Page 4 of Sons of Hellfire (Hellfire Society #1)

four

Cash

“This is important, you little shit. This needs to be our family’s year. It’s time that the Grants take charge and lead the Hellfire Society into a new reign. I have big plans for us, and I need you to focus. The trial is a week away.” He hisses, spit flying at me as his annoyance rises.

It takes everything in me not to push his buttons more by smirking.

“I know, Father, but what else can I do? In the last five years, I’ve dedicated myself to training.

I’m ready.” I tell him because it’s true.

The man himself, my father, has been training me since I was a kid.

Now at twenty-five, I’m old enough to run the trials.

My father comes from a line of Grant men who have all proven their worth through the Hellfire Trials, a secret society of men from three very powerful families that run a bunch of shady shit.

You have the Grants, my family, who run the finances.

We clean the dirty money the other two make.

The Parkers run the guns and drugs in and out of California.

They have a network of smaller fish that do their bidding.

Lastly, the Castros. They run the skins.

With clubs up and down, California and Nevada.

Whoever said sex is money was a smart man. Together we make the Hellfire Society.

“What else can you do? You can take this seriously. You know as well as I do that the other two families will play just as dirty to claim the title as head. The Castros need to be taken down a peg. Both families do.” I open my mouth to ask why now, but he just continues on.

“I know you are friends with those two boys of theirs, but I can guarantee that their fathers are telling them the same thing. There is no such thing as friends in this world. Someone will always be out to take what you have. I need to know that you will be able to make the hard decisions during the trials. They are not your friends, Cash; they will be in it to win just like you. On top of them, you will have to deal with all the other volunteers that enter. I’ve already told you, in order to take your place in the Grant family empire or even the Hellfire empire, you will need to strike first.”

I take in his words when he finishes his rant.

Trying to fully comprehend what he is saying.

He’s right that me, Riot Parker, and Arsen Castro have all been best friends.

Our fathers would have us train together, our mother’s best friends, but now he is asking me to take out my best friends. My brothers. This doesn’t feel right.

“Is something going on that I don’t know about?” I ask, keeping my face neutral. Showing emotions to my father is like baiting a shark to bite. He scoffs like I’m a child asking a stupid question.

“Something is at play. Rumors have spread that one of us is trying to push the other two out. Which, I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve thought about it a time or two, but the three families work.

If one falls, the other two can pick up the slack.

I’ve been friends with Henry and William long before you three were born, and it hasn’t always been smooth business, but I also wouldn’t put it past them.

Taking out the heir of another family is fair game in the trials.

No one would bat an eye, and rules state; no repercussions can come from it.

So, watch your back around your friends .

” He spits the word friends like he hasn’t watched Riot and Arsen grow up alongside me.

“Remember–keep your friends close but your enemies closer.” He says this all matter-of-factly.

But something doesn’t sit right with me.

The way he is pushing this is like I should kill first, ask questions later.

It’s wrong.

All wrong .

I don’t voice it. I know better, but it makes me sick to think that what my father is saying has any merit. I need to speak with Riot and Arsen. We have a bond beyond all others. We don’t lie to each other.

“Is that all, Father?” I ask, leaning forward to stand. I stare at him as he stares at me, searching, but I give nothing away. He nods his head to the door, a clear dismissal, as he picks up his phone and makes a call, all while watching me leave.

This man, James Grant, my father, is playing a dangerous game. Now I need to figure out what it is and how to win.

T he moment I leave my father’s office, I’m pulling out my phone.

ME: Meet up?

ARSEN: I’m there. Where?

RIOT: Give me 5 in the middle of something.

RIOT: *picture of Riot balls deep in some chick from behind*

ME: Seriously, Riot?

ARSEN: Hey, is that Layla from the club?

RIOT: No idea, shitty in bed.

ME: Finish already!

ARSEN: How’s the blow job game?

RIOT: 2/10 wouldn’t recommend, no suction at all.

ARSEN: Damn.

ME: Don’t encourage him, Arsen. I’m headed to yours.

ME: Just had an interesting conversation with James.

ARSEN: Kay

RIOT: On my way.

I shake my head at my brothers’ antics as I head for my car.

The one thing our grandfathers did right was move all three families into one close area.

We have a bit of land between us all, but we have always been close enough to ride our bikes to one another growing up.

So, it only takes a ten-minute cruise down the road when I’m pulling up to Arsen’s place.

The man himself is already waiting on the steps as I pull in to park.

Exiting my vehicle, I make my way to the house.

Arsen Castro has been one of my best friends since we were babies.

I was born a year earlier than both him and Riot.

Arsen is 6 feet something, has dark brown hair tipped in red, and has eyes the color of storm clouds.

He’s wearing his signature leather jacket, his lighter in hand as he flips it open and closed.

A nervous habit he picked up a few years ago.

The guy is a pyromaniac, and it’s laughable because of his namesake.

Our parents must have had a funny bone somewhere when they named us.

My father named me Cash because he likes money.

Ironic really. Arsen is addicted to setting things on fire.

Need a body burnt. He’s your man. Riot is simply crazy.

It’s the only way to describe him. The guy should be in a psych ward.

He doesn’t give a fuck what is happening.

He would jump off a building for fun if you dared him.

I swear he has death on his side because he’s escaped the clutches of the grim reaper multiple times .

Speaking of the devil, the man himself comes speeding in on his bike, gravel spitting everywhere as he does a donut before pulling up next to my car and parking. The bastard isn’t even wearing a fucking helmet.

“Damn. I thought I was going to beat you here.” He grins, eyes wide, as he jogs towards us.

“Almost did. I just got here.” I tell him. Nodding my head toward the house, I know this conversation is best had in Arsen’s room with a signal jammer in place.

“Hold up. I was out here for another reason. A new volunteer is coming in, and William wanted me to make sure they got her.” He rolls his eyes as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.

His phone must have been on silent because I didn’t hear it ring as he answered the call.

“Yes. Alright. Yeah, pull around back. I’ll meet you there.

” Arsen lets out a sigh. “Apparently, there was an issue with the pickup.” He shrugs before heading down the porch and veering off to the side.

“What kind of issue?” I ask, following behind. Riot tags along, whistling some tone I don’t know.

“No idea, but it couldn’t be that bad if they brought whoever they were supposed to pick up,” he calls back. It’s dark out, but there’s enough moonlight as we trail along the side of the house, Arsen flipping his lighter open and closed.

A car is pulling up to the back garage right as we round the corner. Two big dudes exit the vehicle, one holding a cloth to his face, the other looking annoyed. “What happened?” Arsen snaps, frowning as we approach the men now standing at the trunk of the SUV.

“We went to grab the bitch your dad told us to get, but she started screaming.” The one not holding a bloody rag to his face shrugs.

“You know the rules. It’s our asses if we don’t bring a “volunteer” back.

” I almost snort at that. We all know that most of the people in the trials didn’t volunteer for shit.

They typically owe one of the families’ money and are forced to play.

Some do join for the bloodsport part of it or to prove to the families you are worthy of doing business with us.

“Her screaming caught some other chick’s attention.

We told her to get lost, but man, does she have some balls.

We decided she would be more fun in the games with her sassy mouth, but we didn’t expect her to fight back when we tried to grab her.

” Riot perks up at this. “She booted Mike here in the face. Broke his fucking nose before we could dose her.” The guy holding his face still grumbles under his breath as he glares at the trunk .

“Well, let’s meet this little beastie.” Riot all but bounces on his toes, eyes gleaming with excitement. Psycho.

The non-bloody guy pulls out keys from his pocket as he looks up at the three of us.

“You might want to take a step back.” I roll my eyes but step back, as do the other two.

Finally, the guy, not Mike, hits a button, and the trunk opens automatically.

When I don’t hear any crying, screaming, or begging, I frown.

The guy steps forward, reaching for whoever is laying in there.

“Guess she’s still drug-“ Before he can finish his sentence, a whirlwind of movement flies from the back and tackles the man to the ground.

Both go flying into the gravel. I try to take in the scene, but the next thing I know, Mike is kicking the woman attacking his friend in the side of the head, and she goes flying to the ground a few feet away, unmoving.

What the fuck just happened, and who the fuck is this chick?