Seated on the top step of his front porch, Terence Chang surveyed the Chang family’s former compound. Terence was proud of how neat the place looked now: he’d removed the many junked cars, the rusting freezer, and the pile of barrels his cousins had stored meth-making chemicals in. His two brindled pit bulls wandered and sniffed around the yard, marking their favorite spots.

Terence sipped his coffee. He liked it black, and fresh, made from one hundred percent Kona beans grown on his own plantation, one of his several legit businesses. He let the fragrant brew roll around on his tongue and settle on his palate, as he gazed down at the expensive black basketball shoes that were one of his few indulgences.

He had tried hard to go straight.

He had made many good changes. He’d gone to college. Built up his own businesses and run interference for the family via computers and managing the Chang family’s legal affairs. Until his cousin Byron, head of the family, had been gunned down, that peripheral role had been enough. It hadn’t been long since the brutal slaying, but the Chang empire already seemed to be coming apart at the seams since Terence’s psycho cousin Akane had escaped just after his trial.

There were those in the family who thought Akane should take over in the vacuum left by Byron’s death—that his brutality and bloodthirstiness were signs of strength.

Terence knew better.

He sipped, trying to regain the simple pleasure the beverage had given him only moments ago.

She had liked his coffee, too.

He refused to let her name arise in his mind—but it did anyway. Julie Weathersby. His own personal Kryptonite.

Julie’s face filled his memory: her wide blue eyes, happy smile, those pale freckles on her nose. The little sounds she made in his arms. The way she snuggled into him, trusting as a puppy.

He’d never been anyone’s hero before.

Terence tightened his mouth bitterly. The coffee tasted like ash.

He’d rescued Julie—picked her up on a deserted road, running for her life from Akane. He’d prevented that brutal rapist batshit crazy serial killer from tearing Julie apart, emotionally and physically.

What he hadn’t counted on was falling for the girl.

Hadn’t counted on letting himself hope he could have some other kind of life and share it with someone special.

But he couldn’t have her. Or that life. Because the worst thing that could happen to the Changs, and everyone around them, would be for Akane to take over the business.

Akane had friends who owed him. Side hustles no one knew anything about. And if Terence didn’t step up to take Byron’s place, there was a very good chance Akane would come out of left field, waste anyone who offered competition, and bring on a reign of blood like the Changs hadn’t been through since the thirties, when they’d warred with the Chinese triads for power and come out on top.

The phone rang on the step beside him, and his dogs looked up, pricking their ears. Terence read the ID window: Hilo PD. “Terence Chang here.”

Nowhere to hide. No point in trying.

“This is Detective Freitan from Hilo PD. Your cousin’s crime scene has been released. I suggest you contact a cleaning service that specializes in biohazard cleanup and blood removal before you go back onto the premises.”

Freitan was a badass mofo of a female detective. His balls crawled for cover whenever he had the misfortune of dealing with her. “Thanks for the call, Detective. What can you tell me about efforts to capture my deranged murderer cousin?” No sense glossing over the truth.

“Not my case, Mr. Chang. His capture is an FBI matter. I’m sure someone will be in touch with you soon to find out possible locations where your dear family member might hide.” Freitan sounded hard, flippant.

Terence took another sip of coffee to wet his throat. “I appreciate any support Hilo PD can give me in capturing Akane. Believe me when I tell you, we don’t want him around here.”

“I heard you were going straight, Chang. But you sound like you’re speaking for the family on this matter.” Freitan’s tone was serious.

“I’m speaking for the family on this, yes.” Time to “shit or get off the pot,” as his beloved but terrifying tutu, Healani, had always said. It couldn’t hurt to establish his authority with the local PD early on.

“Your concern about Akane’s capture is noted,” Freitan replied. “I’ll let the FBI know that you are their official point of contact.”

“You do that.” Terence ended the call with a punch of his thumb.

He had a lot of arrangements to make, starting with getting in cleaners to remove all trace of the carnage of Byron’s murder. He needed to get the downtown warehouse space ready for a big meeting, and there was no time to waste.

Terence went back into the house, already working his phone. The dogs trailed him as he walked through the redone living room with its spare, modern décor.

He wasn’t going to get the girl or the life he’d hoped for. But he had inherited the office that had been Byron’s, and his father’s, and his grandfather’s—and maybe, just maybe, he could eventually steer the Chang empire in a different direction.

First, he had to step up and take over, and even that wasn’t going to be easy.