Page 1

CHAPTER 1

Tunnel vision.

Blackness in the center, like a hole whirlin’ through the middle of everything I ever knew.

Then… images. Flashin' by. Fast. Too fast. Like I'm stuck inside a movie on fast forward and somebody ripped the fuckin' remote outta my hands. Frame, after frame, after frame—blood, lust, greed, hate.

Every evil I've ever witnessed comes together in this moment. Right here, right now. Wickedness coalesces itself into a ragin' whirlpool of sins spinnin' so tight, they've got their own gravity.

And they want to pull me in, right through the center. Pull me in because right now, I'm nothin' but sin. I'm not part of it, I'm livin' in it. I'm eatin' it, and sleepin' in it, and soakin' in it—until those sins are so much a part of me, there's no goin' back.

It's nothin' but angels, and demons, and endless, eternal wars. Filled with sufferin' and sacrifices.

And for what?

For who?

The whole world is nothin' but sins, and blood, and the darkness of indifference.

My heart is thumpin' inside my chest as I look down at Marcus White Jr.'s body on the floor of the club hallway, all crumpled up like a worthless piece of paper.

For a moment, I'm not sure where I am, or what's happenin', or what should happen next. But I guess that's just fine, because Cash Ashby takes over.

He crouches as Marcus begins to stir.

The thing about chokin' people is this. The lights go out fast. You only need a little pressure on that carotid artery—just enough to stop the flow—and the brain only needs to be missin' that blood for a stack of seconds before it shuts off completely. Before the body just goes quiet, like a switch thrown in the dark.

And the whole thing works the same way in reverse, ya know. You release the pressure, the blood flows back in, and the lights come back on.

Simple as that.

You hold the line and then you let go, and the body figures out the rest on its own because the body don't wanna die, even when the man inside it deserves to.

It's real easy to think ya killed someone when ya didn't. Panic does that. Makes the moment feel final when it isn't.

Makes your hands feel like they did more than they did.

I was under no such illusion.

I knew exactly what I was doin'. Every second of it. I counted the pressure the same way I counted every day in the Pit—deliberate, quiet, without mercy and without apology.

So Marcus is stirrin' when Cash does this crouchin' stuff. And he says, in a very low voice laced with menace, "You need to think real hard about how you've been spendin' your free time, Marcus. In fact, you should be real worried about it."

Marcus comes online like it's 1995. Slow and with unexpected noises. But he manages to push himself up to a sittin' position. He finds my face first, the confusion still live in his eyes. But then he sees it. Sees past the new hair, and the new beard, and the new clothes.

Sees me.

"You piece of shit scum," he croaks.

Cash kicks him in the ribs with his fancy round-toed boot, growlin', "Wrong answer, Marcus," in a voice that simultaneously projects boredom and viciousness.

Marcus doubles over again, coughing and whining.

Cash is done messin' around here. He grabs Marcus by the collar, yanks him forward, and leans in close. "Your family's not the only founding member, Marcus. I don't show up, I don't partake, I don't indulge, and I don't say nothin'. I mind my business. But here's the important part you seem to have missed. I don't do that out of generosity, or indifference, or loyalty, or fear. I've stayed quiet because I've been biding my fuckin' time, you sick fuck. But that's over now. If you so much as look at my family, I'm gonna put you in a hole. Alive, Marcus. I will drop you in a carcass pit, throw a shovel of dirt on your face, and make you choke on your last mistake. And I will make you watch. I will cut your eyelids off—peel them back like orange skins—and make you watch. So the last thing you ever see is me, making good on my promise."

For a moment, Cash and Marcus are locked in. Lookin' at each other. One deliverin' a threat, the other realizin' in real time it's not a threat, it's a promise.

Marcus's mouth moves a couple times, sayin' nothin'.