Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

" A storm was coming but that's not what she felt. It was adventure on the wind and it shivered down her spine.

—Atticus

Beckham

Boom!

As I kicked in the door of the brownstone myself, I felt no sense of satisfaction. We'd traveled far enough to catch the people responsible for torching the new studio that I was cranky as fuck, my patience destroyed.

As my soldiers piled inside, weapons brandished, no one hesitated to fire off a shot, taking down six of the men sequestered inside within seconds. The jerks had crossed the wrong man at the wrong time.

I was eager for bloodshed, more so than normal.

There wasn't a single man alive who appreciated being blindsided, especially not when money had been spent only weeks before. The recording studio had been torched in the middle of the night, leaving nothing but ash and rubble.

By the time the firefighters had gotten there, the fire had been burning too hot, which meant at least one accelerant had been used. And where the fuck had I been during the attack? Accepting a goddamn award in place of my father, who'd begged off. He'd been at a golfing tournament with his buddies, his retirement well deserved but a constant pain in my ass.

Especially when he often stuck his nose into the corporation he'd turned over to me a few years before. I'd been eager for a night to myself, something that seemed to rarely happen lately. Then he'd called at the last minute. Christ. Yes, I knew the award was important to our family's reputation, but I had no interest in playing politics, something that had annoyed my father my entire life.

However, someone had to make an appearance. We were still members of the Kennedy clan, most family members considered America's sweethearts. Half were political giants. Then there was our side of the family, wildly wealthy black sheep with a penchant for butchery. I kind of liked the side of the family I'd been born into.

My soldiers raced forward, heading into the various other rooms of the broken-down building. The assholes had believed we wouldn't be able to find them after their colorful warning had been issued. On top of the three-story fire, the arsonist had thought it funny to plant massive firecrackers inside. When they'd been detonated, the sky had lit up for almost an hour with vivid colors.

Maybe I should have been grateful that the entire city of Manchester, New Hampshire had been provided a Fourth of July-worthy fireworks event. While the jerks hadn't been courageous enough to leave a calling card on my phone or in my email, I knew their methods of destruction like the back of my hand.

They were nothing but low-level cartel players, but with a little investigation I'd learned that along with running drugs, they freelanced for other syndicates to throw off the stench. Up to this point, the Kennedy regime hadn't been forced to endure the ridiculous antics.

I guess we'd come up on the radar.

I sprayed my assault rifle from one side of the facility to the other as I walked forward. Spending time in this area of Maine got on my nerves much like everything else did.

"All clear," Jeff Plant said as he stormed back into the room where I was hunkered down, staring at the vacant eyes of one of the men I'd killed.

Jeff was my second in command, a childhood buddy and the single person who could make me angrier than I was around my father. Jeff's was the voice of reason.

Mine was what nightmares were made of.

I patted down the dead dude, finding exactly what I'd thought. Nothing. At least nothing except a strange brand on his neck. It was crude as fuck, a jagged knife likely used to cut away a significant portion of his skin. Cartels were known for their savagery, but they were a long way away from their base of operations.

Nodding, I stood, searching the room before taking long strides into the next one. A single noise caught my attention. I headed toward the back corner, kicking a few boxes aside. When one lone soldier came out swinging, I managed to sigh in exasperation before punching him in the nose followed by backhanding him with the rifle. He went down, collapsing into the cheap crates, boards snapping under his weight.

My three men encompassed an arc around me, waiting as I handled business. I always liked to have the last word and they knew better than to interrupt me. Reaching down, I snatched the asshole to his feet, noticing the same shitty brand. He spit out blood, the glob landing on my shoulder.

"Uh-oh," James Saxton said under his breath. He'd earned his right to come, wanting to break free from his position behind a keyboard.

At least he'd gotten his quota of deaths in today. That should make him happy for a few weeks anyway.

I slowly glared down at the spittle, wishing I hadn't selected one of my Armani suits to make the glorious trip to freaking Maine of all places. While not the most expensive piece of attire in the collection, I was a perfectionist, and this was just something else to keep my anger over the edge of reason. My gut told me that my upcoming questions would be ignored or laughed at, but what the heck. I'd try anyway.

"Hello. I'm going to ask you two questions. If you answer both correctly, not only will you win your kewpie doll of choice, but I might just allow you to live. So here goes. The brand on your neck. What is your affiliation and who hired you to attack the Kennedys?"

"No speaka Engli."

"Nice try, bud. I know better. You have three seconds. What's it going to be? One."

He grinned, licking blood from his swollen lip.

"Two."

He didn't move a muscle, the dude just maintaining his smile.

" Pronto conocerás a tu creador ," the gang member hissed.

"Three." I stepped back, giving the guy a grin of my own before spraying his body with bullets. As he slowly slid to the floor, blood covering the brick wall, I sighed. "I'm getting too old for this shit."

"Nah, boss," Jeff said. "You're wild and young."

I threw him a look.

"What the fuck did the dude say at the end?" Camden Wallace, my senior in command of the troops asked.

I lowered my weapon and turned around. Information wasn't going to be forthcoming. Well, shit. It was early, still late afternoon. We could afford a little time to ourselves. "He said ‘soon, you'll meet your maker.' Looks like he beat us to it. Let's go have a goddamn drink."