“People don’t like it when the flame becomes a wildfire.
Fuck them. Burn anyway.”
—Erin Van Vuren
“Hang up the phone.”
Raife’s eyes brighten when he glances at me. The shithead. He grins and waves me over, cell phone still pressed to his ear and feet kicked up on his desk. I stroll toward him, snatch the phone, end the call, then toss it back.
“Okay, that was a little rude.” He lowers his feet to the ground and sits up to slip the phone into his pocket. “That could have been a client.”
“It wasn’t.”
“It could have been.”
I sit across from him and relax into the seat, contemplating.
Raife runs our business front. The first dime the four of us ever claimed as a group was from Misha, the underground name that now motivates everything we do. It took years, a shitload of trial and error, and hard-as-fuck work for us to become the well-oiled machine we are now. But early on following Katerina’s death, Felix worked out how to infiltrate some of her offshore accounts and make her profits ours—under our new names once we’d reinvented ourselves.
Over time, we learned to repeat the process with all the kills on our list. If they made so much as a penny off the shit Katerina, Hugo, and Murphy executed, it’s guaranteed to become ours, eventually.
Of course, there’s no goddamn way I’m going to live, eat, and sleep off the money that’s behind our black souls—hence our front: Matthews House, Inc. Selling cryptocurrency allows us to stay behind the scenes, working online or through Skype, and with three of the branches we developed now topping cryptocurrencies worldwide, it funds our real agenda.
Which is my forte.
Raife is the face of Matthews House, Inc. while I focus on our list, and for the most part, it works—me staying in the shadows. I’m not exactly social.
“They want in,” Raife says on a pleased sigh.
“Which account?” I check my watch, then swipe a hand over my mouth, wondering if Emmy is in my room by now.
On my bed.
In my sheets.
“Silver Jack. But I have a feeling that’s not what you came by to discuss.” I grit my teeth. Raife smirks and folds his hands on the desk. “Hoping I have more deals to offer?”
Resting my ankle over my opposite knee, I look him straight in the eye. “She’s mine now, Raife.”
His eyes flicker with triumph. “Is that righ—”
“Cut the shit. Stella would’ve informed you by now.”
His grin widens in response.
“I came to tell you myself”—I lean forward, ensuring he can read the severity of my expression—“so I could personally see that you understand when I tell you not to fucking touch her.”
“Well, now that just doesn’t seem fair to the poor girl.” His voice drips with amusement. “We both know you won’t touch her. You’re going to force her to be deprived just because you are?”
Tension pulls my muscles tight, and my fingers rap against the leather armrest. “If I’m not mistaken, I’m the only reason she isn’t deprived right now.”
Raife inches forward so we’re level. “Yes, and how was that for you? When she came apart on your hands.” Blood rushes to my veins, hot flames dancing beneath my skin as my adrenaline spikes. Raife cocks his head. “Careful with her, little brother, or your precious control just might snap.”
A muscle in my jaw twitches, and I run my fingers across the bottom of my chin.
Raife is the only one who knows firsthand how close I got to Sofia. The way I childishly convinced myself I was some kind of savior, the promises I made to get her out of there, to give her a chance to grow up and have a normal life. Then how her death almost unraveled me completely.
Before I found an outlet through sex and blood.
Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen—they passed in a blur of ecstasy. And my brothers—before they legally became my brothers—were in as deep as I was when it came to women. For Griff and Felix, that was enough for a while.
Me, I needed more.
I needed red.
But I wasn’t the only one who discovered a taste for blood all those years ago.
The differences between Raife and I, however, are immense. I may be unhinged, but I’m constantly working to channel my urges. It never stops, the self-restraint, the need for more.
I make no mistakes.
When Raife gets violent, truly violent, there’s nothing controlled about it. It’s a wildfire in a gasoline-drenched forest. He cost us one mistake with Murphy already, one that would have ended everything if it weren’t for Felix’s talents.
I won’t risk another slip. Not when I’m so close to ensuring every single person on our list gets what they deserve.
I sit back against the leather, letting out a breath of dry amusement. “You know you can’t go back, Raife. None of us can.”
Finally, he drops his smile. Black oil eats up his brown eyes. “No, I can’t. Just like you can’t move forward. You are who you are. Lucas.” I narrow my gaze at his, but otherwise keep my expression slack. “We all are.”
After a second, he opens the drawer to his right and pulls out papers. Then he tosses them into the bin beside him, watching, waiting for my reaction. I know full well it’s the document Felix and I drew up this morning. The same document he made a fucking deal to read.
I work my jaw, the only sign of agitation I’ll allow myself to reveal.
“Once upon a time,” he continues, “you wouldn’t have given a shit about my method for madness, so long as I was mad. Remember yourself, Lucas. We were real brothers once, before our empire. Two boys who saw each other for what we were and never had to, never wanted to, hide it. You will eventually lose control, and when you do—when you lose every last shred of it until you can’t see red from black, right from wrong—I will be here. Ready to back you up, the way you should be doing for me.” He leans closer, and my gaze threatens to burn straight through his skin. “Because that’s what brothers fucking do.”
Carefully redoing the buttons on my collar, I stand. I watch him for a second, taking in the anger simmering behind his words. The mad glint in his eyes that we share.
I lean forward and rest my palms on the desk. “Don’t mistake our brotherhood for weakness. I’m the same person I was when we first got out. The difference is that back then, I was a boy who dealt with guilt by giving into every temptation. Shortsighted, unprepared. Uncommitted. I evolved into a man a long time ago.” After pushing off the desk, I shove my hands into my pockets and tip my chin back. “I suggest you do the same.”
He stands, but I’m already turning away. I don’t have time for his shit. We have lives to ruin, and time’s a wastin’.
“It’s only a matter of time before she gets to you, my friend,” he calls as I walk out the door. “And I’ll be watching every step of the way.”