Chapter Two
Slade Whitaker kindled the feral hatred within him but kept it suppressed, displaying only enough to leave him with a silent, lethal look on his face. He knew that the two men on either side of him, Cian Henderson and Lachlan Grant, who were held in the same cell as him, separated by thick stone walls, were experiencing the same red-hot rage, but they were also containing it, keeping it simmering just beneath the surface. Hidden for when the time was right.
They were still superior to every individual in this dungeon despite being imprisoned and having their ankles shackled.
Slade, Cian, and Lachlan hadn’t known Swan House existed until two weeks ago. They knew nothing about their so-called heritage since then, either. Why the fuck would they care about things that happened hundreds of years ago? They were self-made, rising from the dumps of the world to sit on thrones of their own making. Their history started with them and no one else, past or future.
When Slade was six years old, his parents disappeared, leaving him to fend for himself in a trailer park. His uncle, who let him sleep in a tattered sleeping bag outside his trailer, fed him scrapes from his plate and nothing more—just enough to keep Slade alive.
All three of them, Slade, Cian, and Lachlan, had been born to loser parents in the same decrepit trailer park and raised themselves. Because they were the only three boys around, they developed a unique, inseparable bond from day one. They were invincible, ready to lay down their lives for each other without question.
Whatever they managed to steal was shared among them, big or small, relevant or not; one hot dog off Old Jimmy’s food stand in the small neighboring town or six, they shared it evenly.
By the age of fourteen, they were already nearing six feet tall and feared nothing. An ex-vet had taught them deadly skills with knives and coached them in hand-to-hand combat in exchange for them building him a small log cabin in the park and a ramp so his wife could move around more easily.
The education they received from going to school—most days at least—was supplemented by what they learned from an eccentric man who looked like Einstein and who walked around in the same raggedy suit every day of the year.
He said he was once a professor of economics at a prestigious university, and since his trailer was filled from top to bottom with books on the subject, they gave him the benefit of the doubt and listened to his lectures about a variety of things, from economics to arts and literature.
He was fucking smart, and he passed on his knowledge. It was just as well that he was a drunk who really liked the sound of his voice and asked only for an audience.
They honed their bodies in the same manner as they honed their minds, instinctively understanding that they were destined for greater things. It wasn’t long before they’d earned themselves a reputation in the trailer park.
When they turned fifteen, they had the heads of three dragons tattooed on each of their chests. The artist didn’t bother with their ages or whether they had their families’ permission. But having those tattoos was important to them. The trailer park that made them the men they were was called Three Dragons Peak.
But there had also been a fourth member of their group who they vowed to protect with their lives and who became their first and only priority. It soon became apparent to them, however, that they needed help, and that’s when they struck a deal with Lady Lydia, a newcomer to the park. She was a fortune teller who lived in a nice little trailer but who was being harassed by a group of thugs, beating her up and stealing the cash she made from telling fortunes and selling her good luck potions.
They offered her protection in exchange for her help. But, one night her trailer burst into flames.
They’d been too late to save her, and that day, they’d lost all the love they’d managed to rummage up inside them. From that moment on, they became the ruthless men they were today.
The property on which the park had stood was sold, and everyone was evicted. It had been that small act that had prompted Slade, Cian, and Lachlan to take on the world. They had just turned eighteen and worked their asses off. Two jobs a day. And at night, they offered their services as bodyguards to anyone willing to pay. Their clientele was mostly crime lords, but it paid the rent, and they kept their heads down when falling into a life of crime would have been so much easier.
They bought stocks that rose steadily. They invested in real estate and dabbled in agriculture and pharmaceuticals, and soon, they had a share of almost everything the world had to offer. But it was their investment in a tech company that set them apart.
Individually, it might have taken them longer, but they’d pooled together their talents, their viciousness, and their prowess, and between the three of them, it took them ten years to become ruthless multi-billionaires.
There was never a shortage of anything. Not power, money, or women. But the day they bought back the land on which Three Dragons Peak had once stood, it felt as if there was nothing left to do.
Until this…
Slade clenched his jaw as his glare roved around the people in front of him, feeling the flames of Lady Lydia’s trailer on his face as if it were happening right before his eyes again.
Then he slowly centered his gaze on only one single thing in the fucked-up dungeon of Swan House. Everyone else was going to die a horrific death at their bare hands; no face was forgotten, but she...
The dark-haired, hazel-eyed, ethereal beauty, with her perfect symmetry and soft curves that not even her modest dress could hide—the one who staggered back from them in fear—was going to die the slowest.
He flexed his hand as if he could feel the porcelain smoothness of the skin of her throat against his palm as he slowly squeezed the life out of her. He’d watch the light flicker from her eyes, pieces of her diminished pride slip out of her with every breath she struggled to take before he ended her. And she knew it. She could sense his hatred through the enigmatic expression on his face. She knew they were going to kill her.
How fucking dare her family bring them down to their knees, making them their fuck slaves because they still believed in some ancient useless rite that had no place in this day and age. Yet here they were, chained in their cells.
He brushed aside the shift inside him as his gaze remained on her, hardening his eyes as he quelled the heat suddenly rising from his veins and filled them with cold, harsh, and cruel fury.
Maybe they wouldn’t kill her. Maybe they would make her suffer first while her family looked on before they ended her life and then theirs. Either way, Swan House was going to pay for what they’d done to them.
The muscles in Slade’s back flexed with fury. He gritted his teeth so hard that his head started to pound. They’d gotten soft. No. They were taken by surprise. They made all the money in the world. Three Dragons Peak belonged to them. There was nothing more to do, and they’d taken their eye off the ball.
They wouldn’t have seen Swan House coming if they were a nuclear bomb, and in that one second, Chester Swan, her father, and his fucking council of cronies had fucked them over with a dandelion.
A dandelion.