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I winced at the slight pulling of newly stitched skin as I made my way into the small kitchen. The cold from the stainless-steel counter chilled my flushed skin. I stared at the phone screen like more context would appear the longer I looked.

“What the fuck does Dominick need now?” I mumbled, reaching into my little fridge to grab an Orion beer and mulling over the warning not to run.

Maybe I’d get caught during the job and wouldn’t have to go to the famiglia dinner. I chuckled at the idea.

I never got caught.

CHAPTER 2

CALEB

ARE THEY HOT OR ARE THEY JUST ASSHOLES?

Shouts of agony rang out, disrupting the peaceful night and feeding my hungry soul. The salty air was usually a reprieve from the stifling city mugginess, but not tonight. Tonight, the invigorating scent carried the promise of death.

Pain and suffering—the building blocks of my being.

Turned out, fucked-up-childhood trauma manifested in interesting ways. Mine created a coldhearted bastard who only cared for my found brothers. There was probably a direct link between the number of backhands to the face I’d taken and why I was such a jackass.

Relentless, obsessive, manic.

The words whispered behind my back so often that I tattooed them on there to let everyone recognize what my fucking strengths were. The memory made me hyperaware of the dress shirt clinging to my body thanks to the humidity on the pier.

“The weak think those traits are negative.”

My fists curled at the words. I hated how the old bastard still whispered in my mind, but I bet Da regretted creating the monster he had now that I was coming for his empire. Of course, he wasn’t cognizant of that little fact yet. He’d been furious about my leaving the family criminal organization. Not because he gave a shit about me; he just didn’t want the Irish Mob to look bad.

Still, like Kenji and Niko’s families, he was convinced this was another one of my rebellious phases and that I’d soon crawl back home, ready and willing to take my beating and beg for forgiveness.

My anger flared at the idea.

That was the problem with turning your back on a predator you’d attempted to tame; you missed the signs of their attack. Gael Callahan might be the head of the Irish Mob, but he was an idiot who’d become far too comfortable on his throne. They all had.

A low groan drew my attention. The dim glow from the lamppost barely cast enough light for me to witness Kenji’s handiwork. With each blow, the rippling of his back made his oni look alive. He’d once told me that in some Japanese lore, the denizens of Hell Oni doled out punishments and torture.

Making his tattoo very fitting.

“I wasn’t fuckin’ talking to no one. I swear,” the man heaped on the floor pleaded. His voice was raw from all the screaming he’d done over the last hour.

Kenji’s manic laugh made me move closer in case I needed to remind him that dead men don’t speak.

“See, I don’t believe that, Boris. A little birdie told me you’ve been auctioning off a file of information on us. I thought we were friends, Boris.” Kenji’s hand flew to his heart in mock distress. “How do you think this makes me feel?”

Kenji rammed his black Doc Marten right into our rat’s rib cage, pulling a scream from his lips and a smile from mine.

“Where’s the fucking file, Boris? And I suggest you tell me the truth, or it will be a very long night for you.” Kenji moved closer, the light revealing the blood spatter coating his bare chest. He’d ditched his shirt to help speed up the cleanup.

Boris lay in the fetal position on the deck, arms tied behind his back, ankles cinched together. His face was a play-by-play of his beatings. His pale skin was barely visible, replaced by shades of black and blue. Sweat and spit joined the blood pooled under his face as he violently shook his head, blubbering on about not betraying us, which was bullshit. He’d been posting about a file everywhere online. He didn’t have any important details in that file, but we still didn’t want that shit floating around.

“I didn’t want to do it, I swear. But I was in the hole three grand. There wasn’t much in there, I swear. They haven’t picked it up yet, I swear. Let me go, and we can get it together.”

The desperation in his voice was pathetic.

Kenji let out a cruel laugh as he pushed his sweat-drenched hair out of his face. “You’re not fucking going anywhere. Tell me where the drop is, or I’ll cut off your fingers one by one and use them to gouge out your eyes.”

That was a new threat but apparently effective because Boris started talking immediately.

“It’s back at the club. Shoved above the middle drawer of the desk,” he sobbed, making him hard to understand with his heavy accent.