Chapter 1
HAYES
Wiping my hands off on the rag, I watch my oldest friend, Maeve O’Brien, curl into her chair like a panther, body soaked in blood.
Her face is splattered, like a warrior wearing the remains of her enemies. I’m no better. We’re covered in Dominic De Luca’s blood and it drips off of us in thick lines. It should turn my stomach, but it doesn’t.
This is clan life.
A few nights ago, Dom branded Sloane, Maeve’s little sister, when he tried to overthrow his cousin, Alessio, for the right to rule the De Luca family.
He thought she belonged to him—he thought if he took Sloane, and killed Lex, then he could have the alliance Maeve bartered with the De Luca’s old Capo, his father, Nico. He was greedy—and fucking stupid.
There are stories told about the grudges Maeve will hold, and the retribution she will enact on anyone who crosses her or her family.
This torture? This brand of violence? It’s penance for his slight against the O’Brien clan.
“How much longer are we keeping him?” He’s failing quickly. He had no problem branding a defenseless woman with an iron poker, but Maeve’s carefully aimed cuts are wearing him down. Pussy.
Her green eyes glance at me, gesturing for the rag to clean herself. But we’re both still stained—bodies and souls.
“Until I say we’re done.” I can’t help but smirk, the small woman going to the bar for a tumbler full of scotch. It used to hold delectable, expensive liquors imported from Ireland. She tossed them when she took over for Ferguson.
“That could be a while. He’s not going to live until then.”
“He will. I’ll make sure of it.”
It’s as ominous as she means it. Maeve will drag this torture out, force it on Dom until she’s exorcised whatever demons haunt her. Demons that come with a childhood full of abuse and shame.
It still festers, under the skin, that deep wound. It never truly heals. I get it.
“Have fun?” Killian asks, leaning against the doorway. My entire body locks, the need to grab my knife urging my fingers to twitch.
Killian Linwood is a man that Hell spawned and then barred from ever entering again.
He’s the bane of my existence, and a psychotic killer without a leash.
He was brought into the clan years before me, trained by Ferguson O’Brien himself, and then allowed to ravage the world in his particular brand of chaos.
Most of the time, you don’t know whose side he’s on. With a smirk and soulless dark almond eyes, he feels like Death. As kids, he constantly threatened to expose me to the clan.
How he knew who I was, I’ll never know. It doesn’t matter now.
Killian hates me for only one reason—for my spot at Maeve’s side.
Which isn’t really my fault. The bastard had my friend’s heart in his dangerous little claws and he fumbled it. No note, no goodbye. Just one day, didn’t come back, and shattered Maeve into tiny little pieces. I was there—not wiping her tears, but managing her rampage and her fury.
It’s been three years since they ended and he’s been trying for the last year to get back into her good graces. Won’t work—Maeve doesn’t forget who burned her.
“Oh, look who’s back,” I mutter, sitting on the edge of Maeve’s desk. “Escaped the pound?”
His black eyes flash, noticing how Maeve hands me a glass and not him.
Maeve and I have built our friendship on dark deeds, traumatic pasts, and close calls. She’s the only one who knows about me, and I was the only one here to see her fall when Killian left. She’s as close to me as a sister and I respect the fuck out of what she’s accomplished here, in this clan.
But to Killian? I’m a threat to her heart.
There’s nothing between us, and one day, I’ll earn a blade to my sternum for my love of messing with Killian over it. But not today.
“I assume that’s from Dom.” He scans Maeve, licking his lips subconsciously. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, drinking her in as if she’ll sustain him alone.
“Why are you here?” she asks, sitting beside me on the desk, body slumping slightly.
The hours after a torture session are exhausting as the body comes down from the high, and adrenaline leaves your veins.
Everything shakes, the mind muddles all thought, and it becomes hard to focus.
I’m ready to drop and I know she feels the same. “I didn’t send for you.”
“Trust me, I’m fucking aware,” he snaps, hands sliding into his pockets. Coming into the room, he scans the area, as if seeing it for the first time. “I never left.”
“Obviously.” I wink over my glass, and Killian smirks wide but his eyes go cold.
That’s not a good sign. Mentally, I calculate how much quicker I can pull my gun than him.
Probably not by much.
“Where are your guards?” he asks, keeping me in his sights. I know what he’s thinking: if he kills me, will Maeve ever allow him back into her life?
I may think the same on occasion.
Draining my glass, I brace as Maeve leans against my shoulder for stability. Killian’s jaw clenches as the display.
God, it’s too easy to fuck with him sometimes.
“Patrolling.”
“And the ones by the front door?”
She sighs, pinching her brow. “Patrolling.”
“You need more men on the doors.”
“I’m fine,” she snaps, jumping from the desk. Without thought, I follow, grabbing her elbow as she wobbles. “I have enough men.”
“Did you forget, Princess,” Killian hisses, leaning down into her bloody face, a cobra ready to attack, “that the Board is gunning for you? It’s only been a few weeks since you spit in their faces and told them to effectively fuck off.”
“Point?” she growls, tiny hands fisting at her side. God, she’s pissed. She’s liable to swing—and frankly, she needs it.
“My point,” he steps closer, both of them staring with enough fire to ignite the whole damn house, “is that you’re a sitting duck. And you need protection.”
Damn, that’s a good point. Swallowing my drink, I drop the glass on the desk.
Gently, I pull Maeve back. “The Board was pissed when you didn’t give them Sloane. Think of it as a precaution.”
She curses under her breath, turning away to stalk back to the bar.
“Listen to the prince. At least listen to someone. You broke centuries of tradition with that stunt you pulled,” Killian reminds her, tone dark. “You think they won’t retaliate?”
“What was I to do, Linwood?” She glares at us both. “Let them have her? Doyle would have killed her. And you know that.”
Killian exhales loudly, running a hand through his hair as I wince at the pain in her voice. She’s not wrong.
Ferguson made a deal with the Board, a powerful group of men, when he was first brought to America. For their assistance, he had to pay them back, with interest and marry a daughter off to a Board member when the time came. Sloane was supposed to be that daughter—until Maeve found out.
Now she’s taking the brunt of their frustration, with possible assassination attempts to sweeten the pot.
“Regardless, you’re a target now. Get those guards back here.”
Tiredly, Maeve sighs, curling back into her chair, like a cat needing a spot to hide.
“They’re not coming for me. Not tonight.”
Killian explodes, kicking the desk, sending it back a few inches. Eyebrows raised, I look at the reaper, noticing not the annoying arrogance or even his bloodthirsty glee—but black rage.
Not over the situation, no. That’d be too easy. But for worry, over Maeve.
“How can you think they won’t?” He slams his hands onto the desk, Maeve staring at him with her cool detached eyes.
“You know they’re coming. You took away their prize.
They threatened you at the funeral. It’s been weeks with nothing from them.
Any day, someone will be here to try to assassinate you. ”
“The Board doesn’t let anyone insult them.” Shifting, I cross my arms. “You threw away years of tradition by not upholding the previous Captain’s decree. They’re going to come after you.”
Maeve bites her bottom lip, eyes darting back and forth, the reaper too close for comfort. He’s coiled tight, as if to reach forward and strike. I'm even unnerved.
“Let them come after me,” she whispers. “As long as they don’t go after my siblings.”
“You stubborn, pain in the ass,” Killian curses, chuckling under his breath as he hangs his head. “You’re asking for death.”
“What I’m asking for, Linwood, is for you to leave.” Her fingers curl around the imaginary hilt of a knife. “I don’t sleep much. No one’s getting me tonight.”
It’s a punch to the gut. The most feared woman in the Northeast and still, the nightmares come for her.
Unfortunately, I understand. A little too well.
“I’ll stay,” Killian says, pulling out his phone to send a quick text.
“I’ll get the guards back,” I offer, watching Maeve hunch forward as if to ward off an attack. “Maybe you should call Reese? See if that’ll help take the edge off.”
I didn’t mean to say it to piss off Killian but damn, did it do the trick. His eyes narrow, face stilling and that smirk twisting his lips turns into something grotesque. A true Reaper of Death coming to collect a soul for a misdeed—the misdeed being someone having Maeve that isn’t him.
Standing, she nods. “Fine. But no one goes in to see Dom. I want more time.”
“I’ll send Simon in to patch him up.” The clan doctor will do whatever he can to keep Dom limping along. Until Maeve’s finished with him.
She leaves through the doors and I move to block as Killian tries to follow.
Glaring, he demands, “Move.”
“And let you follow her?” I shake my head, grinning. “Not a chance, reaper.”
“Don’t stand in my way when it comes to her, Prince,” he drawls, chests brushing. The look of a calculating murderer stares back at me and I stand taller, ready for what’s next. “You’ll regret it.”
Tilting my head, brown locks kissing against my jaw, I wink. “You almost sound like you have a right to her.” The smile drops from my face. “Only warning: stay away from her.”
Now his grin grows and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. “Or, what?” His eyes flicker over me, assessing the threat I am, biting his bottom lip in thought. “Maeve could go into the underworld and I would still find her, Prince. You can’t stop me.”
He moves again and I’m hit with the scent of mint and leather. “I’ve healed things, seen things your little mind would weep to know.” A shadow of something vicious covers his eyes before it disappears. “So drop the cock blocking fucking attitude and move out of my way.”
“You think that’s what this is?” I scoff, running a hand over my beard.
“I’ve seen the strongest woman fall to her knees because you left.
I’ll be damned if I let her be hurt like that again, with possible assassination attempts and Bruno’s quest for power going on.
She’s been through too much to allow you to destroy her again. ”
He looks as if I’ve sucker punched him. Good. I hope it hurts.
Turning, I flip him off, heading to my weekly Saturday night adventure, knowing full well Killian Linwood won’t listen to a damn thing I say.
Because Killian is a dog with a bone, and Maeve is the only obsession he’s ever had. He won’t leave, and he’ll make my life a living hell. Just because I dared to come between him and his prize.