Made For Death (The Sovereign #1)

Chapter 1 Priest

Iadjust the rifle slung across my back, boots pounding asphalt as I cut through the alley behind the warehouse. Raze is already ahead, that psychotic grin on his face as he tosses a grenade through a busted window.

It blows, ripping half the wall apart. The fireball lights up the sky. Screams follow.

I click into the comms. “All units, move in.”

Metal crunches under my boot as the force of my kick snaps the door frame. I’m inside before the noise dies, gun raised, already moving.

“Thames dies tonight.”

Gunfire erupts—idiots trying to defend their boss. I drop two before I hit cover. Blood sprays. One twitches. I shoot him again just to watch him stop.

“Split and sweep,” I bark into the comm. “Torch the exits. Not one of these fucking bastards leaves.”

Raze’s deranged laughter cracks through my earpiece. He’s a bloodthirsty bastard, exactly the second-in-command you need in a slaughter like this.

I reload and stalk deeper into the building. This is what I’m made for—killing rats in holes. I don’t feel adrenaline. I don’t feel shit. Just the void of a man born in hell, raised on violence, built to destroy.

I move toward a distant door, unloading death with every step. A figure lunges from the shadows, knife flashing. Ducking, I pivot and smash a roundhouse kick into his jaw, bone crunching beneath my steel-toed boot. He collapses. One bullet to the back makes sure he stays down.

I press on, navigating the maze of corridors. Near the back a crash echoes, and I raise my rifle, inching closer. Rounding a corner, a body slams into me, sending my rifle clattering across the cement floor.

A fist swings, nearly catching my jaw. I lurch forward, driving my knee into my attacker’s gut. They stumble, and I seize the moment, pinning them against the wall. My forearm presses into their throat, cutting off air. Their green eyes blaze.

What the hell?

Not a man. A woman, face half-covered by a mask, nails raking my arm as she fights my grip on her windpipe.I squeeze harder, drinking in the fear in her eyes, the fight in her limbs.Then—out of nowhere—a sharp cry behind me. I glance over my shoulder.

A kid?

Cowering in the corner.

She uses the split-second distraction. Elbow to my ribs, knee to my thigh, teeth to my shoulder. She moves like a feral thing, biting, kicking, clawing. Not trained. Not professional. But desperate and fucking fast.

I slam her down, pinning her to the concrete. She thrashes beneath me, smaller than I expected. Her mask slips slightly, exposing flushed skin, sharp cheekbones.

I press my hand to her throat. “Wrong fucking night to play hero.”

Her elbow slams into my ribs. Pain detonates in my chest.

“Fuck.” My grip slips.

She tears free, snatching the knife. In one vicious motion, she thrusts it toward my throat—I twist just in time. The blade misses its mark, diving deep into my shoulder instead. White-hot pain flares. I stagger back, and she’s already dragging the kid, bloody knife in hand.

This bitch is dead.

I take off after her, ignoring the blood soaking my shirt and vest. My boots hammer the floor, the warehouse a blur of shadow and smoke.

“You can run. But you can’t fucking hide.”

She slams through a side door. A bullet cracks and her scream shreds through the air as she hits the ground, blood spraying from her side.

“Grab him!” someone shouts as the boy tumbles from her arms.

A man lunges. She’s on her knees, barely upright. One shot—perfect aim. His skull explodes, and he collapses. She’s losing blood fast as she crawls to the kid, shielding him with her body.

More of Thames’s men storm in. I fire, dropping two. She’s still in my sights. She’s not getting out of here alive.

Then—her gun’s up, aimed straight at my chest.

“One more step,” she hisses, “and I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

“You’re bleeding out. You can barely hold that.”

“Wanna test it?”

Her arms shake. Blood is seeping through her fingers. She’s seconds from collapsing.

I lunge.

She fires—misses.

I tackle her to the ground, driving my knee into her ribs, and she screams. I rip the mask from her face, revealing striking features, her dark green eyes filled with hatred.

She spits—blood and saliva splattering across my cheek. My fist drives into her gut. Her body folds with a choked gasp, air ripped from her lungs. I wrench the Glock from her fingers before she can recover.

“Any last words?”

She coughs, blood painting her lips. Then she smiles.

“This place blows in under two minutes. I planted bombs.”

I freeze. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Two. Minutes.”

No fucking way. “All units, evac now!” I shout into my comm, spinning away.

“Wait!” she shouts desperately behind me. “Take him! Please! He’s just a kid!”

I shove through the exit. More Sovereigns flood out with me, sprinting for cover.

“Move!” I roar.

I’m barely clear when the warehouse erupts behind us. The blast hurls me forward, heat and debris chasing us into the dirt.

“One eight-seven! One-eight-seven! Get the fuck up!”

The shout punches through the ringing in my ears, slicing straight through my skull.

No. Not now. Not fucking now.

I grit my teeth and shake my head hard, trying to dislodge the roar building behind my eyes. My hand clenches into a fist at my side until the tremor dulls, knuckles cracking with pressure.

I drag myself upright, glass crunching under my boots, metal digging into my skin. Smoke coils through the warehouse remains. Sovereign operatives stagger out; burned, bloodied, coughing up ash.

“Fucking intel,” Raze snarls, limping toward me. “I’m blowing someone’s head off for this. They had weeks to get this right.” He swipes debris off his shoulder, face twisted with rage.

I don’t respond. Just shove a stick of mint gum between my teeth. My hand trembles slightly as I unwrap it. I bite down. Hard. Blood drips down my arm and my shoulder screams.

It wasn’t intel. It was her.

Raze keeps ranting, but I’m not listening. My eyes crawl over the wreckage—twisted metal, charred bodies half-buried in rubble. The smell is thick with blood, ash, and burning steel.

We need to get out before the cops swarm this disaster. I have zero fucking patience to deal with them.

“Boss?” Raze’s voice cuts through the ringing in my ear.

“Find Thames’s body,” I snap, eyes still sweeping the wreckage.

A cough slices through the silence.

I turn.

She’s slumped in the alley, coated in blood and ash, one arm clutched around the boy. Her other hand presses against her shredded side, trying to keep her insides from spilling out. Barely breathing, but she’s alive.

Fucking unbelievable.

Her head jerks up at the sound of my boots crunching glass. Her grip tightens around the kid as she forces herself upright.

“You. Get the fuck away.” A blade glints in her trembling hand. Pathetic.

“Drop it, you little cunt.” I move closer. “It’s over.”

Her chest heaves, and the knife wobbles as she lifts it. “Go to hell and leave us alone.” Each word drains her.

I take my time stepping in. Let her feel it.

“I will fucking gut you,” she hisses.

If my shoulder didn’t feel like it was on fire, I could laugh. She slashes—sloppy. I sidestep and drive my fist into her bullet wound. Her scream rips through the air as she crashes to the ground.

The kid starts wailing again.

“Shut the fuck up, or you’re next.” I yank her up by the throat—she weighs nothing. Slamming her into the wall, her skull cracks back with a dull thud. She goes limp in my grip.

My comm crackles with noise, but I ignore it.

“If you take the boy…to Hudson’s Law…” she rasps, blood leaking from her lips, “…I’ll tell you where Thames is.”

I freeze.

“Thames is dead.”

She coughs, glaring. “No. I heard him leave before the explosion. I know where he went.” A black beanie hides her hair, but her eyes—green and hateful—lock on mine.

Lying bitch. I tighten my grip on her throat, her pulse fluttering under my fingers.

I lean close, letting her feel just how easy it’d be for me to crush her windpipe.

“I’d rather watch you bleed out.”

Her pulse hammers under my grip. That flicker of fear—that’s what I want. I shift my thumb, ready to end her—when I hear footsteps behind me.

“Wait.” Raze’s voice is closer now.

I don’t look back.

“She’s bluffing. She’s wasting our fucking time.”

“I don’t think she is,” he says, stepping in beside me. His eyes flick to her and then the kid. “We got no ID on his body. If she knows where he went, we can’t risk losing her. We track him again, we lose days. Weeks. And he disappears.”

My fingers twitch with the urge to feel that final snap of bone.

“She’ll bleed out before she talks,” Raze adds. “You want answers, you better keep her alive long enough to scream them.”

I clench my jaw, but step back, shoving her body down hard. She hits the pavement choking and gasping for air.

Raze doesn’t waste time. He jerks the boy up by the arm. “I’ll take the kid to Hudson’s. You take the bitch to the nearest safe house. Patch her up. Pump her with whatever it takes to keep her talking. Just get us Thames.”

He turns with the boy in tow, barking orders at the remaining men as they scatter into vehicles. Sirens echo in the distance.

We’re out of fucking time.

I drag her half-conscious body to the armored SUV, throw her in, and slam the door.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, her weak coughs claw at my ears.

I shove the SUV into gear and tear off down the alley.

She groans, slumping sideways. Bleeding all over the seat.

Worthless stray. She better stay alive long enough to give me Thames’s location.

If she dies before she opens her mouth, I’ll hack her into pieces just for wasting my goddamn time.

“Stay the fuck awake.”

She doesn’t respond.

I fish out a Sovereign med kit from the glove box and slam the brakes. Pulling over, I rip the back door open and drag her across the seats. Her body’s limp, eyes rolling, skin ghost-white.

I inject a shot of adrenaline straight into her thigh. She screams and her eyes snap open. Digging through the kit, I find a field-grade coagulant, and jab it into the bullet wound. She writhes, blood bubbling between her teeth.

“You’re not dying until you give me what I want. And then I’ll fucking end you.”

Climbing back into the front, I ignore her sobs.The next corner comes fast—tires shrieking, the SUV fishtailing before gripping back onto asphalt. Nearest Sovereign safe house is five minutes out.

The Sovereign. We’re not just feared. We’re a nightmare with a pulse. The world’s bloodiest organization of assassins, hidden in plain sight. The ones who make power bleed and kneel. We don’t leave traces. We leave scars.

Governments don’t challenge us because we are the government. We are the law—judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one, our reach extending into every corner of society.

Split into five global sections: North, East Coast, West Coast, South, and Europe.

Each ruled by a High Chancellor and Commanders who’d slit your throat with one hand and sign your pardon with the other.

The South belongs to Sterling, the High Chancellor.

My maker. Not my father. That word implies something human.

I’m the heir to the whole goddamn South, but I’ll never be his fucking legacy.

I didn’t inherit my rank. No one does. You fight, bleed, and crawl through death for it. I clawed my way to General, soaked in more blood than I’ll ever confess. I didn’t rise through the ranks—I tore them down and built my own.

And I’m still climbing.

Still carving.

Because in the Sovereign, survival’s not the prize. It’s the punishment.