Chapter 1
Rhylan
Present Day
Obsession.
Something that drives the most rational men straight into the pit of insanity.
Right before graduating high school, I’d devoted myself to a woman; the popular girl who shared classes and cafeteria tables but never even knew I existed.
For years, I chased her like a shot of whiskey, feeling the burn beneath my skin as she slid into the arms of men who could never fully understand her worth.
It wasn’t until my life took a dramatic turn that I finally found the confidence to step out of the dark and into her line of sight.
I wouldn’t be the shadow that trailed behind her as the sun went down on Main Street anymore; instead, I’d be the man she’d been begging to discover. Showing up at the right damn time.
There wasn’t a single thing she could do to escape me.
I’ve waited long enough to surprise the woman of my dreams—
“Hey, Rhylan.”
“Yeah?”
“D’you ever question what you’re doing? In the MUR, that is… with all the violence, and the… killing?” Declan sheepishly asked from across the bed of his truck, the two of us sharing a couple of beers before his final test of initiation.
We’d parked underneath a couple of willows that lined the boundary between our target’s property and public land.
One side was lush with trees, concealing the dark secrets within, while the other was open and bare.
Nothing to hide us as moonlight danced across the prairie grass that bowed to the breeze.
The new guy was still hanging on to his integrity, which was surprising, given that he’d already killed his first two targets without any need for assistance. I guess it goes to show that not everyone had to be merciless to perform our work; they just had to comply without remorse.
Declan turned out to be the kind of kid who’d jump through any hoop if it meant achieving a life of ease and luxury.
So, in a sense… He’d bark if he wanted something badly enough.
That’s precisely why I stepped up to the plate to be his sponsor.
But I never considered that he’d cling to his integrity for dear life.
That would become a problem eventually—if he never learned to let it all go.
Hesitation kills more often than not; the word itself is a death sentence.
“Nah.” I shook my head with a bold grin as I finished my beer and tossed the can into the far corner of the truck bed.
“Questioning what we do is like asking why the ocean is blue. And if you feel the need to bring that up now, then maybe this wasn’t the best decision you could’ve made at your age. ”
Like all the guys who apply to the Kerosene Cowboys, Declan here had just turned twenty-one—a spring fucking chicken, but there was no turning back now. He had no other choice but to press forward, either by killing his final target or meeting my buddy Louie firsthand.
It might sound apathetic of me, not caring for his well-being, but he knew the rules; he was fully aware of what he’d signed up for. The only way out was by forfeiting his life.
The Men Under Revue didn’t fuck around with second chances.
“That’s not—I’m not second-guessing my decision if that’s what you’re thinking…” He withdrew, nervously. “I was just… curious… You’ve been doing this for a long fucking time, how can blind murder be so—”
“Easy?” I interrupted him with a light huff, scanning his eyes for any sign of uncertainty.
One wrong move could kill us both tonight.
“My friend, if you knew half the shit these fuckers have done, you’d be glad to be rid of them.
We do Nashville a service, and in turn, she belongs to us.
” But I had to admit that I loved making the job fun in the process.
This last test would be a challenge for Declan.
To get an idea of his ability to control the situation if a target ever fought back.
I wasn’t necessarily throwing the poor boy to the wolves, but in a sense, I was.
To be a Cowboy was one thing, but to be one and a member of the MUR was to become a force to be reckoned with.
I reached over the tailgate and grabbed my prized Louisville Slugger, smiling as its weight settled in my palm, and I gave it a thorough swing—hearing the solid wood cut through the air like a blade.
“Why the bat?” Declan asked as he watched me practice a couple of moves.
An odd choice of weapon, I know. Most of the cowboys executed their tasks with guns and knives, but I wanted to make a statement.
“Because my father always dreamed of having a son who was an All-Star MLB player for the Nashville Vipers, and I wanted to perform—dance. So… I met him halfway.” Shrugging, I rested the barrel against my shoulder. “C’mon. We have a debt to collect, and I’ve got shit to do in the morning.”
Declan’s throat bobbed, right before he downed the rest of his beer and dropped the can into the bed where he stood—the sound of rattling hollow metal filling his silence.
“One more. It’s one more.” I could hear him whisper to himself over my shoulder, and I smirked up at the night sky.
“It’ll never be just one more, Dec. This is our job—our duty. When you wash your hands at the end of the night, they’ll just get dirty again in a month or two... Remember that.” Like all of us, he chose this path.
I didn’t check to see his reaction, letting my words sink in.
He’d figure it out. And if he didn’t? Well…
Then I guess he’d cross that road when he got there.
I wasn’t here to hold his hand like a gentle father while he justified pulling the trigger.
If anything, I was the bad influence encouraging it.
At his extended silence, I pressed forward, making my way through the cascade of willow branches, heading toward his target’s plantation, a bright white beacon isolated in the darkness that surrounded us.
Almost every light in the grand residence was switched on, allowing for a clear view of the interior as we reached the edge of the tree line. Some tasks required an element of surprise, while others had you striding through the front door like you owned the fucking place.
In the case of Dawson Plantation, surprise would work to our advantage. Anthony Dawson was born into a family with a long history of slavery, and instead of adapting to the times, he preferred to cling to tradition and the twisted legacy attached to his plantation’s name.
“So what’s this guy’s deal?” Declan crouched beside me as I stared out at the mansion through the hanging branches, analyzing the surrounding area for anything that could prevent us from completing his task.
“What comes to mind when you think of a slave trader?”
“No. He’s not—” His brows furrowed in denial, jaw nearly falling to the tainted dirt beneath our feet. “Are you saying they still trade—”
“Women, now.” The sick fuck. “Every room in that home has been used just as much as the women who are dragged through its doors.” My voice trailed with disgust, and Louie creaked as my fist tightened around the handle in silent rage.
I’d been waiting years for this moment, slightly disappointed that my protégé would be the one who’d get to take this bastard’s life instead of me. But a dead Dawson was all that mattered. It was about time the name died with its last and only living predecessor.
Thank fucking god that piece of shit never decided to reproduce. Then again, how could you ever have a child, a baby girl, and not reap what you sow?
The air shifted between us, and Declan’s demeanor suddenly changed from cautious to careless within an instant.
“I suppose that’s a good enough reason as any to put a bullet in his head. What are we waitin’ for?”
“Dec!” I hissed as he charged off toward the front steps, gun drawn at his side, all too eager for the kill. “You dumb fuck…”
By the time I’d reached the steps, he’d already managed to kick in the door, rushing inside without a second’s pause. I was all for storming a base with guns blazing like an old-time western movie, but goddamn, this was not one of those fuckin’ times.
Tightening my grip around Louie, I crept inside, stalking the halls and rooms of the main floor one by one, swiftly searching for Declan while listening for any sign of movement. I didn’t know how many people were here, if any.
The plantation was supposed to be in its transitional stage—empty. No more than twenty-four hours ago, Anthony Dawson had dispatched his last ‘shipment’ of women for sale, which in turn triggered the desire for his head on a stick.
I had high hopes that with that kind of knowledge already in hand, the MUR would’ve intercepted the truck before it reached its intended destination. Although those details weren’t disclosed to me, just my protégé’s task.
With no luck on the main level, I careened around a corner that brought me back to the foyer before hauling ass up the carpeted staircase to the second floor. Just as I’d reached the last three steps, I heard four loud bangs in rapid succession, with a fifth that followed a few seconds after. Shit.
“Declan!” I called out his name, hoping he’d answer so I could figure out where the fuck he was. The first floor was empty, so if anyone were to take me by surprise, it wouldn’t come from behind.
I followed the sounds of furniture being knocked over, glass shattering, and the aggravated grunts of at least two men caught in a fight.
Shadows danced across the walls, coming from an open door at the end of the hall, and I headed straight for it.
With a hard kick, I sent the old hardwood flying on its hinges, crashing into the wall.
“Dawson.” I beamed in smug satisfaction, taking in the middle-aged man who was currently in the process of strangling my protégé. “I thought your southern charm meant better manners when a guest enters your home.”
“Guest? Do you motherfuckers know whose land you’re trespassing on?” Anthony barked with a gravely tone.
“Seeing as I just said your last name, I think we’re well aware of the plantation’s ownership and its history.
” That statement alone shut him up real fast, his grip slightly loosening on Declan’s throat, enough for him to catch his breath.
“So, how about you let up on my boy Declan there, and we talk this out like grown men?” Not really.
“Fuck you. I know who you are.” Anthony’s face paled as he glimpsed my weapon of choice, held firmly in my right hand—my ring.
“Oh, do you now? What gave me away? Louie?” Arching a brow, I rolled my wrist to twirl the bat with a side of flair. I’d built a reputation over these last six years, and I was fucking proud of it. He was right to be intimidated and scared.
“You’re no better than me, Rhylan. Taking the lives of innocent—”
“Hold up, I’m going to stop you right there, because I am better than you, and we are not the fuckin’ same, Dawson.
” From the corner of my eye, I saw Declan reach a hand toward his gun while I held Anthony’s attention.
“Not a single life I’ve taken has been innocent, and yours?
” I laughed at his attempt at calling me a monster when he was the fucking boogieman.
“How the fuck you manage to see yourself as a saint is beyond me. You and your pride can go straight to fucking hell, and Dec here is going to give you a one-way express ticket. Compliments of the MUR.”
Declan had managed to graze the handle of his gun with his fingertips when Anthony took notice of what he was doing, before hastily reaching out in an effort of beating him to it.
I dropped my shoulder against the doorway, watching them duke it out all over again, confident that he could handle his task and get himself out of this situation alive.
They wrestled across the floor, blindly throwing punches, taking turns pinning the other before taking a solid fist or elbow to the face.
Their struggle was entertaining while it lasted—if only I’d brought something to drink.
My eyes briefly paused on the fully stocked bar cart in the room’s far corner. Tempting…
Returning my attention to the task at hand, the two were now fighting over the handle of Declan’s gun, the barrel switching between them like a game of Russian roulette. I rolled my eyes with a sigh, impatiently checking my watch for the time.
“Dec, quit fuckin’ around and just shoot him already…” A second later, the gun went off, and there was a brief pause before I witnessed my protégé fall to the side like a bag of rocks. Fuck…
“Aw, man. Now look what you’ve done, Dawson.
You’ve gone and lost me my first promising protégé in years…
” I pushed off the door frame and stepped up to Anthony’s side, still lying on the floor, winded from their altercation.
There were only seven bullets left in the magazine when we arrived, and he’d just spent the last one—on Declan.
“And for the record. If anyone would’ve shown you mercy this evening, it would’ve been him.
But I guess it’s a little too late for you to experience the meaning of that word.
” I towered over his body, my shadow cast across his face like the grim fucking reaper.
“Say hello to all the souls you’ve ripped out over the years for me, will ya? ”
Without wasting another breath on the unforgivable son of a bitch, I lifted Louie into the air and brought him down with a hammer-like force that splintered the hardwood floor beneath Anthony’s head as it broke through his skull with a single blow.
For good measure, I took a second swing, just to ensure Anthony would never come back, even as a fucking zombie, splattering his brain matter and blood across the floor like an abstract painting.
Another problem resolved. Another man off my shitlist.
Declan had so much potential. What a fucking shame.