in our position in the city.

Only the four of us stand together now. Just four brothers and a grave.

Beckett’s face is blotchy, his shoulders slumped and shaking like a kid again.

My baby brother has always been the one to share his emotions rather than bottling them up.

Sometimes, I wonder if that’s why he’s happy most of the time.

He doesn’t have anger and sadness eating away at his soul like the rest of us.

Kian keeps looking away from the casket, his red-rimmed eyes have dark circles underneath, as though he hasn’t slept in a week. I’m pretty sure none of us have. Not since the day I got the call and rushed out of my office before they could take his body away.

Xander has a bottle of our dad’s favorite whiskey in his hand and has been drinking from it since we left the church.

It’s only a matter of time before he gets angry and punches something or someone.

Usually, I’d care that he’s getting shit-faced, but right now, he needs it.

We are all doing whatever we can to stay as numb as possible so we don’t have to face the agony that’s waiting to pull us under.

The casket gleams under the bright sun, glittering like the lights in front of all our casinos.

The funeral home staff looked at us like we were crazy when we ordered a custom-made, million-dollar gold-plated casket with our parents’ wedding vows engraved into it, and diamonds encrusted with all our initials.

Our mother always used to say that everything our dad touched turned to gold, and he always responded by telling her the only gold he cared about was her.

When she died, we buried her in a similar casket because our father said she deserved the best. And so does he.

He was the best dad anyone could ever ask for.

We’ll be damned if we give a fuck what anyone has to say about it.

Nobody speaks. There’s nothing to say. Not yet anyway. We already know there’s only one thing that’s going to help us cope with this grief. And that’s ruthless, painful, bloody revenge.

“Fuck,” Beckett chokes out as dirt spills from shovels over the coffin. He squeezes his eyes together and sniffs as a tear rolls down his cheek. “I still can’t believe this. Every time my phone rings, I think it’s going to be him, telling me this is a big misunderstanding.”

Kian lowers his head and lets out a shaky breath. “He deserved better than this. Worked all his life, only to lose the person he loved most and then get shot like a fucking dog in front of his own casino.”

Xander lunges toward our waiting SUV, his fist crashing through the back passenger window with a sickening crunch before glass explodes into tiny bits around him.

He lets out a string of curses as blood smears his tattooed knuckles, dripping onto the steaming pavement.

He stares into nothing, panting like a rage-fueled caged animal.

It’s almost impossible to breathe. Every time I do, it’s a reminder that our dad isn’t and that’s not fucking fair.

We’re all a wreck, each of us unraveling in our own fucked-up way. How the hell are we supposed to move on from this? How are we supposed to act like our world hasn’t been torn apart?

This isn’t just grief. It’s worse. A vicious wound that will never stop bleeding.

I keep thinking about what my father would do if it were one of us. No matter how many times it crosses my mind, I keep coming up with the same answer.

He wouldn’t stop until he got revenge on the person responsible. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

When we can no longer see gold, the diggers silently leave, and I allow myself to inhale. At least he’s with the love of his life now. They’re together again, like they were always meant to be.

“We’re going to find out who it was,” I finally announce, my voice low and lethal. My brothers hear me. I know they do. I feel their tension, their simmering rage barely contained beneath the surface. “And we’re going to destroy them like the Savages we are.”

Silence.

But it’s not the peaceful kind. It’s the crackling, volatile kind, on the verge of detonating.

No one answers, but I don’t need their words. I can feel it. Their loyalty to our father is enough to know they are with me.

We may be Savages by blood, but we’re about to become monsters by choice.

Whoever dared to cross our family has no idea what hell they’ve unleashed upon themselves.

But they will.

We won’t stop.

God may offer mercy.

But I won’t.