2. Prologue

Prologue

S tealing the guns was the biggest mistake of Mitchell Burke's life. His bid to keep him and his brother together had been the very thing that had separated them. If Mitchell had anything to say about it, they would reunite in a few days. Mitchell would need time to unload the guns, but he had to steal them back from the Chained Devils first. Something so high profile wouldn't be easy to sell.

Not that the money was worth it anymore. He'd go back to fighting in the underground rings if he had to.

Mitchell sighed as he made his way along the tree line. He could see Terrell's house, but it was from a distance. The last time Mitchell had seen the guns, they had been inside Terrell Gibbs' garage, but Mitchell had seen Terrell and some of the other guys in the gang move the crates.

He wasn't a member of the gang. They'd only contracted him to steal the guns. He could wear a cut sometimes, but Terrell had always been selective. Wearing anything with the Chained Devil's logo on it meant you were Terrell's property and Mitchell had wanted no part of it long term. But not being a member also meant Mitchell wasn't told anything about the guns after he'd stolen them.

Mitchell had been watching the comings and goings for days, biding his time until he could get his hands on one of the guys who had left with Terrell the night they'd moved the guns.

He hid behind a dilapidated shed at the back of the Chained Devil's clubhouse, which was just a house in the bad part of town. He watched a party play out. Parties happened nightly. Everyone would be shitfaced before too long. Mitchell needed to act soon. No more watching. He would strike tonight.

All he needed was one of the head guys to be alone. Interrogation and torture tactics weren't part of his repertoire, but he was desperate.

Mitchell's stomach tightened into a knot just thinking about torturing someone. He'd never had to before. He didn't know if he had it in him.

A vision of his little brother getting sold into sexual slavery entered his mind. For the Chained Devils, guns weren't their only game. All the signs pointed to them selling human beings like cattle, too.

Fear grabbed hold of Mitchell and wouldn't let go.

Mitchell would do more than just torture if it became necessary, if it saved someone from having to endure a fate as horrible as getting trafficked and forced to do things they didn't want to.

Mitchell was done with Terrell and the Chained Devils. And maybe he was done with being a thief, too. Maybe it was time for Mitchell to get a legitimate job. But what did a high school dropout do for a living that was legal?

Something covered his mouth, bringing him out of his thoughts and making him panic. Instinct kicked in and he fought.

He brought his elbow back, connecting with someone's gut. Based on the gushiness, he figured it was Banjo behind him.

The cloth disappeared when he turned. Mitchell sucked in air and the panic receded. When he turned, five Chained Devils surrounded him.

Banjo bent over, holding his gut. Mitchell went for him first, kicking him in the face. Banjo fell on his ass. Blood covered Banjo's face. "You broke my nose."

Stan was closest to him. Mitchell went for him next, but only got in a punch to the gut. Stan was wiry and could move quickly. He was also smarter than the rest of them.

Stan did his best to stay out of reach, but Mitchell was too good at fighting to let him get away. Mitchell kept swinging until someone held him from behind. He head-butted them, connecting with flesh.

His captor set him free right before cursing.

Mitchell wouldn't escape. There were too many of them for that. But he could cause as much damage as possible while he could.

It didn't take long for Mitchell to realize something had been on the cloth. He grew dizzy and his vision blurred.

The next swing he took made him stumble, and he ended up punching at nothing but air. The next time he swung, he fell, landing hard on his ass.

A vision of Stan's ugly, thin face blurred in front of him. When Stan smiled, Mitchell wanted to punch his yellow teeth from his mouth but couldn't seem to lift his arms anymore.

"What did you do to me?" It sounded as if he shouted, even to his own ears, but Stan leaned into him with his head tilted as if he'd whispered.

"What was that? What I did to you. That's funny. Because my interpretation was what you did to yourself. Did you think you wouldn't get caught after spying every night?" Stan shook his head. "I took you for smarter than that. I really did."

"Fuck you." It was all Mitchell would say. He couldn't disagree. Stan was right. Mitchell shouldn't have waited so long.

Stan pointed to something on Mitchell's right.

Mitchell wasn't sure what it was. He didn't bother turning his head. Instead, he focused on the way his vision had tunneled around the edges, trying to force himself, through sheer will alone, not to pass out.

"Cameras are all over the property, idiot. I put them up right after you left and it's a good thing I did, too." Stan patted Mitchell's cheek. "We can't be too careful."

The last thing Mitchell remembered was Stan telling his guys to take Mitchell to Davorion.