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We were vigilantes in the making.
But we weren’t fucking saints.
We could find one man and avenge those who had destroyed our lives.
The three of us sat up all night talking that evening, about what we wanted to do and what wecoulddo about it. By the early hours of the morning, we had formed the Dark Kings.
Best decision of my life.
I step into the gym and turn the treadmill to mid-speed. I’m a little jaded after my Mia-workout all night. As I begin to jog, my mind goes back to the Dark Kings, to the moment we realized just what we were undertaking.
“Fuck yeah, I’m in,” Decker said, reaching out his hand, and we shook, slapping shoulders.
“You only have a name and a memory of what this Carlos looks like?” Nathan asked, rubbing his shorn head.
“That’s right,” I answered.
“Shit, man. This could take years,” Nathan replied.
I didn’t care. I’d search for a decade, if that’s what it took. My family deserved to be avenged.
“It will take as long as it takes. I have the funds, and I will keep hunting the fucker until the day I die.”
Which defied logic, since Carlos was much older than me. Someone gave him the order. Or he was working alone.
I doubted the latter.
After hearing Nathan’s story, I knew he was on board. His brother had been fucked up by the mob, somehow getting involved with heroine. Every day, I saw anger and ghosts in his eyes. He needed an outlet for that rage. Just like I did.
“If you join me, we’ll bring these mobsters to their knees. This is a partnership. Even if we find Carlos, my funds are yours to avenge your loved ones. It’s not one or the other. This will beourlife,” I reiterated.
“Then I’m in,” Nathan said.
“So, the mafia think you’re dead?” Decker asked.
“Yes.”
Detective Scott had heard from people on the inside that there was no talk of looking for a kid with my name, and now, so many years had passed, we both agreed it was unlikely they were looking for me.
“They probably thought you were a cousin in the photo. Whatever, there’s no noise about it. You’re a kid. Hardly a threat to them,” the detective had said when I asked him again before leaving for the marines.
“Do you have anything else to go on?” Nathan asked next.
“Not yet,” I replied.
I had the key—to what, I didn’t know.
And while the FBI had taken all our belongings, Detective Scott said he had put some personal things in storage for me when I left the boarding school. All of it was now in my possession, along with a new alias: Connor Barrett.
Connor Beaufort no longer existed. Nor did I feel like that person anymore.
I increase the speed on the treadmill.
We left the marines and spent six months setting up a strategy, looking at what we knew. My father had something of theirs and called him a traitor.
But which mob? That was the other fucking question.
I had narrowed down their accents to either the Mexican cartel or the Italian mob. Yeah, I know they’re fucking different, but when you are nine years old and men are screaming and shooting your family, accents are fucking accents.
