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CHAPTERONE
xander
Agitation gathers in my forehead,so I rub my temples. I’m dying for a wank or a fight or a fight, then a wank—
Focus, Xander.
“I know this is a bad time, Mr Butcher.” Anderson squirms in his chair. “But I have no one else to turn to.” Across the desk from us, my brother Clay stares Anderson down. Most men shrink a few feet in Clay’s presence. He’s the Don of theCosa Nostrain a Mafia-ruled city, so when speaking with him, it’s best to take it seriously. “My daughter has been getting some unwanted attention from…” Anderson tugs at his collar.
“From?” I press, and he looks over at me for a moment before braving Clay’s line of sight again.
Spit it out, Anderson.
My brother can be reasonable. On occasions, such an opportunity has presented itself, but Anderson is fucking right—this is a bullshit evening to be asking for favours. Our mother’s wake continues in the adjacent room.
We have an open house for the evening; most of the District worth knowing is here, including the owner of a popular tavern who sits across from us now— That’s the only reason he’s been granted an audience with my brother.
He goes on, “The son of Daniel Young. The banker. His younger son, Grayson, has been harassing my daughter. Taking pictures—”
I lean back in my chair when I hear that name. GraysonYoung…My headache flares as the image of a red-headed man with a face like a bucket of smashed crabs comes to mind.Dipshit.I crack my knuckles as tension builds within them.
Daniel Young has two sons: Grayson, who I have heard is a princess with a cock, andCharles. Charles Young, better known in the boxing circuit as the YoungChuck Norris, is a seasoned boxer. And he’s been chomping at the bit to fight me, but he’s midweight, so he fucking can’t.
Desperate to be taken seriously, Anderson spits out, “She’s underage! She’s only twelve, Mr Butcher. He’s twenty-five. It’s not right. What he’s doing. I tried— He laughed at me when I spoke to him. He said he’s above the law.”
“And?” I press, knowing Clay needs to hear the exact request leave Anderson’s lips.
I want this over with. The funeral was enough. I’m not in the mood to play this role after that, my skin crawling over my muscles, muscles twitching over bone. I’m on fire. Get me to the gym. Get me something hard. Fast. Real. So, I can box this bullshit day from me.
Box the lies out.
Feelsomething.
Pain and pleasure.
I need somethingreal.There are secrets surrounding last week when my mother overdosed, but I must trust in the infallible nature of theCosa Nostra, of Clay Butcher—the Don. What was done, needed to be so.
Accept.
Just trust…
Like Max and Bronson do.
Unlike me, my brothers bear no ache from her suspicious passing as they shared no affection for her—she was a narcissist. I know this.
But I feel I’m to blame…
Clearing my throat, I remind myself that my mother was an alcoholic who abused many drugs, and under these great loves, she eventually suffocated.
Just accept.
Impatient, I grow restless.
Patiently, Clay smiles.
My brother’s smile has always awed and annoyed me. It reminds me of how different we are. How a perfect one can form effortlessly on his lips amid the worst events. And, well, all my emotions are far more honest. Jarringly, so. Just like pain, pleasure, blood, and cum—honest.
My favourite things.
