1. Reece

Reckless should be my middle name. Reece ‘Reckless' Montserrat. It's not but it should be–because I'm on the wrong side of the city–across the tracks in Capullo territory. If anyone sees me–or recognises my black Bugatti–I'll be done for. Most likely gunned down in cold blood by a Capullo nemesis. But still, I'm here, pulling into the petrol station. It's not my fault it's the only one closest to the best beach in Vemore that sells premium fuel. It's open twenty-four hours and usually, I visit to fuel up in the black of night, to blend in. But today, I'm being reckless. The Bugatti is so low on fuel that it's spluttering as I drive into the station. I cut the engine, knowing it won't start again without fuel.

I press the button and the doors lift so I can get out. I slide out of the seat and open the petrol cap. Slipping the nozzle in, I fuel the car, absentmindedly glancing around so I'm not paying attention when it clicks off and I press it harder, causing fuel to spill out everywhere. It splashes down the side of my car, over my black combat boots and the concrete.

It's then that another car–a shitbox Mercedes convertible–pulls up behind me. I put the nozzle back in place in the bowser and the idiots jump out of their car without even opening the doors.

Such showoff wankers. They eye me, scoffing loudly.

"Well, look who it is, across the tracks scum," Blyth taunts, standing behind his master like a lost puppy dog. I prefer kitty cats, of the actual animal kind, not the pussy kind of a girl. I'd rather lick an actual cat's back and get a mouth full of fur than kiss a girl.

I take the nozzle again and hold it towards Tidus Capullo. His minions rise up like snakes to protect him, as though I'm honestly going to douse him in petrol when he's got a cigarette hanging between his lips. I'm not an idiot.

"Tidus," I mock, stepping towards him and poking his chest with the nozzle.

He hisses, "Reece." And we stare at each other, a showdown of sorts to show off.

"You planning on setting me alight?"

"I would never. But watching you go up in flames would be a sight."

"Likewise, scum, and I should burn thee for crossing into our territory and parading your wealth around as though you're welcome here."

Sneering, I replace the nozzle, taking a step backward to slide into the seat of my car. "Like I'd want to be in the vermin-infested side of Vemore, with the likes of you."

Tidus chuckles, clutching his stomach, and takes his cigarette out of his mouth to exhale the smoke in my face. It causes me to hack out a cough.

"The only vermin here is you, Reece," Tidus taunts, flicking his half spent cigarette across the petrol station as he jumps back into his Mercedes, with his dipshits following.

The flames start licking the fuel on the ground, and I floor it to drive away, my door barely closed as I spin the wheels, creating a flume of smoke from my tyres as I speed off. The stupid fuckers are crawling out of the fuel station, dangerously close to being engulfed by the increasing flames. I knew Tidus was a dimwit, but setting a fuel station alight, and staying to watch the carnage is fucking stupid. But I know it's a warning. They're watching me, tracking my every move and next time I won't be so lucky to drive away.

Drivingoff l meander around the streets of Vemore, listening to the scream of the sirens as they head to the carnage that Tidus has caused. He really is an idiot, and his minions are no better following him around as though he's a god. The whole Capullo family is like that, fucking do-gooders who think the whole damn city revolves around them and their pretentious arses.

I don't know Jasper Capullo well enough to comment on him, but Tidus has mentioned his cousin a time or two and he seems like a loser. One of those prissy boys–not in a hot sexy way–but in a babyish way. He's a recluse honestly, because he's my age and he's never been around the social scene much at all, even during high school when we were all forced to go to the only high school in Vemore. Montserrat vs Capullo was rife even then, and Jasper just preferred to spend his days hiding out in the library or art room so I'd heard.

For all know now, he's probably hot as fuck all grown up and not langly like he was when we were kids. I'd teased the shit out of him in primary school because he was all legs, and shy as shit–always hiding behind his blonde locks in his face–and I'd had a little crush on him. Crushing on Jasper Capullo–when I was ten–was when I first realised that I might be gay. It seemed normal to me to like guys–not girls–because voicing that to Malyk–my best mate–he outright blurted out that he likes dudes and I didn't think anything of it.

Telling my parents had been a ride though. Mum didn't talk to me for a month, and Dad just scoffed and then happily said, ‘Well at least I won't have to pay for a lavish wedding.'

They were pissed off though, as it meant they couldn't force me to marry some rich girl of their choosing to uphold the Montserrat name and legacy. Don't get me wrong, I love being rich but purely only for the materialistic purpose, like the fact I didn't have to bat an eyelid at paying two million for my Bugatti. I hate that to have unlimited access to my ‘trust fund' I have to do Dad's bidding, offing lowlife fuckers that owe him or have done him wrong. But a son's gotta do what he's gotta do to keep daddy happy, even more so when that son–me–is gay. If I want to be myself, that's what I have to endure.

* * *

Having drivenaround for the good part of an hour–eating into the fuel I just pumped– I pull up at Vemore Beach and get out of the Bugatti with my journal and pencil in hand from the seat beside me. I'm never without them. Writing in my journal–songbook–clears the chaos in my head, and helps me fight the demons and the images I'm forced to face from the killings I do. It's messed with my head a time or two and if I don't get it out on paper in lyrical form what I see in reality crashes into my nightmares and I wake up drenched in sweat screaming as though I'm the one being murdered.

Sitting under the cliffs, I open my journal, scribbling out random words to clear the clutter in my head.

Monster. Beautiful. Violent. Vulgar. Death. Life. Love.

I want love in my life like anyone else, but I can't see anyone looking past my depravity, past the acts of violence I commit on a daily basis. I know I should be in a jail cell–for the rest of my life–without a key in sight for the number of murders I've committed, but the cops turn a blind eye to any violence or crime of any kind committed by a prestigious family of Vemore, be that a Montserrat or a Capullo.

* * *

My parents"limo drives up, the window rolling down so my father can glare at me. I ignore them, not giving a shit about what insult my father is hurling at me, or what he's requesting of me again. Instead, I flip them off and meander back to the Bugatti. I wait until they drive away before I get in and speed off in search of Malyk. He'd mentioned something about a night of debauchery coming up and I'm wondering–and hoping–it's tonight.