Cruel Vows (Killers of Port Wylde #1)

1. Lilly St. Clair

ONE

LILLY ST. CLAIR

I walk these halls every day, every night, and still, they never get any less intimidating.

Any less ominous. Foreboding. Downright spooky, too.

But the difference between us and them is, well, the residents know the spook factor—that creeping pit in the center of your chest that refuses to go away, that racing heartbeat and heavy weight in your stomach that makes you feel queasy, the glue that forms on the bottoms of your shoes and slows your footsteps—it's all caused by the people who roam these halls.

The shadows you see are only a fraction of the shadows housed here, and it's the ones you can't see that you should fear.

I've been killing people for as long as I can remember, starting with my parents when I was eleven.

They had it coming, honestly. The man I'd been forced to call father beat me every chance he got, and my mom, too.

He was a lousy drunk and a pedophile of the highest order, and when my tits started to grow in, I finally got to see his teeth. Got to see him for what he really was.

Scum of the earth. A vile creature. Not worth the air he breathed.

And so, when my mother dared to stand in front of the pistol I wielded, the one I'd found at the bottom of his sock drawer, wrapped all nice and neat in a pair of her stockings, I shot her, too.

Good riddance to them both.

I wandered the streets as an urchin, surviving off whatever scraps I could find, stealing what wasn't offered, and learning the ways of the perpetual criminal until I turned sixteen.

Then, I found them. A group of people with similar pasts to my own, dark upbringings that made them into some of the most hardened, jaded criminals I'd ever met. And they taught me things I'll never speak on. Things I shouldn't have been learning at such a tender age.

And they made me who I am today.

We started The Guild in the seedy back alleys of Port Wylde, slumming it wherever we could, whenever we could, blending into the shadows and avoiding the cops.

Hell, after a point, we did more for the genuine good citizens than the actual police did.

But we grew restless, and so did the city—understandable, with a pack of infamous criminals roaming the streets at night.

So the city council got together and decided to give us a home, provided we agreed to stay in it when we weren't conducting business.

The Asylum.

Out of commission for years, the asylum was a massive building with peeling paint, broken windows, and a cracked and sinking foundation.

But it was a home, one we didn't have to leave when the owners found out we were in it.

And when they signed the deed over to us, we formed The Guild, a business entity allowed to run within the confines of our own laws and regulations, of which we had none.

We instated dues and took donations, and within a year, we transformed that shabby place into an airtight, if still abysmal, functioning home. We got public utilities, patched the holes in the walls, and even installed new windows in spots. It wasn't the Taj Mahal, but it was ours.

But it wasn't long before a normie, your average Port Wylde citizen, stumbled upon us and our lack of rules and ruined it for the rest of the group.