12. Twelve
12
TWELVE
ARCHER
I hated the city.
Downtown New York City was a cesspool of people, traffic, and trash. My father called me in for a meeting, and he wasn't a man you said no to.
Cassian King.
The King of New York City. And also the man running for governor. Elections were coming up, and he was working extra hard to campaign.
As I walked into my father's office on the top floor of a towering skyscraper, I couldn't help but feel suffocated by the stale air and oppressive weight of the concrete jungle outside. The immaculate furnishings and sleek, modern design only served to magnify my discomfort. My father sat behind his massive desk, his stern gaze fixed upon me.
"Sit," he commanded with his deep, authoritative voice. I obliged, sitting on the stiff leather chair across from him. His eyes bore into me, slicing through any pretense I might have held.
"I understand that you despise this city," my father began, his voice tinged with an unexpected softness. "But you must also understand that this place holds our legacy. Our family built an empire here."
I sighed inwardly, suppressing the flicker of rebellion that danced within me. The weight of my father's expectations was suffocating, just like this city.
"Where are you at with the Grey girl?"
"I'm making progress," I answered, short and sweet.
"Making progress? You do realize we are in a time crunch here."
"I am aware, Father. But things like this don't just happen overnight. I don't tell you how to do your job; I sure as hell don't need you telling me how to do mine."
My father's eyes narrowed, a glint of steel in his gaze. "Watch your tongue, Son. Remember who you're talking to."
I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to lash out. It was a dance we had perfected over the years—his power and authority versus my rebellious spirit. But I couldn't afford to let that spirit consume me this time.
"Apologies," I mumbled, barely audible. "I'll step up my efforts with the Grey girl."
He leaned back in his chair, studying me intensely. "You know she holds the key to winning this election, right?"
I nodded reluctantly. The Grey family was influential, wealthy, and well connected. If I could secure my position next to Mila, I could control her and, in doing so, gain access to her father. Make it look like an accident.
"She's smart. I have to play my cards right, or I'll never get close to Daddy dearest," I reminded him, my voice firm. "I'm working on building a genuine connection with her. It takes time."
My father sighed, frustration evident in the lines etched upon his face. He leaned forward, his hands clasped together as if trying to contain the simmering impatience within him.
"You know I don't have time for your sentimental games, Son," he growled, his voice dripping with disdain. "We need her on our side before the election. No excuses."
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. My father had always been an embodiment of ambition and ruthlessness, never one to understand the complexities of human emotions. He saw everything and everyone as mere pawns in his grand scheme to gain power.
"I'm not playing games, Father," I argued, my tone steady. "I understand the stakes involved here. I'll do what needs to be done."
His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me for a moment as if searching for any signs of weakness or hesitation. Finally, he seemed to relent, leaning back in his chair.
"Fine," he conceded begrudgingly. "But do not disappoint me. I expect to see you with the Grey girl on your arm by the next campaign event."
"That's in three weeks."
"Then you better start working twice as hard," he sneered, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Oh, and you and the boys are needed to infiltrate a warehouse in Chinatown. The word is that they have a sizable shipment of our guns that they stole from us a couple of weeks ago. Ozzie has the details, but I need this to happen quickly before they move them again. The car will take you to the safe house. Get in and get out. Leave no survivors. I want to send a message to these bastards that when you steal from The Brotherhood, we will destroy you."
"You got it."
As I left my father's office, his expectations pressed heavily upon my shoulders. I had always been the dutiful son, obeying his every command without question. But this time, something within me stirred a rebellious spirit that refused to be tamed by the suffocating grip of power and ambition.
Outside, the city's chaos greeted me with an onslaught of noise and movement. I took a deep breath, hoping to find solace amidst the cacophony. The streets were filled with people rushing about their lives. Each one lost in their own battles and ambitions. It was in this sea of anonymity that I sought refuge.
I checked my phone and saw that Mila had texted me. I opened up the GPS tracker I installed on her phone and saw that she was home .
Good girl.
I was about to text her back when Ozzie slapped me on the back. "Oi, I haven't seen you in a bit! You ready to knock some skulls together?"
"Always."
"That's my boy! Let's get you to the house."
I followed Ozzie into the black Suburban and sat beside Kai and Theo.
"How'd it go?" Kai asked.
"As well as you'd expect."
"What'd he say?"
"He wants me to speed up my relationship with Mila."
"Well, that won't be hard. You still have her cum on your dick. I assume she's your pick for The Hunt, then? If not, can I have her?"
I turned my head and glared at him. "What the fuck? Do you honestly think I'd let your diseased dick go anywhere near her?"
"Hey man, that was one time. That chick told me she was clean." Kai threw his hands up in protest.
"She's mine."
"Okay, okay. But I can't help it if she wants a taste of Theo or me."
"Hey, don't bring me into this!" Theo laughed, amused tears filling his green eyes. "I haven't even seen the chick."
"I'll cut your dick off and feed it to you. That goes for the both of you," I warned.
Kai Montgomery and Theo West were my brothers in every sense except blood. Our fathers, the current leaders of The Brotherhood, raised us to be ruthless and loyal. We grew up together, indulging in vices and committing heinous acts without hesitation. The Hunt was our twisted form of bonding, a reward for our sacrifices for our families. And one day, we would pass on this legacy of power and control to our own sons and their sons, continuing the reign of terror for generations to come. Our families owned New York, manipulating every aspect of society through strategic integration into different industries—politics, stock market, law enforcement—all serving to maintain our iron grip on the city while trafficking guns with no resistance. This was our birthright, our duty, and we reveled in it without remorse or regret.
"Let's just get this shit done so we can get the fuck home," I grumbled, laying my head against the window, preparing myself for the bloodshed and mayhem that was sure to bring my spirits up.
Silently, I stalked through the warehouse, my blade slicing through flesh and my bullets piercing skulls. Each kill brought me a sense of twisted euphoria, like a drug coursing through my veins. Murder was in my blood, a legacy passed down from my father and The Brotherhood.
They had created a monster, and I savored it.
There was no point in fighting against my nature, so I embraced it wholeheartedly. Behind the facade of a loyal son and heir to the empire, I was a ruthless killer, poised to take control of the kingdom with an iron fist. My father's dreams of political power meant nothing to me; all that mattered was the thrill of death and destruction as I carved my own path to dominance. Any hope for redemption or salvation for my dark soul died long ago. Now, all that remained was a cold-blooded killer, ready to do whatever it took to maintain my grip on power. But those thoughts were for another day—in this warehouse, all that mattered was savoring the sweet taste of blood on my lips as I ruthlessly eliminated any threats to my reign.
As I prepared for another kill, I couldn't help but marvel at the sinister beauty of the carnage surrounding me. The echoes of gunfire and screams filled the air, but I was entranced by the rhythm of the battle. I felt invincible, as if I had the divine power to control life and death. The night had become my playground, and the bodies of my enemies were merely trophies.
I was a god among mortals, and my dominance would be absolute. The whispered rumors of my ruthlessness only added to my allure, turning me into a legend in my own right. And as I stepped over the lifeless bodies of my foes, I knew that there was no turning back.
The world was mine for the taking, and I would claim it as my own in a blaze of blood and fire. The path to power was paved with blood, and it was my blood, my legacy that would be forever stained in the annals of history. I was the harbinger of death, the bringer of chaos, and the embodiment of fear. In this world of darkness, I reveled in the role I played, and I would continue to rule with an iron fist, forever embracing the monster within and the darkness that enveloped me.
For this was my kingdom now, and I would be its undying sovereign.