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CHAPTER1
Elena
I’ve always been fascinated by blood.
When I was five or six years old, I saw a man bleed to death on the front steps of one of my father’s businesses. I remember watching it pour from his mouth, a stream of crimson.
Macabre.
Ugly.
Dark.
Death has followed me since then.
Growing up in Hamish Adams’s household was a lesson in violence. I saw things I can never erase from my mind. I watched my father make men bend to his will using whatever force he chose. Part of me enjoyed that; wanted to do the same thing, even.
There was no line to cross. The line never existed. But as I stand over the bloodied prick at my feet, I wonder if I've gone too far. Michael is family now; in name at least. He also has powerful people in his circle, people who could destroy my family given the chance, but my anger is too heated to stop what I’m doing.
I stare at the wide gash on his face, at the blood pooling beneath his chin. I wanted to do worse, but Dex has kept me under control—at least, as much as possible. I get the impression my brother would let me go further if Michael wasn’t protected the way he is.
“Fucking feral bitch!” he snarls.
I want him to beg, to know how it would feel to hold someone’s life in my hands. I’m pissed he’s not doing so.
I don't think Michael—or Dex—expected this level of aggression from me when I first walked into the home Michael and my sister share, but he should have—they both should have.
It comes with the territory when your father is one of the biggest mob bosses in London, though I doubt my father would be proud of my behaviour, even if I am defending my sister’s honour.
Our family.
My sister being beaten by her husband is a crime against the Adams name. At least, in my opinion.
My father may not share that sentiment.
He thinks girls are useless, that they should only fulfil one purpose: marry for the good of the family. He probably thinks Letta deserves to have her prick husband beat her.
I disagree.
But then, my father has never seen me or Letta as useful beyond our ability to cement alliances.
If Hamish looked beyond his own prejudices, he would see how much of an asset I could be to him and to our family. My mind is strong and cunning. I’m resourceful and determined.
I might not have been born with a dick between my legs, but I am as savage as my older brother Dex. I have that dark Adams streak in my personality.
I press the blade deeper against the neck of the bastard at my feet. Michael’s wild eyes dart around the room, as if seeking escape, as if hoping for mercy. I wonder if he’s searching for my sister, but she’s not going to help him.
Bloodlust roars through my veins, desperately wanting me to take his life, to finish the job. It takes everything I have to still my hand. Killing him isn’t an option—as much as I wish it was. It would cause a war.
Michael is the son of London’s mayor, Frank Moloney. He and my father have all sorts of dirty dealings cooked up between them that keep my father’s businesses protected from the law and allow Moloney to make a lot of his less than legal problems disappear. Michael’s death would cause problems, even lead to the police coming down heavily on our family. Moloney has a reach that could undo us.
I know that, but even so, my anger is swelling inside me, a pressure cooker waiting to explode. I want to unleash it.
We might have agreed to this alliance and handed my sister over to Michael, but that doesn’t mean we gave him carte blanche to do what he feels like to her. Touching her in anger was his first mistake.
It would be his last if I had my way.
Michael’s eyes flare wide as I push the blade in deeper, a trickle of blood bubbling from under the knife.
