Prologue

STORM

M ine.

Mine.

MINE.

The small boy huddled in the corner of dad's office, nose buried in a book thicker than his bony wrist, is the prettiest, most perfect thing I have ever seen. Bouncy blonde curls dangle in his face, shielding him slightly. His large glasses are perched low on his nose, the wire frame bent slightly, looking like they are about to fall off. The pale blue sweater swallowing him is two sizes too big, with a tear in the elbow. What I can see of his pants is worn and frayed. His tennis shoes match the rest of his clothing, old and nearly falling apart.

I'm gonna buy him new clothes.

Better clothes.

Only the best for what's mine.

And he WILL be mine.

The tiny ray of sunshine moves, his body shifting in the overstuffed chair. As he turns for a moment, his ocean blue eyes dart toward me. He freezes, every bone in his body seemingly turning to stone as his pale cheeks flush red. The urge to go over, brush his hair from his face and adjust his falling glasses so I can see his face more clearly is strong, but when I take a step, my father moves in front of me, blocking my view. I snarl at him, my hand twitching towards the knife I keep hidden behind my back. The beautiful boy flinches at our sudden movements and turns away. As he does, I catch a quick glimpse of bruising on his neck, suspiciously shaped like fingers.

A near-feral growl rumbles in my chest.

Who touched him?

Who marked my sunshine?

My body moves before my brain can form rational thought, instinct driving me towards the boy.

"Don't," Dad says, a hand wrapped firmly around my upper arm. His other hand twitch, and I know he's preparing to fight me if necessary. It wouldn't be the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. "Leave him be."

I stare him down until he releases my arm with some reluctance.

"Why? Who is he?" I ask as calmly as I can, allowing my body to relax and my face to clear of all emotion. The slight grimace Dad fails to hide lets me know the attempt failed, but I can't be bothered to care about his feelings at the moment. My eyes dart back to my sunshine, his body once more curled in a tight ball in the chair, face buried in his book.

Mine! my soul screeches as his eyes flick to mine, his cheeks flushing bright red.

The desire to shove Dad out of the way and take what's mine builds as Dad stares, ignoring my question. His thick, muscled arms are crossed over his bulging chest, face pinched with a mix of emotions I can't read.

My father and I have similar builds. At sixteen, I already have thick muscles, partly because I train daily with the men, but genetics have helped. I'm over six and a half feet tall, just like him and have the same golden-brown skin he and my mother shared. But where dad's hair is curly brown with his eyes a matching shade, I got my mother's midnight black hair and green eyes.

"I told you that I was seeing someone," Dad says finally, and I can feel my face twisting with fury and disgust. "Your mother has been dead for ten years, Storm." Dad releases a tired sigh when I open my mouth to argue.

"That's not long enough," I force out, feeling a slight twinge of betrayal as my father moves on from the woman he claimed was the love of his life.

Again, Dad sighs. This isn't a new argument for us. It's why he kept his relationship with Marry such a secret from me all this time. I've only met her a handful of times. She's nice enough, if a little timid. Nothing like the firecracker my mother was.

"This is her son," Dad says, pulling me from my thoughts. "He's also sixteen. I've decided to propose, so they will be moving in with us." The fury is quickly replaced with excitement, and I feel my lips split into a wide smile. I'm not sure what my father sees on my face, but I catch the way his lips pinch together. "You will be on your best behavior and treat them both with respect. Marry is to be my wife, and Ashby will be your brother. His mother knows what we do, but she hasn't told Ashby. She wanted to keep him out of the business, at the very least until he finished high school. He is incredibly gifted with numbers and has an almost perfect memory. He will be enrolling in school with you, and I'm worried people might pick on him."

"Don't worry," I say, slapping Dad's shoulder with more force than necessary, taking some twisted joy in the way he stumbles slightly. "I'll take care of him."

He's mine.

"That is not what I meant…" Dad says, but I've already slipped around him and am walking toward my sunshine.

"Hello, Sunshine," I say, my voice coming out rough, and I worry he might get scared of me like so many others do. Instead of fear, all I see is bright, shining curiosity when he flicks his big eyes up to meet mine.

"Hello," he says shyly, voice whisper soft, and my cock twitches at the sweet sound.