Prologue
Illi
There are many places I’d rather be at 2am on a Saturday morning than the shitty forest at the edge of Mounts Bay.
There’s more skeletons in this place than all the fucking cemeteries in the state combined, easily. There isn’t a cop in the Bay that would set foot in this place without a gun pressed against the back of their skull. That should make it my kind of place but the posturing bullshit that comes with the Twelve means I fucking loathe it.
There’s a crunching noise, the kind where there’s no coming back from, and my eyes drift back to the clearing as the jeering and shouts die down.
Well fuck.
I was kinda hoping the kid would have a little less backbone but there she is. Her hands are still dripping in blood and the rock she used to bash the other guy’s head in is laying at her feet, glistening with his blood and brain matter.
The shift in their minds is like a tangible thing as an uneasy sort of respect ripples through the crowd. She isn’t one of them anymore. Nah, she’s something else entirely now.
I watch as D’Ardo speaks to the little girl, all formal and shit as if he isn’t some little street urchin who grew up and stole a black crown of his own. When she tips her head back and claims herself to be the Wolf a savage grin spreads across my face. She sure has some fucking fire in her, how the hell her skinny little bones can contain it, is beyond me and shit, I hope that backbone is enough to get her through this life. If D’Ardo has anything to do with it, she'll be bound and broken in his bed in the next five years.
I try not to think about my best friends' perversions and apparent enjoyment of young girls, reasoning with myself that he hasn't touched her and claims he won't until she's ready. But what the fuck does ready even mean? What girl in her right mind would be ready to deal with that man?
Then again, I can't judge. I am the Butcher of the Bay.
The crowd starts to move away and I wait in the shadows for D’Ardo. He slings an arm over the girl and leads her towards me, whispering in her ear and completely ignoring how fucking uncomfortable she looks. Once he's out of the company of the rest of the Twelve, four of his loyal supporters flank him. The big blonde idiot grins and makes a joke at the little girl. She gives him a half-hearted smile but she's staring around with keen eyes. I've never seen a kid so miserable in my life, which is fucking saying something considering where I came from. D’Ardo doesn’t notice, of course. He only notices what he wants to about her, which is that she survives fucking anything.
“We should go and get a drink to celebrate.” says D’Ardo, and I scoff at him holding my hand up to wave at the little girl.
“Planning on getting her drunk and vulnerable already?” I say, and he shoots me a warning look. That shit doesn't work on me, I could pound that boy into the ground and we both know it. I don’t know why I’m trying to warn her, or maybe I just want to get a rise out of her, whatever it is, she doesn’t acknowledge I’ve spoken at all. Just looks out over the forest like she’s waiting for the ghosts to walk out and find her.
D’Ardo keeps a hand clamped firmly on her shoulder as he rolls his own back. We head through the forest towards the cars and there is a hushed sort of reference that follows. Infamy is a weird thing but I can’t say I hate it. I like being known as the Butcher, I like everyone knowing who the fuck I am when I walk into a room because there's nothing better than the fear in people's eyes. I glance down at the little girl and wonder if she knows what she's in for.
“Doesn't she have a family or some shit to go home to?” I say once again trying to get her the fuck out of this. I know exactly where she came from, our paths had crossed in the group home for all of a fucking month, but I’ll never forget the look on D’Ardo’s face when she showed up. I knew she was going to be around for the long haul.
He smirks at me and turns his attention to the little girl. “The group home won't even notice she’s gone, why not have a celebratory drink?”
The girl cuts us both a look and says, “If the two of you are going to talk like I'm not standing right here with you I'm going to go back and you can drink by yourselves. I'm not interested in playing this dick jerking game.”
A surprise laugh bubbles out of my throat and although D’Ardo laughs with me the look he gives her is a challenge. I wonder again if she sees it, if she knows his plans for her.
If I were a better man, I'd warn her.
I keep my mouth shut.
When we get to the car park, D’Ardo leads the kid to his car and stashes her carefully in the back. His organization is big enough now that he has a driver, the grinning blonde idiot that slides into the driver’s seat. Another of the thugs climbs into the front passenger seat, carrying enough weapons that he looks dangerous enough but I know for sure he's a shit shot. I quirk an eyebrow at D’Ardo and he waves me off casually.
“Just meet me at the bar, idiot.”
I've gotta say, I'm not a fan of being called an idiot. I narrow my eyes at him but D’Ardo just puffs out his chest as if that will make him look more dangerous. I'm not impressed.
“I’ll buy you a bottle of whiskey, you grumpy fuck,” he says, and then he slides into the car.
The kid looks over her shoulder at me through the window and I start to feel something close to guilt. It's stupid, it's none of my business, but it doesn't matter what I say to myself, the guilt still curls in my gut.
Fuck it, I slide into my own mustang, vintage and the one true love of my life, and I wait a minute before flooring it after them. Nothing better than an open road, a gas pedal to the floor, and the smooth changing of gears. I pass them easily, the cheap thrill enough to burn away the bad feeling in my gut, if only for a minute.
The bar D’Ardo picks is owned by one of his little friends amongst the Twelve. I'm not a fan of the guy, but he pays me well enough when he needs someone to disappear in a blood-soaked way and I enjoy the work.
I don't really give a fuck why he wants them to disappear, Mounts Bay is not the place to live if you have a conscience.
We find a booth in the back empty and waiting for us, and I smirk at the way the crowd parts. I can see Matteo's hackles begin to rise as he notices that the stench of terror is coming from those staring at me. He's not a fan of being the lesser evil in the room.
He ushers the kid into the booth before sliding in after her. I take a seat on the other side and when the smiling blonde idiot attempts to sit next to me I pin him with a look and snap, “Not fucking likely, dickhead.”
He stands by the table instead.
As soon as a bottle of whiskey and three glasses are delivered to the table, Matteo pours out shots and hands out the glasses until we’re each holding one.
“A toast; to power.”
The kid snorts at him and downs the shot like a pro. “To whiskey, for being the only good in the world.”
My eyebrows shoot up at her. There might be a bit more fire in this kid than I thought.
“To bashing some dickhead’s skull in with a fucking rock.” I say, just to see how she will react but there's not a grimace or a flinch in sight. She’s smart. Too fucking smart to be getting herself involved in D’Ardo’s personal brand of fucked up. I don’t fucking trust her, not one fucking bit.