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Several years ago, while hunting a particular fucker, I found Lampos as a cub at his home living in a cage under strong tranquilizers. The fucker who captured him plucked most of his teeth, hurt him with a knife, and enjoyed watching his agony.
After killing the human in the most vicious way, I took Lampos to a vet who told me that even with all the treatment, the cub wouldn’t survive in the wild, and it would be more merciful to just put him to sleep.
Needless to say, I told him to fuck off and brought him home, deciding to take care of him with the help of another vet and nurture him back to health. We got attached, and I kept him as my own.
He reminded me a lot of myself, scarred and beaten down, yet he survived no matter what. You just don’t turn your back on a kindred spirit, even if the world thinks you are a horrible human being for claiming the wild creature.
He nuzzles into my shoulder, purring, and I chuckle when he tickles my skin, coming dangerously close to my pulse point.
He might be my pet, but it doesn’t change his nature.
Because that’s the thing about hunters…
No matter what we do and who we become, we always have the deep need to possess and tear flesh apart.
I push at his massive form, and he gets the hint, falling back on his paws and haunches in front of me, stretching, and then he yawns, huffing through his nose again. “Hungry?” He roars. “Come on.”
I spin around and go back inside my home, grabbing a nearby towel and drying my hair. Lampos follows me and jumps on the couch, swaying his tail back and forth while I pick up my phone, pressing on the latest number. “Yes?”
“Antonio, get the food for Lampos here. He’s hungry.” I can almost imagine my old butler paling at the suggestion and how he adjusts his uniform before straightening up. Despite working for me since forever and seeing all the chaos I indulged myself in through the years, he’s still terrified of my leopard.
Unfortunately for him, though, he’s the only one allowed inside my house, so he has no other choice as I don’t let Lampos roam freely through the mansion and possibly harm someone from my staff.
I go to the bar, snagging another bottle of whiskey, and pour it into my glass before dropping ice cubes in it, when the ringing reverberates through the space, snapping my attention to the TV hanging on the opposite wall. I connect all my devices to it to have easy access to whatever I need to do, so with my command, “Pick up,” the video opens up, and a smug face greets me.
“Octavius,” he says, his voice even and deep while amusement dances in his brown eyes that mostly stay deadly as they promise death to whomever encounters him in his dungeon. His dark hair falls below his ear, and he flips the lighter through his fingers, leaning back on his chair.
“Callum.” I grit his name through my teeth, not in the mood for whatever bullshit he plans to spit my way. Of all his fucking friends, he’s the most annoying one because he always strikes you where you least expect it and does it so swiftly you barely see the blow coming.
Dark protégés—or, as I prefer to call them, righteous assholes—who think the world revolves around them and their wishes, are an underground brotherhood of the most skillful serial killers in the country led by the king of New York himself, Lachlan Scott.
He rules his protégés with an iron fist, and his reputation precedes him. Everyone knows not to fuck with him or his city because the consequences for it are severe. He finds them all on the brink of insanity and then channels their dark desires. Rarely anyone goes against him, and those who do usually end up dead.
Considering our net worth is about the same, though, I don’t much care but prefer to keep him as an ally rather than an enemy. I control my hotheaded nature around him and his students, who love to pull at the strings of my sanity.
Besides, the last thing I need is the underworld king arriving in my city.
I’m not particularly close to any of them except Callum since we had some business together back in Houston, where he lives with his wife.
Among other things.
“What do you want?” I ask, walking to the couch and dropping on it, kicking my feet on the table. Lampos rests his muzzle on his paw, his eyes trained on the TV, and by the glint in them, I know he would have attacked Callum if he were here.
Compared to all the “pets” we have, mine is the most unpredictable and doesn’t do well with anyone. He barely tolerates my best friends.
Callum lights a cigarette and puts it in his mouth, pulling at it and sending the smoke flying, momentarily blocking his face from my view. I just sip my drink, allowing him this rather dramatic entry in order to deliver an upcoming blow.
Friends or not, we’re all monsters searching for the next outlet to unleash our fury on, so while we can play nice, we don’t really strive to. We prefer to attack and find pleasure in watching our opponents sweat under pressure while we push all their buttons.
Even with each other, and while I’d find it amusing any other day, I’m too wound up tonight to engage in the verbal spars with the most sarcastic of protégés.
“My debt to the Four Dark Horsemen is paid.” He leans back in his chair, taking another greedy pull. “In fact, I think you owe me one now. After all, I’m keeping your little secret.” He chuckles, the sound grating on my nerves, and places his hand on his chest, sighing. “Oh, I do love this feeling. You must have enjoyed it all this time, huh?”
“You got me there, Callum.” A beat passes. “I guess I’ll have to destroy my secret notebook with your name doodled all over it.”
He laughs, choking on the smoke, and I take a bigger sip. “And that’s why I like you, my friend.” He presses the bud of his cigarette into the ashtray and twists it. “I have something else for you.” I still at this, finishing up my drink and putting the glass on the table while keeping my gaze trained on Callum, who picks up a black folder and shakes it in his hand. “Consider it a gift.”
“I don’t need gifts from anyone.” Especially in our dark and violent world where gifts are another word for favors that need to be repaid.
