Sacrifice (West Coast Inkverse #6)

Prologue

Nero

Echo Beach, a Long Time Ago…

The neon lights of Echo Beach claw at the evening sky, painting it in strokes of sin and promise. I weave through the crowd on the downtown strip, a half-hearted smile plastered to my face.

I’m a Rossi, and around here, that name carries weight—a weight I’d rather shrug off. It’s not that I don’t care about the family business; I just prefer to spend the old man’s cash without getting my hands too dirty.

“Hey, Nero!” A familiar voice slices through the pulsating music, and I turn to see a couple of women eyeing me like I’m dessert. They’re all curves and confidence, their smiles laced with mischief.

“Looking good,” one purrs as I sidle over to them, her eyes raking over me like she’s assessing a prized stallion.

“Can’t say the same for you,” I shoot back with a smirk. “You look…well, better than good. Fucking delicious.”

They laugh, and I can tell they’re into it—the game, the flirtation. It’s easy, this dance of words and winks.

But then, one of them slips something into my hand—something small and illicit, promising a night without inhibitions.

And I’ve never been handed a drug I didn’t take.

“Try this,” she whispers, leaning close enough that I catch the scent of her perfume mixed with the salty tang of the beach air. “It’ll make the night unforgettable.”

The pill tastes like nothing on my tongue, chased down by the burn of cheap tequila. I give it an hour, tops.

That’s all it takes before colors start to bleed into each other, lights streaking across my vision like shooting stars.

“Whoa,” I murmur, more to myself than to anyone else as the bass from the speakers throbs in my chest, syncing up with my heartbeat. The world tilts, but I don’t fight it. Instead, I let the waves of sound and disorientation pull me under, drowning in the sensory overload.

It’s like I can feel every pair of eyes on me, every whisper of fabric against skin as bodies press close. I’m a Rossi, yeah, but right now, I’m just another reveler caught in the undertow of Echo Beach’s nightlife.

“Come dance,” a voice says, or maybe I imagine it. But I’m already moving, finding the rhythm in the chaos, letting my body take over where my mind checks out. Two betas wait, their dresses setting off a riot of color that makes me dizzy.

Our dance is a mess of limbs and laughter, and when they lean in to kiss me, I don’t hesitate. Their lips are soft, pliant under mine, and the kiss is anything but chaste. We’re making a scene, but who cares? This is Echo Beach, where secrets spill out under neon lights and get lost in the roar of the tide.

“Hey, Nero,” another voice breaks in, breathless with dancing or desire—I can’t tell which, and I don’t care. “How about we take this somewhere private?”

“Sounds like a plan,” I reply, pulling back from the kiss with a grin.

“Both of us?” the beta asks, a challenge in their voice that sends anticipation skittering down my spine.

“Absolutely.” My lips twitch into a cocky smile, heart racing. A threesome isn’t exactly uncharted territory for me.

“Lead the way then,” they say, hands finding mine, guiding me through the throng of bodies.

I don’t know their names, and I don’t ask. Names make it real, and nothing tonight is supposed to be real. It’s all just a game, a reprieve from the life waiting for me once the sun comes up.

But for now, I allow myself to be led, swallowed up by the promise of pleasure without consequences—as fleeting as the high coursing through my veins.

The cool night air hits my face as we spill out of the club and into the dimly lit streets. The betas’ hands are still entangled with mine, their laughter a melody that dances over the hum of the city. We weave through the crowd, their bodies close enough to feel the heat radiating off of them.

“Where are we going?” I ask, the words slurring just a bit from the cocktail of drugs and alcohol still pulsing through me.

“Somewhere quiet,” one of them purrs, pulling me down an alley that veers off from the main strip.

“Sounds perfect,” I murmur, anticipation coiling tighter within me.

The alley twists and turns, and their hands slip from mine. The laughter fades, swallowed by the darkness that stretches out in front of me.

I’m alone, suddenly, the walls on either side of the alley closing in like a vise.

“Hey!” I call out, spinning around, trying to catch a glimpse of where they might have gone. “Where did you two go?”

Silence greets me, save for the distant throb of bass from the clubs we left behind. My heart pounds against my ribcage, not entirely from the drugs anymore. Panic begins to claw at my throat.

“Come on, this isn’t funny,” I say louder, hoping they’ll pop out from behind a dumpster, laughing at the trick they’ve pulled.

Instead, a shadow moves at the far end of the alley—a dark shape detaching itself from the wall. It’s coming towards me, silent and menacing. There’s no laughter in this; there’s no game.

“Who’s there?” My voice cracks, bravado faltering.

There’s no answer, just the steady approach of that dark figure. I can’t make out any details, just the certainty that whatever fun I thought I was having has turned sour.

“Alright, joke’s over!” I shout, but my voice echoes back at me, mocking and weak against the brick walls.

The darkness creeps closer, a silent predator, and I realize too late that I should have stayed in the light. I should have never let the shadows reel me in.

I turn and bolt, the soles of my shoes slapping against the damp pavement. I’m running blind, adrenaline surging through my veins, every shadow a potential hiding spot for whoever—or whatever—is after me.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter under my breath, my thoughts racing as fast as my feet. This is bad, this is so very bad. Not just the drugs, not just the paranoia—they’ve always been manageable.

But this?

This is a nightmare come to life.

A trash can clatters as I barrel past it, my shoulder grazing the metal. My breath comes in ragged gasps, and I can feel the burn in my lungs, the sting in my eyes from the cold night air.

There’s a sound behind me—a footstep? A whisper? It’s too close, and it sends a jolt of terror down my spine. Don’t look back, I tell myself. Just don’t look back.

Then, a hand grips my arm, yanking me backward. I stumble, my balance lost, and I’m spinning, falling—

“Let go!” I yell, flailing to break free from the iron grasp. The world tilts, but when I try to focus on the figure holding me, all I see are blurred edges, a faceless form that my mind refuses to define.

“Please—what do you want?” I gasp out, struggling as the grip tightens.

The drugs twist my perception, warping reality until I’m convinced that I’m not facing a man at all. It’s a monster, a creature born from the darkest pit of my imagination.

“Get off me!” My voice breaks with fear, raw and strangled. Every instinct screams at me to fight, to escape, but the terror has sunk its claws deep, paralyzing me.

“Please,” I choke out, my words barely audible over the pounding of my heart. “Please, don’t…”

But the darkness doesn’t answer, just closes in tighter, suffocating, relentless. And for a moment, I’m certain this is how I die—alone in an alley, at the hands of a nightmare.

But then, something snaps inside me.

I can’t die like this.

Not in Echo Beach…not on Rossi turf, where I should be safe. No, this is my world .

A primal fury bubbles up from my gut, and I lash out with a ferocity I didn’t know I had. My elbow connects with something solid—his face?—and there’s a gratifying crunch.

“Get off!” I roar, my voice a feral growl that bounces off the walls of the alley.

He staggers back, and I seize the moment. I’m on him before he can recover, fists flying in a blind panic. I hit anything I can—a jaw, a temple, the soft part of a throat. Each blow is a punctuation mark on my desperate need to survive. I don’t stop, not even when he falls to the ground. My hands are around his neck, squeezing, squeezing, because I can’t afford to hold back. Not now.

I’m crying, shouting, cursing until there’s silence. And the monster is still beneath me. Too still. Panic seizes me again as I realize what I’ve done. I’ve killed him.

I scramble away, chest heaving, hands shaking. That’s when I hear it—the piercing chime of a phone cutting through the silence.

I freeze. The sound is coming from him…from the body. The phone continues its relentless call for attention, and against my better judgment, I reach over to extract it from his pocket. The screen lights up with an unknown number, but I answer anyway, driven by some morbid curiosity.

“Is it done?” The voice is cold, emotionless.

It’s like a punch to the gut, that voice. I know it, would recognize it anywhere—it’s the sound of family, of blood. But not just any family. My brother.

Caius.

“Is it done?” he repeats, more insistently this time.

And then it clicks. He’s not asking about some business deal or whether I’ve booked a table for dinner. He’s asking if I’m dead.

The line goes dead as I drop the phone like it’s on fire. It clatters against the concrete, the screen shattering—a spiderweb of deceit spreading across its surface.

I stand there, staring at the body, at the phone. The implications make me reel. My own brother. He wanted me gone, out of the picture.

Was it for money? Power? Or was I just an inconvenient truth standing in the way of his ambitions?

My heart races, beats pounding in my ears like war drums. I can’t stay here, with him…it. I need to run, to escape this dark revelation that has turned my world upside down.

As I turn to flee, I leave behind the lifeless form and the broken phone—both harbingers of a trust irrevocably shattered. My feet pound against the pavement, every step a mix of terror and determination.

This was the first time my brother tried to kill me. But as I disappear into the night, one thing is clear: it won’t be the last.