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CHAPTER1
Sariah
For as long as I can remember I’ve dreamed of Death.
He’s not dressed in black, and he doesn’t have a scythe either, but Death haunts my steps, following me like a rabid dog that needs to be put out of its misery. I know why Death is constantly on my mind.
Because of her.
Because of whathedid.
Because of what I allowed.
I stare down at my hands, expecting to see red. They are clean, but I can feel the blood coating them. I kept my silence all these years and hid the truth from the world. I should have spoken up, but I was scared. That cowardice pains me more than the thought of dying.
“You say she’s eighteen?”
The question breaks me from my morbid thoughts. I zone in on the man standing in front of me.
Jeremiah Wood.
Head of the Wood Syndicate.
And the man my father is forcing me to marry.
He’s older, in his fifties and not unattractive, but as his rough hand runs over my cheek I have to swallow back the bile.
“Recently turned,” my father says in a detached tone.
Barely a week ago.
My birthday wasn’t a celebration. There was no cake and no banners. No presents either. My father only acknowledged the day with a callous reminder that I am old enough to be married. He didn’t waste any time calling this meeting to start the process of joining me to a man they call “the Butcher.”
I watch as Jeremiah circles me, a vulture waiting to swoop in and devour his prey. That’s what I am: a possession. An object.
Soulless.
I lost my soul when my mother was murdered. My heart still beats but I’m not alive. I haven’t been from the moment my mother was murdered.
She would never have allowed him to treat me like a business deal.
She would have fought my father every step of the way.
My stomach twists as I meet my father’s gaze. There’s not a hint of remorse or sadness for what he’s forcing me into. Whatever feelings he may have had for me in the past no longer exist and haven’t since the night my mother spilt her secrets.
My father’s steely eyes meet mine, unrepentant.
He doesn’t care that he’s selling me to a man who is old enough to be my grandfather.
He doesn’t care that my body will be used and abused at Jeremiah’s whims.
He doesn’t care that I will be deeply unhappy.
This is the way of our world.
London is run by a number of crime families, gangs, and motorcycle clubs. There are three main families: the Eastons, the Frasers, and the Adams.
The Farleys and Blackwoods are gone, both taken out by the Untamed Sons Motorcycle Club—the former with the help of the Frasers.
